#we are || this close to being pushed into illegal activities as an only option to survive and frankly . help

[journeyjottings]

The High Court Is Hearing Another High-Stakes Immigration Case. Can People Be Forced to Assist in Their Own Deportation?

The High Court is hearing a case this week to decide if the government’s indefinite detention of a bisexual Iranian man is lawful, partly because he is unwilling to voluntarily assist with the government’s attempts to deport him.

While the case turns on a narrow question of Australian constitutional law, it also raises urgent concerns about the human consequences of a flawed and discriminatory “fast-track” legal process for determining the status of asylum seekers who arrive by boat.

The case is tied to widely criticised immigration reforms the Albanese government is attempting to push through parliament. The reforms seek to punish people who do not actively cooperate in their own deportation, even in cases where people have good reasons for not cooperating or when certain countries, like Iran, do not accept the forced return of their citizens.

This draft legislation was prompted by the release of some 150 detainees from immigration detention following another High Court decision last year.

Refugees and refugee advocates will be watching today’s case closely as it may result in further, important limits on the immigration minister’s power to keep people indefinitely in detention. It could also affect up to 200 people currently being detained.

What the Case Is About

The case has been brought by a man known by the pseudonym “ASF17”, who claims a genuine fear of serious harm if he is forcibly deported to Iran, a country where sexual activity between men is illegal and can be punished by death.

Even though ASF17 arrived by boat in July 2013, he was only permitted to apply for refugee status in August 2015. In 2017, a officer in the then-Department of Immigration and Border Protection rejected his refugee visa application.

While it seems that ASF17 did not explicitly mention his bisexuality to this official, he clearly stated he could not return to Iran because of “his problems”. He has refused to cooperate with efforts to deport him since 2018.

Evidence shows there are many reasons why asylum seekers may not fully disclose the true extent of their fears of persecution at the initial stages of the asylum process. The reasons include trauma, shame, a lack of trust and uncertainty. The asylum process can also be especially stressful and re-traumatising for LGBTQI+ applicants.

ASF17 has consistently maintained his refusal to return to Iran, asking the government to send him “anywhere” but Iran. Despite this, the government has kept him in closed immigration detention since February 2014 and labelled him “non-compliant” for not voluntarily departing Australia.

Yet, this label of non-compliance fails to recognise that ASF17 may have compelling reasons for not complying with the efforts to deport him.

A Flawed System for Deciding Asylum Claims

Of specific concern is the fact ASF17 had his asylum claim determined by what is known as the “fast-track” process, a discriminatory and flawed legal process for determining – and, in practice, rejecting – refugee claims.

The “fast-track” system was intended to accelerate decision-making for the asylum claims of boat arrivals and limit their review options. It was introduced by the former Coalition government in 2014 and only applied to refugees who had arrived by boat between 2010–14. Concurrent policy changes also denied asylum seekers proper access to legal advice or translation services when preparing their claims.

The system resulted in a much higher rates of asylum claim rejection. Between 2015 and 2023, the Immigration Assessment Authority (IAA) – the body set up to review fast-track decisions – refused to find a person to be a refugee in 89% of cases.

Over the same period, success rates for Iranians before the IAA were just 16%, compared to 51% before the Administrative Appeals Tribunal (the non-fast-track process).

As we have previously argued, this high rejection rate says more about an unfair legal process designed to punish refugees than about the quality of their claims.

When in opposition, Labor clearly stated the fast-track process did not provide a “fair, thorough and robust assessment process”. And last year, the government put forth legislation to completely abolish the fast-track system and create a new Administrative Review Tribunal.

If the High Court finds that ASF17’s fear of being returned to Iran is a “good reason” for his unwillingness to participate in his own deportation, this will be an implicit recognition of the abject failures of the fast-track process.

An Inhumane System of Criminalisation

Last month, the government attempted to rush through draconian new legislation that would give the immigration minister sweeping new powers to force people like ASF17 to assist in their own removal from Australia. For example, the minister could order a person to apply for a passport or other documents from the country they’re seeking to escape.

Shockingly, if a person does not comply with such a direction, they could receive between one and five years in prison and a hefty fine.

Last week, a group of 22 refugee Tamil, Kurdish and Iranian women made a submission to a Senate committee now considering the legislation. The authors all sought protection over a decade ago and have built lives, families and communities in Australia. They wrote:

We are not ‘failed refugees’ – we have been failed by a broken visa system which never offered us a fair chance. Now, the government wants to punish us further.

As other refugee law experts have pointed out:

These are extraordinary provisions without precedent in Australia. Even in the context of terrorism offences, a failure to comply with a direction does not result in mandatory imprisonment.

Future implications of ASF17’s case

ASF17’s case could have significant implications for other people who sought asylum in Australia and had their claims rejected by the fast-track process. This includes thousands of Iranians on precarious “final departure” visas who have been living in Australia for the last decade and others on stalled “removal pathways” in immigration detention.

The High Court case could also set a new precedent on when people must be released from immigration detention. At present, a person must be released if there is “no real prospect” of their deportation in the “reasonably foreseeable future”. But it is unclear what this means in a range of situations, including where a person is unwilling or unable to participate in their own deportation for good reasons such as ill health or a genuine fear of persecution.

To compel those who have been subjected to Australia’s punitive system of indefinite detention to participate in their own deportation and criminalise them for not doing so is unjust – and should remain unlawful.

Source: THE CONVESATION

#Australia #immigration #asylum seekers #detention #high court

[writer-panda]

Hit on the groom and what became of it - chapter 1/I will keep missing you (if you don’t stop running)

Disclaimer: I don’t own DC or Miraculous. I’m just playing with some crazy concept. 

Chapter 1 (here)  -|-  Next

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

Ladybug landed on top of the Eiffel tower with practiced grace. An agitated worry roiling in her chest about the message Chat Noir left her. The urgency was one thing, but he sounded… pained. Like the weight of the world dragged him down type pain. 

Marinette knew Chat’s home life wasn’t perfect. Skilled at hiding it, maybe, but details leaked through the cracks. An offhand comment here, a muttered accusation there, a sour face yet again here. He lived in pain and tried so hard to work through it. 

She tried to help him whenever she could, both as Ladybug and Marinette. She may not return his feelings, but she always listened. For months during their third year as heroes, she left food on the rooftop when Chat’s suit revealed too many ribs. She wasn’t sure the reason and didn’t dare to ask, lest she learned too much, but she did try to help. There were times she thought she imagined the pained looks, and thin frame, and thinly veiled comments; maybe overexaggerating the situation in her mind, as she often did. After all, he always acted so cheerfully.

Then, Lila happened. 

The first strike landed swift, almost deadly, but she survived. It was what followed that made her reconsider. A prolonged fight, where Marinette chose to retain a cheerful mask to hide the pain. Along the line, she considered confiding in her parents. But what could they do?  Maybe take her from school, but that would mean Lila already won; the Liar would rule unopposed.

Which left Adrien, her last bastion of friendship. 

She still harbored a bit of a crush on him, but it was justified! Like a knight in shining armor, he stood, always ready to defend her. He always ensured her inclusion in class activities and saved her from several catastrophes. 

She still stumbled over her words with him, but when it’s minor stuttering or not talking to anyone, she forced herself to adapt. It was nowhere near as bad as it used to be. 

With the ability to spend more time with Adrien without acting like a spaz, Kagami also appeared more often, and proved to be a good friend. Marinette found a home with the two awkward rich kids ridiculously clueless and unaware of how the real world functioned. In the end, she even grew to accept Adrien might not be destined to be hers but chose to support him nonetheless. 

“My lady?” She was broken out of her musing by a familiar voice.

“Hello, Kitty-cat. I got your message… what’s wrong?” She turned to see Cat Noir slumped over the railing, with his ears tweaking nervously. She didn’t even know he could do it. 

“I… I’m sorry my Lady, but I can’t… I can’t continue to be your partner,” he declared.

“What?!” she squeaked. “What happened? What’s the matter?” 

“I’m… I’m getting married,” he announced, his ears drooping and tail tucked between his legs.  

Oh, that’s… not what she expected to hear. “Married? Congrat…” she drifted off, noticing his sour face. “Chat? What are you not telling me?”

“It’s… I… My…” He struggled to figure out how to say it, but ultimately remained silent for a moment. “There is nothing to be happy about. It’s a… business marriage,” he spat, his eyes narrowing.  

“But… those are illegal!” Ladybug protested.

“Not when you make it look like a love match. Especially if you insinuate at a scandal.” He sneered, jumping off the railing and pacing along the empty rooftop. “My father holds all the cards and I… I’m in no position to oppose him.”

“I’m sure we can…”

He sighed, walking over to her. “Please… M’lady. Don’t try to give me hope. I accepted what I must do.” With that, he reached for the ring, but she stopped him.

“Chat. We can try… You’re my friend. You can’t… We will figure it out. Together.” In all they’d endured, suffered, and triumphed - Marinette had never seen him this despondent… this broken. 

He sighed, his eyes flat and dull. “There is nothing to figure out,” he said, forcing the ring off his finger. 

The transformation fell, leaving Adrien Agreste materialized in place of her long-time partner. Plagg’s sharp cry cut off, as he’s sucked into the ring the second he popped out of it. She stood there, too stunned to notice the blond boy pushed the ring into her palm and closed it. 

Marinette wasn’t sure what thoughts decided to rampantly rage through her head, but the train of thoughts probably broke the collective speed limit everywhere in the world at the same time. 

“M’lady?” Adrien’s soft voice brought her to earth when she was one step from panic.

“A-Adrien?” She choked on the word.

“You heard about me?” He looked dumbfounded. Ladybug, too shocked to say a word, gestured over to the building line. Even from so high and far away, his most recent billboard advertisement stood visible. “Ah… right.”

“Who… who’s the lucky girl?” Inside her mind, she wondered if Kagami right now faced a  similar problem. It was the most logical…

“Lila Rossi,” Adrien admitted, his shoulders hunching. 

Marinette.exe stopped working. 

A moment passed.

Another.

“Um… M’Lady?” The boy tried to prod his ex-partner to respond by waving his hand in front of her face.

“That… that lying…” Ladybug saw red. This could not be happening.

Adrien nodded, the despondent look on his face growing worse every second.“My father deemed her a suitable heiress to the Gabriel brand… I tried to warn him she was a liar, but he… I think he actually admires her skill…” Tears built in his eyes, and Adrien covertly tried to wipe them away. 

“Maybe… maybe you could… I don’t know!” she screamed in frustration. Marinette had several ideas about what Adrien could do, but none of them would help. 

Running away would be a problem. Leaking the story to the press would lead to his home life growing even worse. After dealing with Gabriel Agreste’s parenting, she held no illusion Adrien could win a court battle. The rich too often got away with whatever they desired. She could try to sicc Uncle Jagged on the case… or maybe Clara Nightingale… Nadia Chamack would probably love the news-breaking story, but it would all put Adrien in danger. Who knows what would happen before they could obtain results or protection against Gabriel’s extensive reach. 

Adrien sighed as if knowing exactly where her thoughts took her. Chat was no dummy, he probably scoured over his options more times than he could count. His resignation, the last resort in a long line of failed plans.  “I appreciate you trying, but I already told you I accepted it. Just… take me down, please. I… I didn’t really plan the location well…” He let out a weak chuckle. 

“Fine… I’m sorry kitty...” She grabbed hold of him and swung to the ground. Despondently she watched her best friend, her partner, walk away into the night; resigned to a life of suffering and isolation. 

There must be something she could do, she thought. She closed a gloved fist around the ring. She was Ladybug, and if she put her mind to it, there was nothing she couldn't do.  

-----------

A week later the press learned about the upcoming wedding. Adrien and Lila both left school for home-school. The press and the general public ate up the news story about star-crossed lovers that met in school and became inseparable. It didn’t help that the class kept commenting about how good they were for each other. 

Marinette resisted an urge to gag whenever she caught the sound of the vicious lies and propaganda.  She was asked for comment only once but chose to refuse. It didn’t earn her any popularity in class. Luckily, she convinced Nadia to stop a nasty side-story about her jealousy from being published. 

No closer to a plan, she despondently continued to push through her life without her friend. She, unsurprisingly, hadn’t received a single text or call. Marinette didn’t blame Adrien; his position couldn’t be easy. A month after Adrien departed from her class, Marinette convinced her parents to also home-school her. Without a single friend, the school became a burden. Of course, her reasoning to her parents leaned into her focus on her fashion business. Which wasn’t untrue. It was starting to pick up. 

The only upside to this whole debacle was near-lack of akuma attacks. It seemed Hawkmoth found a hobby. Maybe he wrote poems? 

Nah. Not his style...

Two months after the announcement  Marinette woke to surprise guests: Adrien, his father, and Lila knocked on the bakery’s doors. The bride-to-be in an especially sour mood, as much as she tried to hide it. Gabriel appeared to be devoid of any emotions, as usual.

She seated them on the couch and asked if they would like a drink. She didn’t bother to offer food, not wanting to waste good cake on the likes of Lila and Gabriel. Although, Adrien’s thin cheeks and haunted eyes made her regret the decision. 

All of them declined the drink.

“Madame Marinette, I assume you have heard of the Wedding?” The capitalization clearly discernible in his voice. 

“Yes… Yes sir!” she corrected herself. Trying desperately to mask her disgust behind a layer of nervousness. She couldn’t risk a glance at Adrien, even if this was the first time she’d seen him since that night on the roof. Making it through the meeting would be hard enough without watching him suffer.  

“While initially, I planned to prepare the dress and suit myself, my son convinced me to give a chance to someone else to shine.” Clearly, whatever it was Adrien said, it didn’t include a polite request. “I have seen the dress you made for Rock Star Jagged Stone’s wedding, as well as the suit worn by Nadia Chamack.”

“They are designs I’m particularly proud of, sir.” 

Play the part. Play the part. Don’t send him to the hospital. Papa and Maman would be disappointed. Well, Maman would probably join me… 

Her homicidal train of thought ended as she forced a smile to appear on her face. Contrary to Lila’s stretched thin lips;  Marinette’s smile shines bright and could’ve been mistaken for genuine.

“Indeed… I’ve come to commission you to design and make the gown and the suit for the sweet couple.” He announced like it was the highest honor, but there was an amount of bile in his words Marinette used to think was reserved only for Nino.

“I… I’m… I’m honored, sir!” She beamed. The excitement only half-forced. Her moral compass told her even entertaining the proposal was wrong, but at the same time, her brain furiously flitted crafting possibilities. 

Gabriel nodded imperiously as if her acceptance merely added to a foregone conclusion. “Good. My assistant, Nathalie, will sort out the details. Lex Luthor agreed to pay for the pieces as his wedding gift, so do not be afraid to ask for full price.” He informed her t as if he believed she would give him a discount. 

For a moment, a singular reckless moment, Marinette entertained the temptation to voice her thoughts about Gabriel being cheap. 

She sighed, no, there would be another day for career suicide. The group rose to leave, and Marinette finally glanced at Adrien; his model-trained smile paper-thin. He caught her eyes, and if he radiated sadness two months ago, it didn’t hold a candle to the devastation swimming in his eyes. The exchange broke when Lila gripped a hand tight around his arm and dragged him to the door. 

Gabriel handed her a card, and the group departed. Marinette collapsed onto the couch, the makings of a headache building in her skull. 

This would be awful.  

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

A week later Marinette held a separate meeting, consisting of Nathalie, Lila, Lila’s mother, and Adrien’s aunt. And her, obviously. 

She first asked what kind of dress Lila wanted.

Lila’s eyes lit up in an unholy glee; and she started talking. 

And talking. 

And talking. 

And talking. 

After the long and painstakingly thorough description, Marinette felt faint. Several reasons contributed to that, although the most prominent were the materials, the design, and the way she spoke. Obviously Lila had feelings, the kind likely to trigger an oncoming Auma attack if Hawkmoth hadn’t pranced off to who knows where, about Marinette designing her dress. 

Marinette was happy Adrien’s aunt pointed out the request’s complete madness, but Lila’s mother waved it off, quick to declare only minor adjustments to the request would be needed. 

In the end, Marinette presented several dozen designs, both hers and foreign to have a basis on which she could work. Lila, of course, chose the one that would be hardest to make.

“I’m sorry none of your designs were good, Marinette…” The liar cooed with faked sorrow. She hid a smirk the designer could clearly see. 

The notion was born because it was a picture and not a sketch. 

Marinette smirked, and rose from the couch, ignoring Lila’s irritated scowl at her non-reaction.  

She liked it even less when the girl brought in the ready-made dress. 

“I made it as the first design for Penny Rolling’s wedding, based on Uncle Jagged’s suggestions. I should’ve known Penny didn’t approve of his idea, but…” she waved it off.

Lila, now actively glaring at her, sat back on the couch. All of which was mistaken for amazement by the adults.

Marinette ignored the girl’s dramatics, it was the only way she’d survive this meeting intact. “Of course, there still needs to be several adjustments and personalizations. I will also need to order the amber you requested. And the platinum thread. And the white gold. And probably an industrial-grade 3-D printer… Is that covered by the expenses?” She looked at Nathalie, who nodded. “Great! I will need just a moment.” 

The women watched as Marinette practically leaped at her notebook and added in adjustments to the sketch. Fifteen minutes later, when she presented a new design, impressing them all (sans Lila, obviously) with the flowing lines and intricate details. They praised her talent (even Natalie), and Marinette played the bashful young designer role to a tee. The liar kept glaring though. She couldn’t back away easily, since she already made a scene about wanting that specific dress. Marinette informed them beforehand she would need to know about her specific wishes before she made any adjustments. 

The final design looked pretty much exactly what Lila wanted though, but she didn’t want to give her nemesis the satisfaction. Her entourage did enough of this. 

Under the cover of being too emotional, they ended the meeting. Nathalie remained to finish the deal and sign the contract. 

After all of them left, Marinette collapsed onto her chair. An hour later a notification from her bank came. She received the first half of the payment. When finished, the dress would officially be the most expensive wedding dress to date. Blessed be Lex Luthor and his deep pocket. She chuckled, remembering how much the billionaire got kidnapped because of his money.

Then, an idea shined in her head.

Oh. 

Oh...

She took off her earrings and dismissed Tikki, promising she needed a quick chat with Plagg about a new potential holder. When Marinette put on the ring, the Kwami of destruction popped back into existence. 

“So… figured out how to help my chosen?” he asked. 

What Tikki didn’t know was when Marinette said she intended to discuss potential holders for Plagg, they really worked on a way to save Adrien. It was their secret since Tikki would most likely disapprove. They didn’t want to risk her disappointment in them. Not until they crafted a fleshed out full-proof plan. 

She nodded. “I have an idea. Let’s hire someone to kidnap him!” 

Plagg rolled his eyes. “Did they hit you on the head, pigtails?”

“No. But look, the problem is whatever we come up with, Adrien ends up blamed or we land ourselves in jail, right?” The Kwami nodded. “So… if we make sure it’s a very public kidnapping and he disappears, we can stash him away until the heat dies down. After we dye his hair and apply fast-tan, he will look different enough no one will connect the two. I’m pretty sure I could get my hands on fake documents if I tried hard enough…” she trailed off thinking of all the minutiae to coordinate to pull this off. 

It would be hard. 

But it would be worth it. 

Plagg slowly nods. “Okay… Somehow, that both makes no sense and seems perfectly legitimate. It’s also your most chaotic plan to date, Pigtails. Let’s do it!” The Kwami cheered, happy to be soon reunited with his chosen kitten. “But what about the costs!”

Marinette already had an answer in mind for that question. “Even after I subtract the costs of materials and other supplies, the payment for the dress, together with my savings, will be more than enough. Now… let’s go wake Tikki up.”

That… ended with the Kwami of Creation vomiting a pile of handcuffs and other police gear at Marinette. 

“Um… Why?”

The little red Kwammi placed her paws on her hips. “Because you should familiarize yourself with those if you plan on going to prison for that plan. It’s no longer just a phone theft, Marinette! You’re talking about breaking more laws than I can count!” She dropped to the pillow below, bemoaning about where she went wrong. 

Marinette scooped up her wayward friend and tried to reassure her. “I just need to be careful. I’m pretty sure I can do it without detection. Maman taught me how to not be seen on the internet. Or in general. Come on. I need to order a secure laptop.”

“I will help!” Plagg offered. “I can cataclysm the internet after you do your thing.”

“What?! No! Think of the cute cat pictures!” Marinette protested. “And video games.” 

“Relax! It’ll just remove any trace of you doing anything online in the several hours or so…” He calmed her.

Tikki trailed after them, a bundle of nerves and worry. “Plagg! It’s irresponsible! You can’t possibly…”

“Pigtails and I have it all under control. What’s the worst that could happen?”

---------

Turns out, a lot. 

Before Marinette put out the hit (kidnapping, she made sure that it was plain as day), she needed to set a price. That one was harder. It wasn’t like you could Google how much you needed to charge to kidnap a celebrity. At least, not without attracting a lot of unwanted attention. 

She asked her mother, under the guise of pure curiosity. It was a normal question any teenage girl asked her mother. How much does it cost to have someone killed, how much cheaper/more expensive a kidnapping is, how to acquire fake documents, that kind of stuff. Not suspicious at all. 

So absorbed in her rant, she missed a merry glint in Sabine’s eyes. She also didn’t question how her Maman knew those prices. 

Finally, she needed to fill the form. 

Assignment: Acquisition and Delivery

Asset(s): Adrien Athanase Agreste

Value: 

Here, Marinette paused. 

Her mom gave her a lengthy lecture about pricing and all. According to her, a professional would take up to fifty thousand dollars for kidnapping and bringing the target to her. Marinette decided, since Adrien was a celebrity, she should double the price. More risks involved, more reward, right? 

But, she also wanted to ensure she hired the best of the best. Compare her work to Gabriel Agreste’s, she came to the conclusion ten times the price was reasonable to ensure only the best in the field would take the job. 

Then, there was the matter of safety and so on and so on. By the end, she settled on two million dollars, as her asking price for one Adrien Agreste. Plagg sagely nodded, agreeing with her assessment. Tikki didn’t comment, as she wasn’t speaking to the two, but also seemed more accepting after spying on Adrien and Lila’s home life. Not that she revealed that tidbit to either of them, lest they drop the plan and directly go at Gabe and the Liar. 

After a few more details and boxes in the form Marinette filled until she came to the end. Only one more detail remained: 

Sponsor:

Marinette stared at the word for a moment. After a quick race of thoughts, she typed slowly. 

Sponsor: The Seamstress

Perfect. Nothing about this could go wrong.

Of course, how could she predict just how big of a mess she would make? 

----------

#maribat #marinette dupain cheng #BAMF Marinette #adrien agreste #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #mlb #mlb x dc #dc #DC comics

[wilwheaton]

wow! you really did it this time. who knew you would be the one whod crack the oh so cryptic nazi dogwhistle that the rightwing has been hiding behind all this time? you're truly a genius! now that you have basically compared the official term (that the members themselves have used for years) of the democratic party TO the n-word, the s-word and the k-word, they cant make fun of liberals and leftists anymore, we are finally free. their supplies are SPENT and their defenses BROKEN. thank you mr. wheaton, you have done it! you have defeated fascism! may god bless america!

Just because you don’t know about the history of something doesn’t mean your interpretation and dismissal of that history is factually correct.

You’re probably not going to hear this. That’s okay. This is for anyone else who is open to hearing how this 48 year-old guy got where he is, politically.

The biggest event in my generation’s life is likely the attack on 9/11. None of us had ever experienced something like that, and it wrecked a lot of us.

But in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, all of us who weren’t on board with Bush’s illegal and immoral invasion of Iraq were grouped in with the terrorists who murdered 2000 people. We were The Other. It wasn’t as dangerous or as violent at that is in Trump’s America, but for its time, in its context, it hurt.

Sidebar: We are losing a 9/11 of Americans every two days, to COVID. It didn’t have to be this way. The fact that it is this way is a choice.

The whole point of a slur is to dehumanize and cast out a group of people. slurs shape unconscious public perceptions, encourage prejudices and bigotry, and create The Other.

When our nation was grieving and afraid, Republicans saw it as an opportunity to consolidate power, and one of the ways they did that was to Otherize and dehumanize all of us who didn’t share their political ideology. Our grief was minimized and discarded, and part of that was deliberately calling us The Democrat Party, instead of The Democratic Party. This was started by right wing Fascist Rush Limbaugh. He said that anyone who was a Democrat wasn’t actually democratic, and within 24 hours, elected Republicans at all levels of government, their supporters on hate radio, and right wing pundits were saying “Democrat” party instead of “Democratic Party”. As far as slurs go, it’s nowhere near the slurs propagated against BIPoC, LGBTQ+, and other groups of people who are dehumanized by my fellow white people. But it is still a slur, and it is still intended to dehumanize and delegitimize us.

So we were left with this huge, emotional, psychic wound that we couldn’t heal, a national grieving we were very publicly excluded from. If you weren’t alive then, you likely don’t know what it felt like for us to be told “you’re with us or against us” at a time when “us” meant Bush and the GOP. We lost friends and family and colleagues on 9/11, too. We were afraid, too. We lived in the same country and had the same right to grief and healing as Bush’s allies.

So when I hear a young person, who likely wasn’t alive or was a baby in 2001 and its immediate aftermath repeating a phrase that was used against me and people like me, I take offense. I won’t apologize for that. I also won’t apologize for not being as Left as some of the kids who attacked me. I do apologize for not making more of an effort to communicate clearly and compassionately. 

I can’t imagine that anyone who doesn’t already agree with all of this is still reading, but just in case some of you are open to it, open to hearing this old man’s voice of experience: 

This will be hard for you to believe, but I’m WAY to the Left in American politics. I know I’m not as Left as some of y’all in other countries. I respect where you’re coming from, and I ask you to understand and respect that, in 48 years (30 of them voting and actively participating in campaigns at every level of government), I’ve learned that we will never get as Left as I want. Bernie was as close as we’ve ever come, and as much as I love his message and policies, Americans have been asked, twice, if we want him to be The Guy, and both times America has said no thanks. We tried, again, with Senator Warren, and America said No Thanks. 

That’s a giant bummer, but it has laid the foundation for a new generation of progressive Democratic Socialists who I hope are the future of my party. I believe that the future is progressive, that America can’t continue to exist in Late Stage Capitalism, and that the Republican party as it exists now must be destroyed.

This is likely where we diverge: I vote my conscience and my heart in the primary, but I vote for Democrats in the general election, because even when I don’t get everything I want, I know that of the two options, Democrats aren’t going to deliberately hurt me and people I love the way Republicans will and do.

I’m willing to fight like crazy in the primaries to get the most Progressive candidate into the general, but once we’re in the general, I am going to support the candidate who is closest to me. I sent my message in the primary with my vote, and with my bank account by supporting the most progressive candidates I’m comfortable with. There was a younger version of me who believed voting Green would push the Democrats to the Left, where I was. I was wrong, and boy do I regret ever giving any of them my vote. Maybe it’s different in other countries, but in America, Greens have become useful idiots for Fascists who seek to hold onto power not by winning majorities, but by splitting their opposition’s vote.

When my candidate doesn’t make it out of the primary, I’m not willing to sit out the general, or cast a vote for a candidate who won’t ever win, because I have worked on enough campaigns, been close to enough party officials, and spent enough time in American politics to know that the two parties you despise don’t care at all about  your protest vote. It doesn’t move them to adopt your positions. It makes them dismiss you, entirely. That 90 or 90 percent of things you and the Democrats agree on? Doesn’t matter. You’ve ceased to exist for anyone who will ever be elected or hold electoral away. And because you did not vote for the one candidate who could beat the candidate you hate more, you have ended up supporting not just the candidate you hate, but all of their policies, their SCOTUS Justices, and every single head of every single branch of government.

I want to repeat that, because I really hope someone will hear this the way I couldn’t and didn’t hear it when I was in my early 20s: When you vote third party, not only do you help the candidate you most want to defeat, you take yourself out of the conversation. Nobody who will ever be elected takes you seriously, and all the things you care about will not be any closer to being addressed by people who can actually make a difference.

I don’t want you to give up your seat at the table. I want you to move the Overton Window back to the Left, so we get America closer and closer to being a nation that isn’t overtly racist, doesn’t murder Black people, provides healthcare and college to all Americans at no cost, and holds criminals -- even powerful criminals -- accountable for their actions.

In our Primary, I worked hard to get Senator Warren over the top, but our party and the voters who will decide the election didn’t agree. The people who can end Trump’s criminal reign of terror all said “We want Biden,” and I know this is a hard to swallow pill, but they are the people who matter, and they are the people we need to support if we want to get rid of Trump and stop the Fascist advance in America.

#alejosdo

[neonacity]

HYACINTHE | CHAPTER 3: JAEMIN X READER

SUMMARY:

Na Jaemin is far from being your typical 20 year old. Instead of slaving through college, he wastes away his hours cracking safes. Weekends that should be spent partying with friends consist of illegal races on good days and small scale bombings on bad ones. Na Jaemin is far from being average, unless you consider being a member of Seoul’s top organized crime family normal.

There is no such thing as a sense of normality and peace in his trainwreck of a life, so when he met a barista who was brave enough to call out his dangerous taste in coffee, he was like a moth to the flame. Everything about her is normal, which means she is forbidden to him, in all sense of the word. So why, then, does he always find himself at the front steps of her shop, breaking all his personal rules even if he wishes he could stay away?

A/N + Disclaimer: this is a side story to Black Daisies, my main mafia fic feat. 0T23. While the plot is based on the main story, this can also be read as a standalone fic. As usual, this is purely a work of fiction and in no way am I implying any member of NCT to behave the way I write them here. tw: crimes, heists, potential death, mentions of drugs and other illegal activities.

PAIRING: Jaemin x Reader

TW: illegal activities, gunshot wound, mentions of blood

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

FIC TRAILER

MASTERLIST

"Another bank was looted last night around 11PM, this time in the Geumchon district. This is the second bank that was broken into in the past week and the fourth that is rumored to be the doing of one of Seoul's organized criminal…."

I sighed and put down the pen that I have been using to scribble on a piece of napkin. A frown creased my forehead before I grabbed the offending piece of flimsy paper and crumpled it with my hand. Jeno, who was silently watching the news, looked up and shot me a curious look. He was leaning over the counter lazily, his cup of half finished hot cocoa beside him. 

"You okay?"

I winced. "Yeah... Actually. Actually, no. I am not okay," I said finally as I threw the used napkin to the closest thrash. I have been scribbling all the things I have to pay for the coming month there and couldn't bear to take another look at it. Jeno grabbed his drink and silently took a sip of it, obviously waiting for me to elaborate.

After my initial 'unplanned' meeting with Jaemin's friends, it has become more or less of their routine to drop by the cafe to hangout. Jaemin was initially against it at first, always scowling whenever he would see one of them already in the shop, though it seems like he has gotten used to it lately—or rather, he didn't have any other choice but to simply accept it. They would often sometimes come in groups—Jisung and Chenle are big fans of the pastries—but other times it's just one of them who would drop by to visit like Jeno now. My favorite is when all of them drops by to visit, not only because I've started getting closer to them too, but because customers would automatically flock into the shop whenever the "handsome gang" is there. Honestly, I couldn't blame them.

"I'm a little bit short on money this month. I was supposed to get my monthly allowance from my scholarship but something happened so it will be delayed. I have lab things to buy and well—everything sucks." 

Jeno nodded slowly, though I have a feeling he doesn't really understand my plight with money. Spending time with the seven of them has given me a better understanding of each boys' personalities. Jeno, for example, is definitely the calmer one of the bunch. While the others would cause chaos every now and then—Jaemin included, he would be on the side watching them usually with that adorable eye smile of his. He is different from Mark who would mostly jump in to join the fun before calming everyone once things get overboard, though both seem to share the same responsibility over the group. He also seems to be the closest to Jaemin, so by extension, I am also most comfortable around him. 

"How much money do you need?" 

I gave him a look as I reached out for a paper cup to make myself my own hot cocoa. 

"I heard the same question from your best friend before. Are you also going to offer to be my sugar daddy?" 

Jeno choked on his drink and hid his laughter behind his raised cup. 

"Do you want Jaemin to kill me?" 

That made me inappropriately blush.

"Sometimes I just want to bust out a bank like that group everyone is talking about." 

Jeno didn't say anything and continued watching me from the brim of his drink. 

"You think you can do it?" 

"Do what?" I asked as I poured hot cocoa on my cup. I said that off-handedly, I almost forgot my words the moment they left my lips. 

"Rob a bank. You know, do something illegal." 

I leaned back against the counter and craned my head a little sideways as I thought the question over. I didn't actually think of that before so I had to listen to my moral compass a little bit before answering. 

"It depends on the reason." 

Jeno looked surprised by my reply. He was probably expecting a goody two shoes answer from me, which I don’t blame him for, to be honest. Even I am mildly shocked by what I said. 

"The reason?" 

"Yes. I mean, if the only reason I would steal is because I don't have money to support my studies, then no, I wouldn't do it. I have other options. I can work extra jobs or I can just drop out from uni. But if I didn't really have any other choice, if I had to do it for someone really close to me, for example, then I would do it." 

"That is very…"

"Cliche, right? I know. But that's how it works, at least for me," I said with a laugh. "I do know what's good and bad, but I'm willing to jump the gun if I have to." 

I didn't know if it was my imagination, but I thought I heard Jeno murmur something under his breath as I turned to get back to work. 

"I bet Jaemin wouldn't like that." 

-----

PRESENT DAY, a little over one month after the happenings in the first chapter. 

They disappeared like bubbles. No, he disappeared in thin air, like smoke that was blown over by a strong gust of wind. After that night when Jaemin bust through my cafe door, hiding god knows what and asking for temporary shelter, he hasn't shown himself again, apparently leaving while I slipped into a light sleep. Even his friends stopped visiting the cafe which, for a few days, made me genuinely feel scared. Are they okay? What happened to him? Who was he running away from?

That worry slowly and gradually morphed into anger as the days lengthened. I know it was my way of coping with my emotions, but I couldn't help myself. I tried calling him, but the line was cut. It even came to the point that I had to call each of his friends, but it seems like the numbers they gave me were all temporary ones, too. I felt frustrated. I felt...abandoned. 

Was it really easy for him to just cut off all contact with me? 

Was it foolish of me to think that there is...something deeper here than just friendship?

It was the start of winter when the loud ringing of my phone woke me up from my nap. Eyes still heavy with sleep, my first instinct was to look at the clock by my table which registered 1:19AM. I frowned. I was in the middle of finishing a paper before I decided to take a nap but who could be calling me at such an ungodly hour? 

I blearily reached out for my phone and barely looked at the unregistered number before hitting the answer button. 

"Hello?" 

"Noona?"

I froze. Just like that, I felt the sleepiness slowly melt away from my consciousness. I know that voice. 

"Jisung?" 

"Noona, we need your help." 

I sat up on my seat after registering the panic in his voice. I heard another tone suddenly hiss at him from the background before a rustling sound overtook the speakers. It sounded like someone grabbed the phone from his grasp before he could even react.

"Jisung. What's happening—"

"Hello?" The new voice that spoke on the other line made my heart stop. I stared at my wall, wide-eyed.

"Jaemin." 

"I'm sorry. We didn't mean to—"

"Jaemin, we don’t really have any other choice but her, give me the phone," another one jumped in. It was Mark. 

"No. Hyung—"

"We're losing him," my lips parted in shock at what I heard. His voice sounded clearer now and I could very much pick up the iciness on it. Mark has always been so friendly and warm that it threw me off guard. 

"Give me the phone." 

The authority he held made me assume that Jaemin did as he was told. Next thing I know, he was calling out my name from the speaker.

"Mark, yes, I'm listening." 

"Hey. I'm really sorry about this, but we need your help. We really have no other choice, Haechan is in such a bad state—"

That made me stand up and push away from my desk.

"What the hell is going on? What do you mean about Haechan?"

"I'll explain later. We're on our way to you now."

"Wait, what? You don't know my address."

"We'll be there in seven minutes."

That was all he said before he cut off the call, leaving me standing shell-shocked in the middle of my room.

---

They banged on my door not even five minutes after. I had barely pulled on a cardigan when loud knocks rang through my small one bedroom unit causing me to quickly run and grab my knob open. 

I stood frozen at the sight of the seven boys crowding my doorway. Everyone was covered in some sort of soot, leaving them almost unrecognizable in their black outfits. Mark and Jeno were in the middle of the group, carrying a half-conscious Haechan between them. Jisung, Chenle, and Renjun brought the rear, their eyes moving wildly as if checking for eavesdroppers. Jaemin stood closest to me, his jaw tense and his eyes apologetic. My gaze snapped back to the center of the group when Mark called out my name. 

That's when I saw it for the first time. I didn't notice it at first because of its dark color, but Jeno was holding a towel against Haechan's stomach. Except it isn't black, it was a deep dark red.

Blood. 

"Oh my god." 

"Please help us." 

Maybe it was the shock, but I quickly stepped aside to let everyone in. I had barely slammed the door shut when I heard a crashing sound from my small dining area. Jeno pushed everything on top of my table to the ground as Mark and Jaemin gently guided Haechan on it. 

"What—what is going on—"

"He's been shot. Thrice. We're not sure but I think two of the bullets are still there," Renjun answered me as he grabbed the soaked towel from Mark's hand and replaced it with a new one. Jisung and Chenle worked on closing all the shutters of my windows while Jaemin tore off a lamp from my living room to move it close to Haechan. He closed all other lights other than the ones on the dining area and the small lamp.

It was then when my training finally kicked in. I ran towards the table to peer at the wound, my shaking hands gently moving the new towel that is quickly getting soaked by blood again. Haechan gave a soft grunt of pain before slipping to unconsciousness again. 

"I think there are still foreign objects there. It's what causing the severe bleeding."

"Can you take it out?"

My eyes shot to Jeno. The harsh lights from the lamp threw strong shadows on his stressed features. 

"I'm not a licensed doctor."

"We don't need a licensed doctor right now, we need someone who can patch the hole in his stomach. Please." 

I gritted my teeth. I have a ton of questions running through my head right now, but he's right. We need to act fast or else we will lose him. I rolled up my sleeves then and called out to whoever can act fast to my orders. 

"Somebody get the black box under my bed. I have all my surgery practice tools there. I need hot water and lots of towels. Everyone move. Now."

As soon as I said my orders, each of the boys were moving in a flurry to get everything that I asked for. I was adjusting the small lamp directly over the wound to peer at it better when I felt a gentle hand circle around my arm. I looked up to see Jaemin staring at me. 

"Thank you." 

I didn't say anything at first. I don't know if it was the shadows playing over his features, but he looked different from the Jaemin I knew in that brief moment.

"Don't thank me yet. Say that once we're sure he survives."

---

I was stirred from my sleep by the light snoring of someone to my right. Turning my head, I was greeted by the sight of Jisung who was currently sprawled on my sofa, his legs so long that they were dangling on one end. Chenle was on the floor below him, his face covered by one of the pillows he probably fished from one of my love seats cradling Renjun's curled up form. Mark and Jeno were both sitting upright, the former close to Haechan and the other by the door like a sentinel. They seemed to be in deep sleep too, they're heads hanging low. Jaemin was on the floor next to my seat, his breathing slow and relaxed. 

I blinked slowly as my gaze moved from boy to boy. It took me a painful two hours to do the impromptu surgery, first working on taking the bullets out before sewing everything back together. Haechan was lucky enough that the bullets didn't hit any vital organs or important vessels, and that the extreme bleeding was only caused by the wrong muscle being hit by the impact. He slipped from being conscious to unconscious throughout, and everyone had to work together to help me while I did my thing. 

I couldn’t really blame any of them from crashing the moment we made sure that Haechan’s safe—for now. 

After rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I tried to silently move from where I was curled on, careful not to stir anyone. I still have a ton of questions, but those can be taken care of later. I padded as carefully as I could towards the table where Haechan was still resting and peered at the IV that I had hooked on his arm to make sure everything was moving well. 

They even have spare blood bags with them for emergency transfusions. 

...As if this kind of thing normally happens.

"He's going to be okay, right?" 

I hastily turned to see Jaemin staring at me. His voice was low and was only loud enough for me to hear. 

I stared at him for a bit before looking away. 

"Yes. He'll survive."

"Thank you so much." 

I didn't answer. He also didn't say anything else, though I could still feel his gaze heavily on me. I braced myself before speaking again.

"We need to talk." 

I didn't wait for him to reply. I simply walked towards my room, leaving my door open for him to follow. I only turned back to look at him when I finally heard it close softly behind him.

"Who are you?" I asked, before he could even say anything else. I watched as his jaw tightened and released, his eyes full of indecisiveness. I didn't waver. Not this time. 

"You said…"

"That I will never ask questions? I did. But I can't do it anymore, Jaemin. You disappeared for a month without even saying goodbye then showed up on my door with your friends, one of them with a hole in their stomach. You have blood bags—freaking blood bags. What the hell is going on?" 

I tried my hardest to control my voice, not wanting any part of this conversation to be heard outside. My legs felt weak at the moment but I tried my best to continue standing so I could hold his gaze. 

The look in Jaemin's eyes, however, almost made me want to give up. I knew from the pain and hesitation there that I wouldn't like whatever it is he is about to say.

"I'm a criminal."

My stomach dropped. 

I was expecting it, but hearing it straight from him didn't soften the impact and the shock. 

"A…" 

"We steal. We do illegal things. There is absolutely no good way for me to describe this, but yes, I am a runaway who was stupid enough to bring you into this mess," Jaemin said through gritted teeth as he tore his eyes away from me. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to take a deep breath to steady himself.

"I was stupid and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone back and tried to befriend you after that order of coffee. I'm sorry I ran to you that night a month ago. I seriously thought I was going to die and I wanted you to be the one that I see for the last time. I'm sorry for today, or that I couldn't answer any of your questions back then. It was selfish of me to keep you in my life without giving you anything back," he stopped and forced himself to look at me again. My heart squeezed painfully in my chest when our gazes met. 

"I'm sorry." 

I didn't… couldn't say anything. One part of me had already expected this because it is the only reason that makes sense. Those vague answers, his detachment from normal society, the money, every clue seems to point to one direction, but that didn't spare me from my moral dilemma now. Because while I knew, I didn't exactly consider how it relates to me.

I was afraid to.

Because the truth is, I like Na Jaemin to the extent that I'm afraid of what I can do for him.

"Do you kill…" I asked in a whisper, my voice shaky. A frown passed his already stressed features before he answered.

"No. None of us do," he answered, and I knew then that he was telling the truth. Regardless of what he is or what he didn't tell me, I trust him to not lie to me.

"Am I—am I in danger?" I asked next. He firmly shook his head.

"No. I made sure of that. No one would dare—" he stopped, as if gauging what words he can use to not scare me even more. "You have always been under protection." 

That’s when it clicked. The cafe visits from his friends. The random strangers who seem to spring out from nowhere every time I was out and about and needed sudden help. 

My legs finally gave way and I collapsed on my bed behind me. My mind was trying its best to wrap around the situation, leaving my thoughts in a jumble. There are a million things I wanted to say, but I couldn’t get a single one out at the moment. 

Jaemin seemed to know what I was feeling at the very least because he simply stood there, silently watching me. I'm not sure how long the two of us stayed in that bubble of silence, but it was also him who brought me back to reality when I felt warmth cover my hands.

I looked up to see him kneeling in front of me, both his hands gently enveloping my clasped ones. The look in his eyes made my heart lurch, but I couldn't bring myself to say anything still. 

"I'm sorry if I was selfish… I promise, after this, you won't have to worry about anything else."

No. 

"When I met you, I saw something that's so different from the life that I have. Believe me, I tried my best to leave you alone, but I wanted more of it—more of —you, so I kept coming back." 

Are you going to leave me again?

"But you'll be safe now. I promise. You can go back to how it used to be before I… almost ruined it." 

Please don't leave me. 

Jaemin gave my hands one last squeeze and I felt him move to straighten himself. Before he let them go, however, another gentle warmth pressed against my forehead as he grazed it with his lips. 

"Thank you."

My tears dropped the same time the doors closed behind him. 

---

Chapter 4

#na jaemin #jaemin nct #nct jaemin #jaemin #lee jeno #mark lee #lee haechan #park jisung #zhong chenle #huange renjun #nct dream #nct dream fic #nct angst #nct dream angst #nct mafia au #nct mafia #nct mafia imagines #mafia!jaemin #nct dream imagines #nct-writers #nct imagines #jaemin x reader

[a-simple-imagine]

A little bit of Devil In Her Angel Eyes

Synopsis: Your entire life changed when you met Sharon Carter in Mandripoor but one bad deal and everything comes crashing down.

Pairing: Sharon Carter x reader

Words: 3.2k

A/N - This is my first story after like a five month slump so please go easy on me. I hope its okay!! I also just reached 1.7k so thanks for that.

Warnings - swearing, mentions of blood and fighting, mentions of illegal activities.

You never lacked interest or empathy, but you'd always felt bored throughout your life. There was little excitement amongst the mundane everyday tasks. You didn't have some grand ambition to work towards; no dream job and no innate desire to settle down and have a family. You were navigating life with no direction. Never feeling like you belonged anywhere. You didn't necessarily see this as a problem but there were moments, late at night, that had you wishing for something more out of life. You just weren't quite sure what that was... until you met her.

A chance encounter in the vibrant neon lights of a dingy bar located in lowtown; a crime-ridden, impoverished district located in Mandripoor. It is the ultimate abyss of vice and degradation, where nothing was sacred and no act profane. A beautiful young woman, who so strongly contrasted her surrounding, sat at the bar sipping on a martini glass. Such a rare sight down here, it was like coming across a mythical creature. Unexpected, strange but oh so magical. One night with the woman was enough to set your senses ablaze. One night turned to two... then three... and so forth. She was the first person to ever made you feel alive; she made you feel like was worth living. It was a rollercoaster of a relationship and you never wanted to get off. And they looked to you with a look of pure admiration. She fed you sugar-coated words and tender smiles that had you on your hands and knees. You would do anything to experience the warmth of her smile or the vibrancy of her melodic laugh. And god was she the most beautiful woman you had ever laid your eyes on. An angel cast in the ethereal glow of the moon. Utterly smitten and unafraid to show it. She was softener than appearance may appear. Not always the best at expressing her feelings, you liked to think that it was evident in the little things she did. Like the cup of chamomile tea, she always offered you before bed. Or the way she always had to be touching you in some way before she could fall asleep beside you. It was clear in her overprotective nature. The way she was willing to break someone's arm just for looking at you funny. She was willing to go to war for you. The relationship worked because you were both getting high on affection; drowning in each other. However, there was a much darker side to one Miss Sharon Carter. A lot of late nights you were left wondering if she would return. She threw extravagant parties that seem innocent enough until she's sneaking off behind closed doors with shady characters. Was there ever a moment she wasn't looking over her shoulder? Rollercoasters go up and up only to fall from grace at high-velocity speeds. A smarter person may have turned and run but you never claimed to ever do what was best for yourself. You were in much too deep. Sharon Carter was a former hero turned double agent who is now one of the underworld leaders of the lawless island nation of Madripoor. Her main area of interest was selling superpowers to the highest bidder; seems there is quite the market for black market super-soldier serum. Sharon also dabbled in acquiring exquisite art pieces through less than honourable measures in order to sell. She wasn't above petty crimes and illegal substances. Quite the reputation did the woman you had found yourself utterly infatuated with. It actually made a lot of sense. And if you were being honest with yourself, you valued your relationship over any morals you may have possessed. In fact, you were actually impressed if not a little intimidated by her. The option to leave was always right there but instead, you found yourself helping her out wherever she saw fit. Why? Because there was no one you cared for more in this world than Sharon Carter.

Bright red lights had been flashing in warning since the beginning of the deal. You had been through a lot together and had watched as Sharon dealt with all kinds of messed up scenarios. You even had helped her commit atrocities but her success had begun to cloud her judgement. Blind to the inevitable. Every time you attempted to voice your concern, she brushed you aside with sweet whispers of reassurance followed by a quick peck on the cheek. Sharon could be so stubborn it was infuriating; she lived with the idea that she always knew best. That she was basically untouchable. A god. It was an attractive trait that had you weak in the knees but it also led to stupid decisions. Everything will be okay. All concern pushed to the side, you chose to believe her.

As the clock struck one, you waited patiently for your girlfriend to return. A pit deep in your stomach that kept you from even considering going to bed before she arrived home. A cold cup of tea sat on the kitchen table as you numbed your mind with the bright screen of an iPhone. The click of the front door made your ears perk up, a smile settling on your lips. Thank god she was finally home, you weren't sure you could handle it much longer. Calling out for her, you receive no response but footsteps echo through the house. Not just one though. Did she have company over? It wouldn't be the first time she turned up late with some associates on her tail. Normally you wouldn't mind but you would have at least appreciated the heads up.

"What-" Words come to an abrupt end as a gloved hand slaps over your mouth. Chair crashes to the floor, phone slams against the table as you're dragged out of your seat. Struggling against a tight grip, they drag you across the room where you notice two shadows lurking on the sidelines waiting to pounce. A punch to the stomach so beautifully engraved with your girlfriend's name has you pushing against the arms that thankfully let go; flinging you to the ground. A black toed boot slams into your stomach followed by a barrage of varying blows. As your vision begins to fade, you're reminded of the last question regarding her predicament. It had been over a very early breakfast staged before a rising sun.

"You're up early." Your girlfriend hums in your ear as arms snake around your shoulders; sleep evident in her voice.

"Couldn't sleep," A purple mug brought to your lips, you take a small sip. "I was thinking-

"How many times do we have to go over this?" Sharon interrupts. "Everything is going to be just fine- I have it handled."

You had heard that many times but it was less convincing every time it left her lips. It left a bad taste behind. As strong as she may have convinced everyone she was, this was turning into the story of Icarus and she was getting far too close to the sun.

"Do you?" Your question is quiet, unsure of how she'll take it. "because this is getting to be a little too much."

"You trust me right?" It always came down to trust. It was the end to this conversation almost every time;  basically her personal way of getting you to shut up. You didn't dare express that you didn't have complete and utter faith in her.

"I do." You nod a little.

"Then trust me when I say it's all gonna work out," Voice but a whisper that tickled your ear before she plants a kiss against your shoulder. "I'm gonna make a fresh pot of coffee."

Perhaps it was naïve to think this would never happen but it had simply never occurred to you that they would target you. But of course, they would, you were a part of her life. Sharon was the big bad and who better to target than you. Someone not trained by SHIELD or the CIA. It was an easier message to send. When you finally stir awake, you find yourself staring into familiar dark brown eyes; their flicks of gold a comforting sign. You had never felt pain quite like this before in your entire life. Somehow it felt like your entire body was actively on fire while also being completely numb. You couldn't feel anything other than the pain coursing through your veins at this moment. But at least you were alive. And Sharon was okay.

"Thank god," She spoke softly.

"...h...ey." The words burn your throat as you stumble through such a simple word. Coughing a few times to try and help but it just aggravated your chest. "You're... okay."

"So are you," Sharon leans forward, her lips brushing against your forehead. "Do- Do you think you can walk?" There was urgency behind her tone and the blonde didn't even wait for an answer before she was trying to usher you to your feet. A loud groan slips through clenched teeth. It was a symphony of agony but the feeling was sharpest deep in your chest. Nausea sets in your stomach. a rich throbbing in your head made worse as you shook your head. Sharon took the hint and stopped. "...We can't stay here." You knew that. It wasn't safe here anymore. Everything just felt like too much though. Your body was in torment. You felt like dinner was about to make a reappearance at any moment. And your chest felt worse with every breathe you took. After a moment, the other tries again. Supporting you as she pulls you to your feet; the majority of the work was on her part. With an arm around her shoulders, the two of you moved very slowly towards a car.

"Where... are we... going?" You understood the need to leave but where would you even go? A strong chill rode the late night wind. It was nice out. peaceful. Slumped against the passenger seat, Sharon reached over to click in the seatbelt before shutting the door and getting in the other side. It was proving difficult to stay focused on anything. Your head felt heavy on your shoulders and a sort of cloudiness settled over you. A big sigh on her end. With a tight grip on the steering wheel, Sharon just stared ahead. Was she okay? Watching her for a moment, you lay your hand atop her thigh which seemingly brought her back to reality. Turning to you, she flashes a smile then starts the car. It sputters but comes to life. Nothing was shared as you move along quiet roads. It's always a little weird to see the roads so empty but that quickly changes as you cross over into lowtown. You kind of fade in and out but never entirely. It's rather like overwhelming drowsiness. The car comes to a stop outside an unfamiliar run-down building. A strange choice all things considered. However, it's not so bad once you step inside. The room floods with light revealing a relatively small space covered in an untouched layer of dust. An ugly brown coach sat next to a small old TV. A little dining table sat in the corner. Limping over the threshold, she lowers you to the cold laminated ground. With a little whine of help, you try to reach for her as she begins to walk away but it would take more strength than you have. A quiet exhale as your eyes flutter closed. "Try and stay awake," Her voice drags you back to reality in time to watch her disappear into another room. "Just for a little while." Left alone it takes everything in you not to fall back against the floor. On returning, Sharon takes up space right behind you. You assume she is checking you over as her hand graces the back of your head. Humming ever so softly to herself before slipping over your shoulders and pulling you flush against her. A low groan slips painfully from your throat. Finding a sense of comfort from being in her arms. Despite everything that happened, she still made you feel... unbelievable safe. The two of you just sit there together for a moment, feeling her chest rise and fall. It's hard to miss the blood now smudged across the floor. Things were really bad. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay? A quick shower and then you can go to bed."

You would have preferred to just go to bed but still, you nod against her. You were much too out of it to be making any sort of decisions right now. A disapproving hum as she releases you from her grip. You weren't quite ready for the moment to end. Once again, Sharon helps you to your feet but it's easier this time now that you know exactly what to expect. It still hurt desperately, it was just no longer a surprise when it happened. Stumbling towards the shoebox of a bathroom, the blonde woman turns the nob and water erupts from the showerhead on the wall. Every few seconds she would ask if you're still okay as she very carefully removes your clothes. Brown eyes drifting over every inch of your body and back up; her brow furrowing. Meeting your eyes, she reaches over to place her fingertips against your torso. Applying a little pressure, you grunt loudly stepping away. "Did that hurt?"

"Mhmm,"

Her head tilts a little. "It looks like you have a broken rib but can't know for sure."

Standing before her, you notice a large slash across her left cheek; dried blood leading from the wound. She also had a busted lip and a gash on her eyebrow. Some kind of altercation had clearly taken place. Sharon removed her clothes and was quick to step under the heavy flow of water. Holding out her hand for you to take, she leads you under the water. The heat feels surprisingly nice against your skin. Your eyes meet and then your lips connect in a kiss. The faint taste of copper lingers on her lips but it's washed away with the blood, sweat, and tears of the day. It's forceful and passionate; dripping with emotions. She may have been the reason this happened but you were still grateful she was here right now. "This shouldn't have happened," Sharon whispers softly against your lips. "I... I should have been there." The woman pulls you closer like she had completely forgotten that you were attacked by three people earlier that day. Her skin is colder than expected strongly contrasting the steaming water.

"You didn't know." You mumble into her shoulder. Sharon doesn't answer. Merely lifts your head so you were facing each other and places a sympathetic hand upon your cheek. Savouring the tenderness of the moment is enough to bring your emotions bubbling to the surface. As much as the two of you lived the high life, it took its own toll. This life was hard.  And despite never wanting it before, you sometimes wished you lived a much more mundane life but with Sharon beside you. Your brows furrow as your lip trembles. You place your hand over hers and a few tears start to fall. "...I'm scared."  There were few moments you found yourself admitting to such a thing but you'd never been attacked before. Not like this. Not because of someone else.

"I know." She replies after a moment. "I am too. I'm really fucking sorry." Leaning in again, Sharon surprises you with another kiss. It's sloppier this time. Rougher. Like she's trying to prove how sorry she is. It becomes a peppering of kisses placed carelessly across your face. You smile a little, a soft little laugh that causes you to cough. "You know I love you right?" You nod a little against her and she backs up a little. Both hands against your cheeks, she meets your gaze. "I love you so much and I am going to fix this. I will protect you."

Oh how you would like to believe those words to be true but it was a promise she could not make. It was a promise she had made many times before and look what happened today? Sharon was in the wrong business to guarantee safety. But still, you wrap your arms around her, enveloping her in a cautious hug. Letting your head fall against her shoulder. You could not possibly be more in love with this woman if you tried. You knew she would do everything in her power to keep you safe. A few minutes pass as you simply let the waterfall over you and then you actually wash up and get out. Cast in the warm glow of the bedside lamp, you're sat in the middle of a double bed with Sharon sat directly across from you. This time you allow the woman to tend to your injuries properly, dapping the back of your head with a damp cloth. "Do you think we'll be okay?"

"I do." Sharon responds sharply. "don't you?"

She drops the cloth that was now stained with spots of red to the bed. You raise your shoulders in a little shrug. Sharon was a very capable woman but it was hard not to be a little worried about the whole thing. "I don't know... I don't... exactly feel great."

"You just need to rest."

"yeah maybe," A solemn sigh slips into the air. You sit in silence as Sharon finishes up contemplating what was to come. Had this just been an attempt to scare you? Would this happen again in the future? How was Sharon even going to fix this? When she goes to close the first aid box, you stop her. Taking the lead, it was your turn to look after her and tend to her wounds. You take some cotton wool and soak it in rubbing alcohol before gently dabbing at her wounds. She doesn't quite flinch but her body tenses upon first contact suggesting it stung just a little. "I'm really sorry this happened,"

"It's fine, you should see the other guy. Besides, you look worse than I do," An attempt at humour but it doesn't land dampening your girlfriend's spirit just a little.

"I'm sorry I made you worry." Dropping the wool, you trade it for some closure strips. "I'm sorry I'm so... useless. I was caught off guard."

"You're not useless," Sharon assures you as you place one strip after the other across the injury to her cheek. "You don't have anything to apologise for. This is my fault."

You want to argue but it's too much for right now wanting nothing more than to climb under the sheets and sleep for the next week at least. "Let's just go to bed." Collecting all the items scattered across the duvet, Sharon dispossesses of the blood-soaked clothe and cotton wool before placing the bright green box on the dresser. Lingering there for a moment, you can tell something off. "You'll stay with me, right?" Turning on her heel, Sharon slides under the covers beside you. You shared a bed often but she was never one to cuddle. Tonight though, she was closer than normal. Her hand rests gently on your waist and regardless of the pain, it doesn't take long for you to drift off to sleep.

#sharon carter x reader #sharon carter #the falcon and the winter soldier #Emily VanCamp

[ultimatetornshipper]

Steam

A lot of facts could be seen as only opinions. A lot of facts could be seen as flexible depending on one's experiences and perspectives. Facts could change and facts could be more than just the part of it that you're made aware of.

Blossom knew this.

But there was one simple fact that would remain the same for all of eternity.

Blossom Utonium hated Brick Jojo.

And he hated her.

Nothing, NOTHING would change this simple fact. They were natural enemies, opposites made to challenge and contradict one another.

It was simple.

Key word being was.

It's easier to hate and despise one another when your siblings weren't all friends and dragging the two of you along every chance they got.

It's easier to hate one another when your morals are directly clashing on a weekly basis.

Yeah, they still didn't exactly agree on a lot of moral questions but the boys aren't really evil anymore either.

But when the boys stole something the girls would fight them, take it, arrest them, they'd escape and everyone would let bygones be bygones.

By everyone she meant the blues and the greens.

She was pretty sure Brick was the only one who actively wanted to still do that stuff and Boomer and Butch just followed his lead. Or maybe Mojo still had something on them. She couldn't be sure, but the point was that they still committed crimes and that was illegal so it was their job to stop them.

And she wasn't stupid, she knew full well that she and Brick were the only ones who weren't pulling their punches and treating it all like a game.

So like she said. It was simple.

Until her sisters decided to make it complicated by befriending their rivals.

Blossom despised complicated social situations.

In any other context she could handle complicated. Fights? Sure. Science? She adored it. Books? What other kind is there?

But in group and friend dynamics? It annoyed her more than yarn catching on her nail, more than nails on a chalkboard, more than a dirty, uncleanable chalkbo-

It annoyed her a lot.

Why? Because it created situations like the one she was in right now.

Where her sisters and their counterparts were play fighting and joking around while she and Brick maimed eachother.

And it was always followed by a lecture by Bubbles on how she was too hard on him and Buttercup telling her to chill out while Brick and his stupid smug smirk would mock her and wouldn't leave her alone and how his red hair would be messy afterwads and half out of his ponytail and wisps falling into his face surrounding his gorge-

No.

She flew up to dodge a kick and landed behind him, pushing him forward so that he lost his balance.

She was fighting him right now. She couldn't think about his eyes or his pink lips forming a smug little grin and how she just wanted to kiss that stupid little smile off of his dumb face-

She froze in shock.

Kiss Brick?

Since when had that been an option?

She felt him get a hit in her stomach and her bottom collided with the ground.

She shook herself out of it. Later. She could analise... whatever this was... later.

She started getting up but suddenly he was straddling her waist and pinning her hands down above her head.

She stared at him in silence for a few seconds, because he was really close now and she could see the light freckles dancing across his nose up close and-

Bad Blossom! Now is not the time! You hate him, you despise him, he is the enemy! Stop checking out the guy you're fighting!

He smirked down at her victoriously, "At a loss for words, eh, Pinky?"

She felt him lower his guard and loosen his grip and quicker than lightning she flew out beneath him.

What in the name of Einstein was wrong with her?

She flew quickly and as high as the tallest building in Townsville, then she stopped and turned around and the handsome bastard was right there in front of her-

Wait a minute- handsome?!

Blossom needed to lie down.

Sadly, he seemed determined to keep this going.

They traded blows and each time he said something she didn't reply.

She was too busy freaking out about the fact that she had not only wanted to kiss him but also mentally referred to him as handsome and what the actual frickty frack?!

"What's wrong Bow Pink? You're awfully quiet today, afraid me and my brothers are finally gonna beat you and your sheep?" Brick taunted.

Blossom's brain with all its genius level intellect then decided that the only way to deal with whatever was happening to her heart was to stuff it in a jar and bury it deep, deep down and pretend it wasn't real.

She hated him.

He hated her.

That was a fact that couldn't and wouldn't ever change.

So she did what she did best.

She riled up Brick Jojo.

"I'm not the one here with sheep, Rock," she said mockingly.

He narrowed his eyes, throwing a punch that she quickly dodged, "Oh now she speaks?"

"You finally said something worth replying to. Though I must say, Rick, I'm disappointed, I can't believe you've been reduced to using puns," she replied, kicking his side and pulling away quick enough that he couldn't grab her leg.

"It's Brick and you know it, and don't pretend you don't pun, Pinky, we both know that's a lie," he said with a small growl in his voice. Dodging her once more.

"I still think your insult was just some good old projecting. Clearly if one of us have sheep it's you. My sisters fight of their own violation," she taunted, smirking. He grabbed her and they wrestled midair, each one gaining and then losing the upperhand.

Suddenly they pulled apart, flying in circles, eyeing one another. They were both panting, clearly out of breath.

Anyone could sense the electricity crackling through the air from a mile away. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that her siblings and their counterparts have stopped fighting and were now eyeing their leaders wearily.

She'd deal with it later.

She turned her full attention back to the man in front of her as the silence grew sharper.

His shirt had small tears in places, his hair was all over the place and he sported a few new injuries. She was certain she was in a similar state.

"They choose to fight," he broke the silence, glaring at her, "I don't force them to do anything they don't want to. I don't control them,"

The sharp, delicate silence fell apart and she felt her temper flare. The electricity turned to fire and she launched herself at him and felt her eyes heat up.

"The only reason for that is the fact that you're too busy being controlled," she screamed.

She could almost taste his fury at her words and their fight went to a whole new level.

Neither of them held back anything as they shot lazerbeams and went for one another unlike ever before.

She pushed him against a building, trapping him. And for a moment they locked gazes and time froze. The anger and frustration and denied attraction flared between them like a wild electric cable, their faces only inches apart.

"Are either of us really in control, Pinky? Or are we all just the result of someone else's choices?" he whispered harshly as they gazed into one another's eyes.

She felt her guard lower only for a split second before he grabbed her and pushed her against the building.

"But then again," he said quietly, and she felt his breath mingle with her own, "maybe if we want control we need to take it ourselves,"

He closed the distance between them and she only felt his fire approach for a second before she reacted with her ice.

So that's the was he wanted to play this?

She deepend the kiss and poured all her hatred and love and frustration and attraction into it.

She bundled up his shirt in her hands and felt his own get tangled in her hair. She faintly heard his hat fall to the ground not too far below.

Yet she couldn't care less as she kissed him the way she'd never allowed herself to kiss anyone before for fear of their life.

But she could do this with him because he could counter her perfectly.

He really was her opposite, huh?

Then she registered the fact that the air around them was slightly more humid than before.

She ignored it though, because this was the best kiss she'd had in... well, ever, and she was not going to pull away because as soon as she did that it would be over and it wouldn't happen again because now that they knew that it didn't-

Blossom felt him pull her closer and pushed all her previous thoughts away. She'd worry later, for now she just allowed herself to disappear into the kiss.

A few minutes later she became aware of a rather large amount of water hitting her.

They pulled away from one another in search of the source.

She quickly noticed that Brick was in a similar state as her and they turned to find their siblings staring at them.

Bubbles was holding the hosepipe that was likely the source of the water and Buttercup handed Butch 20 dollars.

"Really?" Her black haired sister asked, "You couldn't have waited just three more days for your murder make out session?"

"Our what?" she asked while Brick replied with a simple, "Fuck you,"

"Actually, Brick, you've got the wrong sister, I'm Buttercup, the one you wanna fuck is in your arms, her name is Blossom," Buttercup replied slowly, in a mocking tone of voice.

The red heads turned to look at each other and when they noticed their proximity, they jumped away from one another like the other had the plague.

Brick turned to them, "I was trying to kill her!"

And Blossom followed suit, "And I was just defending myself!"

"Nothing else!" They said at the same time.

Bubbles rolled her eyes and Boomer smirked. Butch waved them away, "Don't worry we have a completely different bet for when you two will acknowledge and accept your feelings for one another,"

"Yeah, and I can still win it!" Buttercup agreed.

"Feelings? What feelings?!" Blossom screamed, "Bubbles, tell Buttercup she's being ridiculous,"

Bubbles rised an unimpressed eyebrow, "Bloss, you're both redder than Brick's cap,"

"And you just spent 10 minutes making out so much that literal steam started surrounding you," Boomer snickered.

No matter how much Blossom or Brick denied it, no one in all of Townsville believed their denial after that day.

Buttercup won the second bet.

Approximately 3 months after what was dubbed their first Murder Makeout session the two finally confessed to one another.

Those 3 months are another story entirely.

But it was this that proved to Blossom that truly no fact was concrete, facts changed and facts expanded. Facts were flexible depending on your experience and perspectives.

And the fact was that while once upon a time, maybe Blossom did hate Brick and maybe Brick did hate Blossom, things changed.

But that mutual hatred melted away into something new, something beautiful, something flexible.

Something a little bit like steam.

Authors note:

Inspired by this post

I don't plan to continue this but if someone wants to continue or expand this idea or world like tag me I'd love to read it

Thanks to @maltrashdump for coming up with this idea, I love it, hope u enjoy my version of it

Also sorry for not putting a read more thing I'm on mobile atm

#ppg x rrb #blossick #jjwgsiwkwpqlwjwbs i had so much fun writing this #no beta we die like- #wait no I can't make that joke that's really dark #okay welp #i love brick #i love blossom #i love me some good enemies to rivals to lovers #or just enemies to lovers #villian x hero #heheheheeeee #reds #blossom utonium #brick jojo #background greens and blues but platonic #yeeee #blossom x brick #utp writes #teto writes #yay #enjoy~ #powerpuff girls #rowdyruff boys

[womenstan]

One More Night - P.4

Let Me Forget You

Summary "Now, Sander held the power of breaking this thing off whenever and leaving Robbe a mess again. But, Robbe had decided he wasn’t going to let that happen. He wasn’t just going to sit still and look pretty until Sander decided he’d had enough of him. Besides, it was nothing more than sex between them. He could live without it, or find it elsewhere.

He was going to stop this thing and he was going to move on.

How difficult could it be, right?"

Part four of one more night

Robbe had always been one to overthink things, to let them stew and simmer in his mind for hours on end, until they either stopped making sense or managed to completely freak him out.

This time, it was the latter. He hadn’t meant to keep thinking about Sander, or, rather, the feelings the simple mention of that name evoked in him. Yet, here he was, two days later, unable to focus on anything else.

He’d known since the beginning that they were walking a very thin and dangerous line and that this was never going to end well, but now he was starting to realize he might have a lot more to lose here than Sander did.

He’d tried to ignore it, push it to the farthest corners of his mind, but to no avail. He knew that once he would enter Sander’s vicinity, his brain would lose all sense of logic and he’d just end up repeating the same mistake again and again and again… until Sander got bored and ditched him again, probably.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried to resist, but simply ignoring Sander didn’t seem to be an option, as they constantly ended up in each other’s way. So, he couldn’t ignore him, but there was no way he was going to let Sander win this either.

The angry, fiery sex was great. No, it was beyond amazing and by far the best Robbe had ever had. He was like an addict who needed his fix and that gave Sander the upper hand over him, which Robbe really, really hated. He’d walked right into it too, promising himself he’d never have anything to do with that guy again, before jumping into his bed, both figuratively and literally.

Now, Sander held the power of breaking this thing off whenever and leaving Robbe a mess again. But, Robbe had decided he wasn’t going to let that happen. He wasn’t just going to sit still and look pretty until Sander decided he’d had enough of him. Besides, it was nothing more than sex between them. He could live without it, or find it elsewhere.

He was going to stop this thing and he was going to move on.

How difficult could it be, right?

----

Turns out the answer was: very fucking difficult.

Not only did they attend the same university, but they also both followed classes in the same wing and hung out at the same parties.

Robbe managed to avoid Sander at school by only showing up to his classes and never hanging out at the library afterwards, but this solution could only last so long. So, he needed a plan.

“Milan, what? I’m not going to fuck some guy just to get over this thing with Sander!” Robbe exclaimed, incredulous.

Milan sighed, sitting down next to him on the bed while throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “Fine, Robbe, be boring, then!”

Robbe huffed at that, already regretting coming to Milan for advice. Milan crossed his arms, pouting, before turning his back to Robbe. They stayed in silence for a bit, as Robbe was starting to consider having to switch universities to get out of this.

Suddenly, Milan spun back towards Robbe, grabbing him by the arms in excitement. Robbe arched one his eyebrows in question, prompting Milan to inhale dramatically.

“Ok, I have a solution,” Milan said, which only made Robbe scrunch his face in doubt. “And before you ask, no , it doesn’t involve sex or illegal activities.”

Now, Robbe’s curiosity was piqued. “Go ahead, but I swear if you suggest your cousin aga-“

“No, no, I swear! How was I supposed to know he was married, Robbe, seriously!” Milan interrupted, waving Robbe off. “ Anyways , no, I’m talking about Theo .”

Robbe felt his hopes get crushed all at once. “Milan, no. I can’t.”

Milan tutted him, but Robbe just kept shaking his head in disbelief. “No, Milan, that guy has, like, genuine feelings. I can’t just use him for this!”

Theo was a barista at the university’s small student café. At first, Robbe had thought he was simply extremely nice, but his kindness had escalated into flirting quickly enough. He was very obviously interested in Robbe and he wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it. And the thing was that he was far from ugly. Theo was a little taller than Robbe and objectively handsome with his side-swept brown hair and his deep blue eyes that seemed to read into your soul when he looked at you. He was also really nice, which might actually be part of the problem. He was so, so, nice that he ended up being quite… boring. Every time Robbe stopped to grab a coffee, he prayed to every single God he could remember that Theo wouldn’t get the guts to ask him out. So far, he’d been safe.

See, Robbe wasn’t good at saying no to people. He hated seeing the hurt on their faces and he felt guilty every time he’d see them again. So, he was pretty sure he’d end up saying yes if Theo proposed a date and he really didn’t think he could survive going out with Theo without falling asleep on him.

So, he couldn’t just use him to get over Sander. He wasn’t that kind of person.

Milan got up and walked towards the door without saying a word, which only aggravated Robbe even more.

“I won’t do this to him, Milan!”

-----

And he really, really wasn’t going to. But then, as he was walking to his last class the next day, he caught sight of a sliver of white hair out of the corner of his eyes and his brain kind of just stopped working.

He couldn’t even think about escaping before Sander’s gaze had met his.

“Robin. Long time no see.” Sander said. He didn’t even bother smirking to smooth his tone over, all coldness and anger that sent chills up Robbe’s spine.

Robbe laughed dryly, his otherwise good mood crushed in an instant. “Yeah, too bad you decided to ruin it, hm?”

Sander stepped closer to Robbe, making him take some tentative steps back towards the wall. The corridors were mostly empty now, most students having already reached their classes. Robbe should definitely follow suit if he doesn’t want to be late, which he definitely doesn’t, considering how strict this teacher is and how behind he is in the course. But it’s as if his body stopped obeying his mind, his feet rooted in place as if cemented into the floor.

“How long are we gonna keep playing cat and mouse for?” Sander said, voice low and hoarse, letting Robbe know he was actually pissed off by Robbe’s avoidance.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

If Robbe had thought Sander was mad before, it was nothing compared to now. His eyes had gone dim and narrow and if the way his breathing became more labored was any indication, Robbe was in trouble.

He looked to his left, then to his right, but Sander’s body was pretty much crowding him, making it impossible for Robbe to simply walk away without a confrontation.

“Oh, really? ‘Cause that’s not what you were saying last week when you couldn’t get your hands off me at that party and I had to drag your drunk ass home.”

Robbe’s head snapped back to Sander’s, now angry as well. “Fuck off, I was drunk. Of course I’d try to go for someone like you.”

Sander’s hands slammed the wall on each side of Robbe’s head, making him flinch slightly. They were so close by now that Robbe could feel Sander’s hot breath on his face, which was only slightly distracting him from the hurt that flared in Sander’s gaze.

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” Sander asked, practically growling with anger.

If it was anyone else, Robbe might have felt bad about what he’d insinuated. But this was Sander and making Sander angry only resulted in making Robbe even angrier.

Raising his chin to match Sander’s height, Robbe locked his eyes with his, trying to appear as unbothered as he could. “Someone who’d fuck anything with a heartbeat,” he spat out, smirking at the way Sander’s face fell.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sander said, eyes closed and sounding out of breath.

Robbe’s brain was no longer thinking logically, completely wrapped up in the tension electrifying the air between them.

“Make me then.”

And for once, Sander didn’t respond with some snarky remark to one-up Robbe. He just dived right in.

Fumbling behind Robbe, Sander pushed open a nearby door, gripping Robbe’s shirt and pulling them in. He shut the door close with his right foot, shoving Robbe against a shelf roughly.

Robbe winced a little as he was sent backwards, preparing himself for the landing, but Sander managed to slip his hand behind his head just in time to avoid a collision. Robbe sighed in relief, but the end of his sigh was caught by Sander’s mouth on his, harsh and demanding.

Instinctively, Robbe’s hands went up to Sander’s hair, twisting his fingers in the strands and pulling in desire. Sander’s moan was barely audible, swallowed somewhere in their kiss. As Sander’s tongue found its way to Robbe’s mouth, his fingers slipped to Robbe’s waist, holding him tightly against the shelf.

The room was entirely silent, apart from the wet sound of their mouths gliding together and the occasional whimper from either of them. Robbe had closed his eyes as soon as he’d felt Sander push him back into the room, but as Sander’s mouth navigated to his neck, he took the time to look at their surroundings.

Sander had ushered them into a closet, buckets and mops laying all around as the air smelled distinctly of cleaning products. It was dark, the only light coming from the small crack under the closed door and Robbe could barely make out where he ended and where Sander started.

His train of thoughts was quickly interrupted by Sander’s teeth sinking into the delicate skin of his neck, pulling and sucking. His head fell back against the self as his eyes rolled back a little, overwhelmed with the sensations. He was really glad for Sander’s hands on his waist keeping him upright, because he was pretty sure they were about to give out.

As Sander kept sucking his way along Robbe’s neck, Robbe brought his hands down to the hem of Sander’s shirt, pulling a little. Sander seemed so absorbed in his task that he didn’t react to Robbe’s touch, forcing him to physically get Sander’s head away from his neck.

“Sander,” Robbe said, as Sander just grunted, clearly annoyed he’d been interrupted. “Sander. Shirt off.”

That seemed to wake Sander up from his daze, as he quickly got rid of his shirt, before removing Robbe’s in one swift move. The second Robbe’s shirt hit the floor, Sander’s mouth was already back on him, making its way down his chest.

Robbe had to stifle a moan with his hand when Sander got to the edge of his pants, sucking yet another bruise there. Sander was taking his time, clearly enjoying the way he could make Robbe squirm with his mouth.

Robbe’s hands had found a home in Sander’s hair, pulling especially hard to make Sander go faster. It had the reverse effect, as Sander slowed his sucking down to come soothe the mark with his tongue, licking slowly over Robbe’s skin.

Robbe whined a little, annoyed at how slow this was going. Sander chuckled, clearly amused at how eager Robbe was to move this along and decided he’d made Robbe suffer enough.

In an instant, his hands were on Robbe’s belt, struggling with the buckle for a few seconds before harshly pulling it out of its hoops and throwing it behind him carelessly. Sander hooked his fingers in both Robbe’s jeans and underwear, tugging them down in one swift move as he dropped to his knees.

Sander’s hands gripped Robbe’s waist hard, making sure he wasn’t going to move. As Robbe brought one of his hands to Sander’s neck, the other still twisted in his hair, he felt Sander breath heavy on his skin. He barely had a moment to register the heat before Sander’s mouth wrapped around him, all warm and wet. All Robbe could feel was pure bliss, closing his eyes shut as Sander moved his head back and forth.

He’d had sex with other guys before Sander, but right now, he couldn’t remember a single one of them. It was like Sander’s mouth had wiped his slate clean at the first flick of his tongue.

Robbe’s muscles ached from how hard he was clenching them, and he could feel his toe curling in his shoes. It was so unbelievably good that it had made Robbe forget all about the promise he’d made to himself.

That’s what Sander did to him, he made him throw all caution out the window and indulge himself in this bad, bad, mistake.

Because that’s what this was: a mistake.

As Sander moved his head a little faster, Robbe’s brain started screaming danger at him, making panic rise up in his chest.

“Sander. Sander! Wait, wait, wait, stop,” Robbe stuttered out, pushing at Sander’s shoulders.

Sander immediately pulled back, his eyes wide and worried. Robbe hurried to pull his pants back up, refusing to even look Sander’s way.

“Robbe?” Sander asked, voice low and careful.

He took a tentative step towards Robbe who immediately threw his hands up to stop him. “Don’t.” Robbe bent down to pick his shirt up, throwing it on carelessly. “It’s fine, I’m fine, I just have to… go.”

With that, he practically ran for the door, knocking over one of the mops on the way. Sander just stared at him, confusion, but mostly concern, written all over his face.

As he opened the door and stepped out, Robbe had to fight the urge to look back at Sander, instead choosing to swallow his shame and hurry out of the room, out of the corridor and out of the school.

----

After the complete humiliation that had been, Robbe swore to Milan he was never going to show his face again to uni. He was just going to have to change university, or even country, to make sure he’d never have to cross paths with Sander again. There was no other choice.

But there actually was another choice, which Milan kindly reminded him of.

Theo.

So, here Robbe was, nervously fiddling with his headphones as he queued at the small café where he knew Theo was working today. He knew that because he’d usually try to avoid coming in at this time, just so he’d be sure he wouldn’t be subjected to Theo’s flirting. Today, though, he was hoping for the exact opposite.

“Welcome to Café Het Hoekje, how may I—” Theo began, raising his head at the same time and coming to an abrupt stop as his gaze fell upon Robbe. “Oh! Robbe!”

He straightened up a bit, his bored expression transforming into a radiant smile. “Hey, how are you?”

Robbe ran a hand through his hair, a habit he couldn’t seem to shake, and smiled back at Theo. “Hey! Yeah, I’m good, you?”

Theo nodded enthusiastically, seeming overjoyed that Robbe cared enough to ask him how he’d been. That made Robbe’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Yeah, I mean, it was fine. I’m better now that you’re here.” Theo added, punctuating his sentence with a wink.

Robbe chuckled slightly, already wondering if he should just order coffee as usual, leave and forget all about his plan.

Theo leaned slightly on his forearms, shortening the safe distance the counter between the two of them provided.

“I missed you,” He said, whispering so only Robbe would hear.

Theo had always been very forward in his flirting and Robbe was more than expecting it, but he still blushed a little. It was now or never, so Robbe inhaled deeply, before putting on his most charming smile.

“Me too. Say, how about we grab some coffee after your shift?” Robbe asked, trying his hardest to stop his voice from shaking as he spoke. His mind was begging for him to stop, but Robbe simply ignored it, smiling a little more and shoving his hands inside his pockets so he’d stop playing with the hem of his jacket.

Theo’s face was almost comical, as his eyes grew wide and his jaw dropped open. He stayed frozen in place for a few seconds, as if he was expecting Robbe to laugh and say it was just a joke. Theo shook himself out of it, coughing awkwardly before immediately letting out a quick series of ‘yes.’

Robbe took pity on him, asking him when he was off and promising he’d be back for him then. Theo answered each question a beat too late, as if in a daze.

When Robbe made to leave the café, he heard Theo shout after him, half-walking, half-jogging up to him, a piece of paper in his hand.

“Robbe! Here, my number. Just in case,” he said, his tone assured, having clearly regained his confidence on his way over.

Robbe smiled, grabbing the paper and sliding it inside his pocket. He thanked Theo, who just winked at him again, before walking back towards the counter. Robbe watched him go, smiling a little to himself, proud that his plan had so easily worked. As he pushed through the door and breathed the soft outside air, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t going to regret this.

Sadly, that feeling didn’t last long. As soon as he sat down facing Theo, a steaming cup of cappuccino in his hands, the worries came back to him like a slap in the face. He was worried about hurting Theo, about getting over Sander, about not getting over Sander. The more he tried to forget about it, the more he ended up relating everything to him. It was like Sander had lodged itself in a corner of his mind and now refused to leave. He had a Sander shaped squatter in his brain and he was really getting fed up with it.

“Robbe?” Theo said, slowly, bringing Robbe out of his thoughts so abruptly he almost felt whiplash.

Robbe sent him a sorry smile, before asking him to, please , repeat what he’d said. Theo shook his head while laughing, as if Robbe had just told him something unbelievably funny. From the look in Theo’s eyes, Robbe wouldn’t doubt he thought Robbe was too absorbed by him and stopped listening to look. God, he felt like such a fucking asshole.

“I just asked how your classes were going,” Theo finally said, still wearing a proud smirk, not unlike the ones Sander sent him time after time. On Theo, however, it simply looked wrong. While it suited Sander, as if his face was molded to accomodate a smirk, Theo’s looked uncomfortably twisted.

“Yeah, I’m really busy, but other than that, it’s going fine,” Robbe answered, barely managing to lift the corner of his lips high enough to qualify for a smile. “I mean I have this really stressful exam thursday in the hall…”

Theo nodded solemnly at that. “Ah, semi-finals, right?” Robbe nodded, sighing a small ‘yeah.’ “When’s yours, in the morning?”

“Nah, thank God. I’m from one to four pm,” Robbe said, feeling his eyes drift to the side despite himself. They weren’t alone, but the café was empty enough that he probably wouldn’t be meeting anyone he knew. He was glad for that sense of intimacy, because he wasn’t sure he’d know how to explain what he was doing with ‘won’t-stop-flirting-with-me-please-help-jens-I’ll-literally-pay-you’ Theo to one of his friends.

Theo nodded again, sipping his own drink carefully. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to hesitate before any word could leave his mouth. He breathed deeply, as if to steel himself, and now Robbe was starting to get properly nervous.

“Look, Robbe, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be one hundred percent honest, alright?” Robbe gulped hard, nodding his head nonchalantly, despite his heart rising up to his throat. Theo knew. Somehow, he knew that Robbe was using him and this whole thing would fail.

“So… Do you, like, have a boyfriend?” Theo asked finally, refusing to meet Robbe’s eyes.

Robbe frowned, taking a few seconds to process what Theo had just asked him, before starting to laugh.

“A boyfriend? What? No way!” Robbe answered, stifling his laugh awkwardly with a slight cough.

Theo’s face lit up instantly, as he straightened his back and brought his eyes back to Robbe. Green eyes, just like Sander. Well, not nearly as beautiful.

“Oh? Great, that’s great! I just saw you with this guy at a few parties, so I thought…” Theo trailed off, scratching his neck.

Robbe furrowed his eyebrows, unsure he understood what Theo was talking about.

“Guy? What guy?”

Theo half-shrugged, giving Robbe a lopsided smile. “The blonde guy? From Arts?” Sander.

“Sander?” Robbe asked, prompting Theo to nod hesitantly. “God, no, Sander isn’t my boyfriend. I mean, we… you know, a couple of times, but there were zero feelings there.”

Theo laid his right hand over his heart, dramatically exhaling. “Good. That’d be too bad.”

Robbe smiled, giving him a small nod. Yeah… too bad .

----------

“No, Jens, you don’t understand. I had to order three cups just to make sure I wouldn’t fall asleep on him!” Robbe said, laughing along with the other boys.

Jens laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, giving him a serious look. “What about the plan then?”

Robbe sighed, shaking himself out of Jens’s grip. “Man, fuck the plan.”

That got him another round of laughs and a clap on the back from Moyo, whose approval didn’t actually feel good at all.

“It was a shit plan from the start, anyway,” Jens added. Robbe nodded vehemently, before plopping himself down next to him at the table.

Moyo clapped his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “So, guys, time for serious matters now,” he paused, turning to look at each of their clueless faces, before he sighed and continued, “Tomorrow’s party, jongens!”

The three other boys cheered him on, Robbe included. A party was exactly what he needed to forget the Theo Fiasco. He’d get really, really drunk, so he could, one, not think about Theo and, two, not sleep with Sander in inadvertance. It was essentially a fool-proof plan.

“God I can’t wait to get laid!” Aaron said in a whiny voice, which only made everyone erupt in laughter again.

“Aaron, you’re as likely to get laid as Jens is to graduate in time,” Moyo said, laughing at his own joke as Aaron just looked away, defeated. Jens mocked him, saying Moyo wasn’t anywhere near any of those two things, which only resulted in Moyo’s protesting.

“Man, for someone who loves teasing so much, you really can’t take a joke,” Jens said, shaking his head with a smile.

Moyo smiled as well, shrugging. “A man’s gotta defend his honour, Jens.”

They all went back to their phone, scrolling aimlessly. Robbe was jumping from profile to profile on Instagram, trying to find anything that would capture his attention. When he fell upon a picture of Theo smiling with the caption ‘To new beginnings!’, he closed the app, shut his phone off and slid it in his pocket, sighing.

“Guys, who’s keeping the stash this time? I don’t want to have to run from the police again like last time because you’re a bunch of cowards,” Robbe said. At their last party, Moyo had gotten too scared and chucked the weed at him. A cop had seen the interaction and started approaching Robbe who, naturally, ran out of the back of the house. He heard shouts following him, but he just ran until he couldn’t feel his lungs, satisfied when he realized he’d lost the cop somewhere along the way.

Moyo groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Can’t we just decide that at the party?” Robbe opened his mouth to retort, but he was immediately interrupted.

“Party? What party?”

Robbe’s head whipped to the side, only to find Theo, fucking Theo , standing right next to their table, seemingly oblivious to the fact that he was clearly interrupting something.

Robbe turned towards Jens, sending him a panicked look, silently trying to convey that he shouldn’t mention the party. To his demise, Jens just smiled back at him, clearly intending to have some fun at Robbe’s expense.

“Hey Theo! Good to see you, man!” Jens said, exchanging a handshake with him. “We’re going to a party friday night, I’m sure Robbe told you all about it, right?”

If looks could kill, then Jens would be dead and buried, from the way Robbe was trying to drill holes into his skull with his stare.

Theo shifted uncomfortably on his feet, turning to Robbe in question. “Uh, no, he hadn’t?”

Fucking Jens. He was so going to pay for this.

Robbe tried to swallow back his anger as best as he could, before turning towards Theo and offering him a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah, I was just about to text you, actually. D’you wanna come with?” Robbe asked, silently praying Theo would be otherwise occupied.

However, he could feel his hope shrivel up and die inside of him as Theo smiled brightly and nodded. “Yeah! Of course. I’ll pick you up around seven and we can pregame together?”

Robbe coughed, trying to hide his eagerness to end this conversation as he racked his brain for an excuse.

“Eh, I’m actually already pregaming with my friends, but I’ll meet you there?” Robbe said, hoping Theo wouldn’t try to get himself invited to the pre-party too.

Thankfully, he didn’t, smiling again, always , before agreeing to meet him there around nine.

As soon as Theo was out of earshot, Robbe turned to Jens furiously.

“Seriously Jens! You’re a fucking asshole!”

Jens just laughed, sending Robbe a look that suggested Robbe might have been an asshole too. Sighing, Robbe let his head drop in his arms, facing the table and closed his eyes.

“Fuck my life.”

-----------

Robbe hadn’t managed to get drunk at the pre-party like he’d planned to. The boys had hogged the beers at first, relenting a grand total of two beers to Robbe, claiming he had to be sober to meet Theo.

Robbe really needed to find new friends.

So, here he was, sitting on a couch with his third beer in, like, four hours, and bored out of his mind. He watched the people come and go, dancing in the middle of the room or making out in darkened corners. The walls were illuminated by a soft glow, emanating from tiny colourful led lights stuck all around. The stereo was playing some rap song Robbe didn’t know the name of, but he didn’t mind. He wasn’t even paying attention to the music.

Ever since they’d entered the party about half an hour earlier, Robbe had been on the lookout for a familiar strike of white. He hadn’t realized he’d been searching for him at first, but once he did, he chucked it off to habits and went to sit down where he was still currently sipping his drink.

He leaned his head backwards on the couch, closing his eyes slowly. Theo had texted him a few minutes ago that he was almost there, so Robbe’s peace was sure to be short-lived. He could try and escape, but he already felt like the biggest asshole on Earth, so he wasn’t going to also stand him up.

He’d meet Theo, have a few drinks with him and then excuse himself by making up some bullshit excuse and he’d go home to wallow in his own misery alone.

Feeling a light tap on his left shoulder, Robbe opened one of his eyes to peek at the person who’d decided to interrupt his small repose.

Theo , of course. At least now he could get this over with and get back to his bed.

“Hey! Sorry for the wait,” Theo greeted him, with his ever-lasting smile. Robbe wondered if he’d keep smiling if he told him why Robbe had even asked him out to begin with.

“No problem. I just…” Robbe gestured around him, unsure himself what exactly he was trying to say.

Theo sat next to him, their entire sides completely plastered to each other and Robbe felt a little like he was choking on air, and not in a good way.

They talked for a bit and in the time it took Robbe to even finish his beer, Theo had gone through more than a few unidentified sugary drinks, becoming more and more self-assured and talkative.

“Come dance!” Theo exclaimed, pulling on Robbe’s arm. Robbe shook his head, firmly sinking himself down further onto the sofa.

“No, no, I don’t dance”

Theo tutted him, unrelenting in his tugging. “Everyone dances! Come on, alsjeblieft…” Theo pouted, probably aiming to convince Robbe with his puppy eyes. The truth was, Robbe had invented that trick and he wasn’t about to be swayed by an amateur. However, he was tired and he had an inkling that Theo wouldn’t stop until he got Robbe up on that dancefloor.

So, up he went.

The song had moved on to something more upbeat and clubby, but Robbe couldn’t make his limbs move in any way that resembled dancing unless he was properly hammered, which, again, he wasn’t.

Theo really didn’t seem to mind though, as he was dancing closer and closer to Robbe. As Theo’s hands came in contact with Robbe’s skin, his own hands instinctively rose up to the other’s hair.

He tried to push his thoughts away, but he couldn’t help comparing it to what he knew best: Sander. Theo’s hair was shorter and while it was well kept, it lacked the distinctive softness Sander’s had. It didn’t please Robbe’s fingers the way Sander’s did and when he tugged on the strands a little, the sound that escaped Theo’s mouth filled Robbe with disappointment. It didn’t make him hot all over, it didn’t make him want to burrow his fingers even deeper, no, instead Robbe had to fight the urge to pull his hands back entirely.

When Theo brought one of his hands to Robbe’s neck, guiding his head towards him and leaning in, it took everything in Robbe not to push him away. Their lips met harshly, but it didn’t feel like it should. Like he knew it would with a certain someone else.

As their lips glided together, the kiss felt sloppy and where Robbe couldn’t get enough of Sander’s hands on him, Theo’s felt scorching and bruising. Theo pushed a little forward, trying to deepen their kiss, but Robbe leaned his head back and away a little to prevent access.

This didn’t seem to dether Theo, however, who just slowly slid his mouth on Robbe’s jaw, all the way to his neck. Robbe felt a little dazed, as if he was having an out of body experience. He could feel Theo pull onto a small bit of skin on his neck with his teeth, but he didn’t get the wave of pleasure that usually came with it. It wasn’t painful, it just… wasn’t very much. When Sander would get a hold of his neck, however… Robbe was pretty sure he could come simply from Sander sucking hickeys onto him.

Theo bit a little harder, probably trying to get some kind of reaction from Robbe. Robbe brought his hands up, intending to detach Theo from where he was sucking like a leech at his neck, but before he could reach Theo, he felt him back away quickly.

Confused, Robbe blinked a few times to make the room clearer. That’s when he saw that Theo hadn’t backed away, he’d been quite literally rippedaway from Robbe.

By none other than the blonde who’d been occupying Robbe’s brain himself.

“What the fuck, man!?” Theo shouted at Sander, panting as he tried to regain control of his breathing.

Sander wasn’t paying him any attention, though, all of his focus being on Robbe. He looked a little disheveled, his hair in disarray and his pupils blown. Robbe had seen him in a similar state before, but it was usually while they were right about to have sex, pleasure and anticipation written all over his features. Now, all he could see on Sander’s face was a heart-wrenching mixture of anger and betrayal.

“Sander? What… Why...?” Robbe started, unable to find the right words to voice his thoughts.

Sander’s gaze bore into Robbe’s and it was painful to maintain, but Robbe was unable to tear his eyes away, in a trance-like state.

Theo’s voice shook him out of it, cutting through the tension like a sharp knife.

“So you’re Sander, I thought that was you too, with the whole…” Theo looked Sander up and down with a slight scrunch of his nose. “Moody thing going on.”

Sander finally turned his head towards him, his jaw clenching as soon as his eyes landed on Theo.

“Stay away from this.” He turned back to Robbe, clearly unbothered by Theo’s presence. “I knew you were an ass—”

Theo cut him off, now sounding angry as well. “Just because Robbe doesn’t have feelings for you doesn’t mean you get to insult him like this.”

Robbe knew he should intervene, prevent the situation from escalating, but he felt frozen in place. His brain was in overdrive and he just felt like running away, but his legs refused to obey. So, he stared, helpless, as they bickered on.

“Ok, who the fuck are you exactly?” Sander growled at Theo, rising the volume of his voice even more. By now, they were practically screaming and Robbe was thankful for the loud music covering the exchange from prying ears.

Theo puffed his chest out a little, a gesture which would have made Robbe laugh under any other circumstance, staring right at Sander as he said, “His date. Who are you ?”

Sander’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline at the bold answer, but the surprise on his traits was soon replaced by conceit. He smirked, quirking his mouth in just the right way to seem insolent and charming at the same time.

To anyone else, Sander might have looked like he was going to make a silly joke, but Robbe knew him better than that.

“I’m the guy who had him screaming under me more times than I can count, but I guess Robbe failed to mention that, hm?” Sander answered, turning to Robbe, wearing his most innocent smile. “Right, Robbe?”

Robbe looked away, unwilling to play into Sander’s game, but also unable to deny what he’d said.

Sander turned back to Theo, whose face had turned completely red, both from embarrassment and anger, Robbe guessed.

“No, really, was it not a problem for you? I got worried my neighbours would send a formal complaint,” Sander laughed, dryly, his tone void of humour. At the sight of Theo’s reddened face and Robbe’s avoiding eyes, something lit up in Sander’s eyes, as if he’d just made the link he needed to deliver the last blow.

“Oh, have you not…? Oh, well that’s awkward, isn’t it?” Sander smiled, as Theo took a step towards him. Instead of backing away, Sander gave him a little pout, before letting out a small ‘Oops?’ that suggested he was anything, but sorry.

Robbe felt like he was boiling inside with shame, but, more than anything, he wanted this whole thing to be over. As he raised his foot to take a step between the two boys, he was cut off by Theo’s fist flying towards Sander.

Robbe let out a small scream, but Theo missed Sander by a good few inches. Robbe was about to sigh in relief, thankful Theo wasn’t sober, when he saw Sander reel his own arm back.

It happened like in slow motion. Robbe, standing there, dumbfounded, as Sander punched Theo square in the jaw, making him stumble a few steps to the side. Some blood fell into Theo’s hand and the mere sight of it sprung Robbe into action.

“Enough!” He screamed, making both boys turn to him. “You’re acting like two fucking macho idiots! You guys keep fighting it out, I don’t care, I’m going the fuck home.”

With that, Robbe turned on his heels, pushing through the swarms of bodies and heading straight for the door. He stomped his way down the alley, angry at Theo, at Sander, but mostly at himself.

As he reached the street, he could hear his name being called from behind, but he didn’t stop. He kept going, satisfied when the screaming stopped following him. He slowed down, feeling so overwhelmed he thought he might start to cry. As he came to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk, a familiar hand wrapped around his wrist, gently, but firmly turning him around.

It was Sander, of course it was. The only thing that kept Robbe from wretching his arm away from Sander’s hold was the creases of worry that were etched into his forehead. The anger from earlier was gone and the emotions whirling in Sander’s eyes gripped and pulled at Robbe’s heart.

“Robbe…” Sander started. His tone was low and calm, almost tender in the way it’d been last time when Robbe had  freaked out in the closet. It pained Robbe, probably a lot more than anger would have.

“Sander. I’m tired, ok, I just… Can we just not fight for one night?” Robbe pleaded, truly feeling like his bones suddenly weighed more than they should. He was tired, tired of this, tired of not knowing, tired of the push-and-pull, just so tired.

Sander stared at him for a beat, staying silent. Robbe sighed, starting to pull his arm away, but Sander held on.

“I don’t want to fight,” Sander said quickly, as if he was worried Robbe would run away if he took one second too long to answer. Robbe wasn’t even sure he had the energy left to walk, let alone run.

“Then what, Sander?” Robbe asked, trying to sound annoyed, but ending up somewhere between fatigue and worry.

This time it was Sander’s turn to sigh, running his free hand through his strands of hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said, finally, making sure he held Robbe’s gaze as he spoke. “For what I said, in there. I’m not sorry I punched that asshole,” Robbe gave him a warning look, but Sander just winked and kept going.

“I’m not. He deserved it. But I am sorry for what I said about you. I was angry and I had no right to say that. I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore.”As soon as he was done talking, Sander averted his eyes , refusing to see Robbe’s reaction to his words.

Robbe wasn’t sure what he was meant to think, but he knew one thing: he was exhausted of thinking.

So, he did the first thing that went through his mind, stepping closer to Sander and latching onto his lips.

Sander immediately responded, pressing back against Robbe’s lips. Their usual kisses were heated and filled with urgency, but this one was anything but. Their lips met softly and they kissed leisurely, savoring every second of it. As Sander’s hands came to their spot on Robbe’s waist, their creases almost imprinted there, Robbe broke the kiss off slowly. He quickly pecked Sander’s lips one more time, making the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.

“Come over?” Robbe asked, whispering. He felt like a single loud noise could shatter the bubble they made in the alley.

Sander rubbed his nose with Robbe’s softly, breathing out a ‘yes’ in the air between them.

The walk over to Robbe’s apartment was slow. They walked side by side, stopping from time to time to steal a kiss or two. Their smile was permanent and the air between them felt playful and void of its usual tension. Yet, it didn’t feel like anything was missing, on the contrary. Robbe felt full and light, as he raced Sander for the last mile to his front door.

Robbe won, obviously, but his words lacked their usual bite when he called Sander ‘slow as fuck’. They made their way upstairs, Robbe constantly having to shush Sander who was tripping over the stairs from trying to get up first.

“Sander!” Robbe screamed in a hushed voice, “I have roommates, be quiet!”

Sander only turned around briefly to offer him a toothy grin, before he’d go right back to his antics. Robbe laughed along, following him inside the apartment and all the way to his bedroom.

They took their shoes and jackets off, throwing them carelessly on the floor. Sander walked towards Robbe, making him take steps backwards until his knees hit the bed. He smirked up at Sander as he let himself fall ungraciously on the bed. Sander laughed, maneuvering him around a bit to comfortably climb over.

Sander’s face appeared right above Robbe’s, both smiling at each other like idiots. Sander raised his hand, slowly bringing it to Robbe’s face. He caressed the side of his face slowly, settling his palm over his jaw, right where the disappearing bruise of their distant fight remained.

Sander bent down, wetting his lips with his tongue right before he met Robbe’s mouth. That kiss was just like the one they’d shared outside of the party, slower and softer than their usuals, but just as passionate. Robbe brought his hand to Sander’s hair, tucking a strand behind his ear before brushing his fingers through it.

The familiar feeling made him smile into their kiss, which in turn made Sander lean his head back, one eyebrow raised in question.

“I missed your hair,” Robbe half-whined, tucking on a few strands to demonstrate his point. Sander snorted, resting his forehead on Robbe’s.

“Only my hair? I’m hurt,” Sander teased, but Robbe winced, hearing the honesty behind the banter.

Robbe held Sander’s entire face between his two palms, locking it in place. “No. I missed you too.” Robbe said, hoping that Sander could hear the honesty in his voice too.

Robbe saw something twitch in Sander’s eyes, like a crack in the wall he’d carefully built around himself. Sander nodded, serious, before his lips curved into yet another smirk.

“Oh, yeah? Any parts of me in particular?”

Robbe smiled, pretending to think it over. Sander took advantage of Robbe’s distraction to slide his free hand under his shirt, stroking his skin softly. Robbe’s muscles shifted under Sander’s palm and Robbe let out an involuntary gasp, making Sander look at him proudly.

“Yeah, your hands,” Robbe said quietly.

Sander smiled even more. “What else?” He asked, now bringing both hands under Robbe’s shirt, lifting it up slightly. Robbe curved his back a little to help Sander pull the shirt off. Robbe tucked at Sander’s shirt, removing it swiftly so he could have Sander’s hands on him again.

Without breaking eye contact, Sander lowered himself until his head was over Robbe’s chest, pressing his lips right above his stomach as he trailed his way down with open-mouthed kisses. Robbe sighed with satisfaction, sinking further in the mattress.

Suddenly, as Sander started sucking a bruise on his hip, Robbe remembered the singular hickey Theo had been trying to etch into his skin earlier. Tugging on Sander arms’, Robbe brought him back up to face him. Sander’s eyebrows were furrowed, probably wondering why Robbe was interrupting him.

“On my neck,” Robbe said, pointing the general direction of where Theo had been attached to his neck.

A look of recognition passed through Sander’s eyes as he looked at Robbe’s neck. Still, he asked, “Are you sure?”

Robbe nodded, giving a small smile as he admitted quietly, “I like yours better”.

Sander smiled brightly at Robbe, before diving back in. The second Sander started sucking on Robbe’s skin, Robbe knew it was right. His whole body lit up, a fire burning in his stomach, flames licking all the way up his body as Sander licked his way down.

Once Sander’s hands made it to Robbe’s jeans, it was a quick affair. Both of their pants were discarded in a matter of seconds, underwears quick to follow. Sander began to lower himself, stopping short of Robbe’s skin.

“This is ok, right?” Robbe nodded rapidly, whispering a small “Yeah, more than ok,” with a smile.

Sander grinned back, licking his lips before wrapping them around Robbe.

Robbe let out a small whimper as Sander started working his way up and down in precise motions. As he clenched his hands in Sander’s hair, Robbe felt a thick mist envelop his thoughts.

Hands sliding over skin, rough and needy.

Lips envelopping, soft and comforting.

Hair being tugged, harsh yet soothing.

And love being made, bruising yet tender.

Once they were both lying next to each other, blissed out and still trying to catch their breath, Robbe turned on his side, facing Sander.

“Your mouth,” Robbe said, hushed.Sander just hummed in question, unmoving.“You asked what else I’d missed. Your mouth, I’d missed your mouth.” Robbe admitted, smiling softly to himself.

That made Sander turn his head towards Robbe. He smiled too, idly caressing Robbe’s face.

“I missed your dick, mostly,” Sander said.Robbe chuckled and playfully pushed at his shoulder. Sander simply brought his arm over Robbe’s waist, bringing him even closer to his body. Robbe raised his head, laying it on Sander’s chest, right over his heart. The sound of his heartbeat, still a little too fast, was soothing and Robbe felt himself slowly slip into unconsciousness.

Just as he was about to fall asleep, Sander’s voice brought him back to the surface.

“Robbe?”

Robbe hummed, physically unable to move a single muscle.

“This, tonight… This means something right? Something more?” Sander asked, his voice laced with insecurities in a way that broke Robbe’s heart a little.

So, he snuggled closer, laying a small kiss over Sander’s heart before settling back down. “Yes,” he breathed, “It does.”

Robbe felt Sander shift a little under him, just as a kiss was laid atop his head.

And there, as they laid cuddled up together in Robbe’s bed, there was no doubt in Robbe’s mind that what he felt for Sander was so very far from hatred.

So, so very far.

#one more night fic #wtfock #sobbe #drijzermans

[ayoalex]

I didn't expect for me to do a rant about bumbleby but I've been rewatching RWBY while me and my friend wait till February for the next chapter and holy shit, there's a lot to talk about.

Maybe it's because the first time I watched RWBY was all together without needing to wait like all the fandom but I'm pretty sure bumbleby was either a thought, a path they had as one option or being something it was going to happen no matter what since they started writing RWBY.

All the hints, subtext, etc were there, since the first moment Yang and Blake meet.

We all know RWBY doesn't have all the time neither the budget to make a 30min or 1h long for every chapter, so all the faces, the details, body movements are there for a reason and not to waste time and money.

Yang sees Blake and it's immediately interested, Ruby tells her she knows her and what Yang do? Uses Ruby as an excuse to go closer to Blake and talk to her + this will help Ruby to come out of her shell.

Now, before I continue I want to say that I personally head canon Yang as a lesbian because I relate to her as one but it's perfectly fine if y'all head canon her as bi or pan, what we all know it's that the girl is NOT straight.

Let's continue, Yang try to start a conversation and Blake was not vibing with it until Ruby started talking about books. It's quite a funny moment for me because Yang is so used to people wanted to be with her or wanted to flirt with her that she gets awkward and her confidence start going low the moment she is the one actively going for it and not the other way around.

Yang is quite an interesting character because at first it looks like she's a flirt and knows clubs and illegal stuffs, she's really cool, confident and really attractive. But then as the series progress we see how damage she is, such a low self-esteem she has in certain stuffs, how she's really smart, she doesn't actually flirt and when it's someone she likes she gets all awkward and stuff.

Then you have Blake, we see since the beginning the strong sense of justice she has, how passionate about it she is, she's lowkey most of the times, serious but then we see all her issues, her low self-esteem, how scared she is and how humorous she is as well, assertive and direct. If Yang is not there then the person making the jokes is Blake and I find that really cool.

I mention this because the Blake we see in Emerald Forest is assertive Blake.

Yang gets into the forest and start looking for Ruby while Blake seems to have been following her since they landed in there. She's in the shadows keeping an eye close to Yang, she sees her fighting the Ursas and took advantage of that to help her and appear in front of her. Purposely smirking while looking her directly at her eyes.

Now, why would Blake choose Yang? Why not Phyrra? Or Ruby? Well, because Blake is attracted to strength. It's the same thing that attracted her to Adam, she sees the similarities but there are so many differences as well.

As they continue their journey to find the relic Blake seems to enjoy Yang company, smiling and smirking at her. We basically see a different Blake than we saw when Ruby and Weiss were around, this is more direct, assertive and flirty.

At this point Blake is attracted to Yang, smiling at her jokes, smirking, going all sassy, the way she walks or behaves around Yang.

The best part? She loves it.

My favorite part of bumbleby between v1 and v3 is absolutely when Yang tells her "I love it when you are feisty" and Blake smirks and it's loving it.

Blake loves when Yang gives her attention. It always been there, I'm so sorry y'all can't see it.

But between v1 and v3, while she absolutely loves being around Yang, she's still feels the weight of her past, which makes her still closed and not as free as she would like.

Before I talk about v4 and 5 and the end of v3 I want to talk about Sun.

He's important for Blake's growth and I feel a lot of people don't like that but this is what the media does every single time with women, they present them in the narrative only to make the main dude to growth so, it's actually nice seeing it the other way around + Sun does get a bit of growth and he has some plot in the books I think (I still need to read those but I can't find them 😭).

Since the moment Sun sees Blake he's attracted to her, understandable, she's hot. He tries to catch her attention by helping her, etc.

Blake does not shares the same sentiment until like v3 or something, in some funny way Yang is the one that pushed her to Sun by making her go to the dance and spent time with Sun.

But Blake goes to the dance because of Yang and she specifically tells Sun, in a really smug way btw, how her first dance is reserved for someone else. In the dance she constantly smiles to Yang and then we see her having an amazing time with Sun and Neptune which helps her to relax and making new friends!

At this point Blake seems to be attracted to both Yang and Sun or at least she's a bit attracted to Sun in a sexual way and not romantic wise. Blake loves the attention them both give her, is not in bitchy or selfish way(?) It makes her confident and tbh that's such a human like reaction, knowing that really attractive and amazing people are attracted to you? Please, I would be worst than Blake.

Then we have the end of v3, where Adam appears and everything goes to shit.

It's interesting how they decided to animate and write Blake, Sun and Yang in the Fall of Beacon.

Blake is constantly worried about Yang, specially after what happened, Yang calls Blake and wants to be sure she and Ruby are ok.

Later Blake goes after a Grimm and Sun and Yang are finally in the last place Blake was before disappearing.

Instead of Sun going after Blake it was Yang, he just stays there, behind Weiss.

Is in this volume that we find out that Adam wasn't Blake mentor, they were together in a romantic sense (which is disgusting because it means Adam not only abused her but groomed her). Adam tells her he's going to destroy everything she loves and in that exact moment Yang comes into scene yelling for Blake and poor Blake is mortified and Adam sees this which for him means that the blonde girl is someone that Blake loves.

The freaking meaning of all this is AMAZING, the narrative presents Yang as someone that Blake loves.

When Yang lose her arm it's when Blake gets out of her black state to protect Yang, she could have died but she didn't cared because she needed Yang to be alive, that's her partner and someone who she has confused feelings about.

Because that's the thing, yes Blake knows she's attracted to her but what does that mean? Adam is still around and she knows Yang is vulnerable and can't take much emotional damage.

So Blake leave because at least without her around Yang can still be alive because Adam is looking for her not Yang.

Here's something important, bumbleby of v1 to v3 is something fun, is a teenager thing but then bumbleby of v4 till now is more important, is deeper and goes beyond a crush.

Sun stalks Blake which was pretty bad specially cuz Blake was paranoid about Adam which makes her react violently (she slaps him which is bad as well).

Blake character development in v4 and v5 is really important, not only Sun helps her a lot but spending time with her parents help her heal some stuffs.

But it's in v5 that everyone should have got the confirmation needed for black sun.

There's a moment when they are talking about Adam and Blake tells Sun that she's thankful that he helped her and that's what she wants to do, she wants to be that friend to help Illia, the same thing Sun did for her.

This implies so much and the most important one is that for Blake, Sun is a friend, a very dear one btw, and that she wants to be a friend to Illia as well, she wants to be that safety net that Sun and her parents were for her but with Illia. This is so powerful because Sun is more than ok with that, he only wanted to help Blake and if she ended up falling for him? Cool, and if not, cool as well.

Sun already knew this, since the beginning.

In the end of V3 he saw it and came to terms with it.

You know who were looking out for Blake and Yang when Yang was unconscious and Blake was taking her hand while crying and apologizing? Ren and Nora, who were both tired. And in front of them was Sun, looking at them like "oh", like he understood that Blake eyes we're always on Yang and not on him.

That's why in all the conversations of blacksun in v4 and v5 Sun always brings up Yang and how she may feel because he knows that's the person for Blake, not him.

Because if not, tell me why no romantic business happened? It was perfect to expand their relationship! But they didn't.

Later he was the one pushing Blake to go with her team, he knows, Sun knows how important is for Blake to be with her team and to be with Yang. At the end of the day, the person Blake felt safe with after Adam was Yang.

Now, v6.

Listen, Ruby and Weiss don't get why Yang can't seem to forgive Blake but... Blake does, back in Beacon Yang had an heart to heart with her about her family, Blake knew about what leaving would be for Yang and that's why she so angst about Yang in v4 and v5.

So she tries her hardest, and while I agree that there's some parts that should be written better and they need to TALK about it... V6 was good for them.

The Apathy mini arc was amazing but it was the end of V6 that settle bumbleby to be canon.

Blake finally understanding that they need to be equals in their relationship, them both going against Adam, Adam rage to see how much they love and respect each other, the final blow, Blake break down...

But the most important of all was the beginning of the second part of Blake and Adam fight, because Yang listen everything that Adam said to Blake and it clicked for her.

Blake didn't left because she wanted, she left because she loves them. And the moment Yang hug her, comfort her and reassure her they are fine it's the moment she forgives Blake and a new stage in their relationship starts which lead us to v7.

V7 bumbleby is v1/v3 bumbleby but mature. They talk more (as we see with the scene about Robyn), they want to be more close and close to each other, etc.

Assertive Blake is back! She keeps flirting with Yang, keeps making Yang to compliment her, to pay attention to her, she giggles at Yang's jokes, she goes to a club!! Blake doesn't usually goes to clubs!

In V2 we see Blake can dance but in V7 she doesn't seem to find the rhythm... Ohhh the classic "please help" You give to your crush to make them get closer to you so you can flirt with them and maybe make a move. And Yang? She goes with the flow, because is what Blake wants and Yang wants Blake to lead because Adam is still fresh.

That's why she gets worried about what Blake thinks of her in V8, what they have is new, they are aware of the attraction and the feelings but haven't done anything about it.

I love making it seem they are clueless but they aren't, they are smart and observant young women, Blake knows Yang find her attractive, she encourages Yang to watch her, to flirt, to get closer.

There's a scene in V7 when Yang is watching Blake through the mirror and Blake purposely gets flirty when putting her make up on.

They know they are dancing around each other.

It's so great seeing an wlw couple being like this, I love it. Bumbleby is a slow burn and it's a really cute and adorable one, it's a shame people hate it or claim is queerbaiting.

Yeah, maybe there's some stuffs that could be written better but overall? Bumbleby has been here since the beginning and the development is beautiful to see.

Highly recommend to rewatch RWBY with all this subtext in mind so you will find Bumbleby since day one lol.

Btw, ship whatever you want guys, blacksun is a cute ship, just stop being dicks to the VAs and the writers of the show for something that's your fault, like... Literally, your fault, all the signs were there.

And sorry for making this so long and all over the place, I hope you enjoy this rant tho lol

#bumbleby #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #sun wukong #rwby #adam Taurus #blake and yang are gay and in love y'all #sun has a bet with weiss and ruby of when they start dating and for now weiss seems to be winning

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH10

18+ ONLY Series Content: Graphic descriptions of gore and smut. Din Djarin/Third Person POV. Chapter Word Count: 7373 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no use of y/n

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER TEN: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

The Mandalorian’s calves have never felt so tender nor his feet so sizzling, but the Girl’s life is at stake and he can’t afford to slow down. He’s succeeding in not succumbing to his body’s desire for rest, but it won’t last long—there’s a sharp stabbing pain running along the back of his thigh and he administers his weight to the opposite leg to avoid stopping. Bookoo is faster than him with his legs at least a foot longer than his. It’s a good thing he spared his life, Mando decides, for if he hadn’t there’d be no hope in saving the Girl—he can’t carry both the Child and her back to the hangar, especially not from this distance.

He battles against the unwavering urge to sink to his knees and lay face first in the grit, let it bury his aching limbs where they’ll retire. The Child in his arms feels almost as heavy as the beskar on his shoulders but he ensures his clutch, his blood-stained leathers cupping his little body against his chest securely; both of his crewmates were in unfortunate conditions and there’s an unshakable concerned feeling creeping up on Mando. What’s he to do if he loses them?

Pushing it aside, he focuses on his footing; dodging jagged rocks and uneven surfaces of sandy terrain but it’s not enough, his muscles can’t maintain this pace and exertion. Bookoo notices his decreasing pace and slows to match it, eliciting a growl of a question Mando doesn’t understand. 

The Girl is limp in the Wookiee’s paws with her head pulled to the side and her abdomen pooling with red liquid that drops to the sand before them, staining the grit in a clashing hue just like he had with the snow only a day or two ago. No more than two days had passed and there’d been another injury—only so much worse than what he’d dealt with.

“Go. Go,” Mando puffs out, gesturing towards the structure. “Hangar 3-5.”

The Wookiee growls once more and continues his approach leaving the Mandalorian to catch up on his own terms. Mando permits a steadier pace to let his muscles recuperate and to examine the Child’s wellbeing. Still asleep, still unresponsive to his touches, but breathing and squirming every few minutes. He’ll wake, eventually, it’s just a matter of how long it’ll take. He’s not injured—not physically—the only positive consequence from this whole event.

Vermillion plasma clings to him like a pest and he raises a hand to rub at the smear on his heart plate with the base of his palm, the leather harsh enough to shave the blood off in dried flakes. Some of it is still wet and it only smudges with his fury, tinting the beskar in with a relentless red. The tempo of his strokes increases rapidly, desperate to rid himself of the reminder of what’s happened to her, but it’s unproductive and a complete waste of effort.

Mando sighs and inclines his helmet so he doesn’t have to see the colour contrasting against the silver that is wholly him—he’s bland and dull, a mix of blacks, whites, and greys, while the Girl is brimming with colour; she’s as vibrant as the krill ponds on Sorgan and as eye-catching as the sunset on Nevarro, but that vermillion...it’s a colour he never wants to see on her ever again.

“Oh, Thank the Force!” Peli exclaims upon Mando’s return, her arms outstretched for the Child and he happily delivers him to her, cringing at the throbbing in his biceps. “Thought you mighta-”

He interrupts, “Where? Where is...is she...she’s not…”

“She’s stable. The droids took care of her.”

Mando pauses with his eyebrows scrunched together. “Droids? No, I said no droids. Especially not with her!”

Peli shrugs, “Easy there. They’re repair droids.”

“She isn’t a vessel!”

The mechanic places an encouraging hand on his pauldron. “I taught them basic medical skills—comes in handy when you’re working a craft all on your own. Go have a look yourself.”

With a blend of scepticism of the droid’s abilities and apprehension for the Girl’s condition, he navigates through the Hangar’s halls and into the room she occupied, tracking grit in his wake. It’s dark inside, her features lit by a single candle beside the bed she’s situated on. She’s breathing, chest rising and collapsing laboriously underneath a thin scratchy blanket draped across her body, but her brow is wrinkled and her mouth taut in an agonised frown. She looks depleted of energy—drained from the inside out—it makes his heart lurch and lungs sensitive against the crisp air.

Slashes that riddle her arms had been tended to, protected from Tatooine’s harsh desert landscape with familiar ivory-coloured bindings. She’d hardly been touched by the moon’s glow before being sealed away again, so close yet so distant from his reach—Mando wishes he’d never had grabbed her with such authority back on that ship. The Girl reshapes underneath the blanket and his eyes lift to her shoulders, bare and unbound by the sizable poncho she usually dons, and the soft of her skin travels lower until the edge of the blanket meets his eyes, covering her chest.

If this had been any other time—essentially any other circumstance—he’d be struggling to control himself right about now, the appearance of such soft skin stirring something deep in his core, but those thoughts are far from his mind. Rather, he’s preoccupying himself as to not let the image of the Girl lying unconscious get to him, by reflecting on the information he’d been given back on the craft; the forced confession of the Girl’s intentions. It angers him, and it angers him that it angers him; confusing. Mando doesn’t want to be a part of it; wishes he’d never entered that cantina then perhaps he’d remain blissfully unaware—happy.

“She’ll need some medicine when she wakes,” Peli says, startling him out of his self-loathing. “Spice could be helpful too.”

“That’s addictive.”

Peli hums. “It can be if you’re not careful. Hell of an anaesthetic though. She’ll be in pain for a while without it.”

Mando inclines his visor back to the Girl. “Where can I find it?”

“Cantina’s best bet. Smugglers pass through ‘ere all day and night.”

“There weren’t many people there earlier.”

“Doesn’t get its fill until late in the night,” she explains. “They’ll be there.”

And they were—six smugglers gathered around a single cantina table in the darkest of the corners. They’re not shy about their illegal activities, placing the narcotics onto the surface displaying for all to see. It’s their business strategy, Mando believes, rope in unsuspecting victims with the alluring spice and scam them of their credits for a small dose of pleasure.

“How much for one?” 

They turn at the filtered voice, sizing up the Mandalorian and noting the remarkable steel encasing his body. One of them grasps a bag of narcotics, tauntingly fiddling with it ahead of Mando. The leader of the group—a burly older gentleman with a bush for a face—leans further into his chair and responds, “With that armour of yours why not indulge a little, aye?”

“One is plenty.”

“Come now, it’s not every day you’ll get it for these prices. Stock up while you can.”

Mando sighs to himself and places either hand on the table, tilting his helmet to match the eyes of the leader. “One.” He’s distributing his lack of patience in waves that ripple against the smugglers; they shift uncomfortably and bow their heads to sip from a glass of spotchka. 

Dull and sullen eyes tip to the Mandalorian’s hands on their table, examining the dried blood coating his leathers suspiciously. They’re unaware of the fact it’s not his enemy’s and he’s grateful for that—it benefits him, gives him the upper hand in regards to coercion. “Okay, all right,” the leader sighs. “A thousand is all it’ll cost ya.”

“That’s too much,” Mando rumbles. “I’ll do two hundred.”

The crew laughs at his claim and he scowls underneath the helmet. Mando doesn’t have the privilege of time to waste it away on a bunch of no-good narcotic smugglers. He suspends a hand over the hilt of his blaster in hopes of compliance and it, at the very least, gets them to shut their mouths. “We’re out here risking our asses for this! Do you know how difficult it is to press these into pills? It’s worth more than two hundred.”

Mando sighs aggressively. “Five.”

“Five?”

“You have two options. Take the credits and leave here richer than you came, or we take this outside.” Mando glances over their panicked faces. “It seems you’re already fixed on your supply. I’m sure you’re not capable with a blaster.” 

Sunken eyes leer at the Mandalorian with resentment and defeat. He slides a satchel across the table, the narcotics rustling inside, and Mando slips the bag into his belt pouch and retrieves a few dozen credits to toss at the group. 

“Pleasure doing business,” Mando retorts as he steps away, listening to the lackeys scowling—we need those credits!—at their leader in frustration. It’s a small win, one not worth celebrating and he doesn’t, just continues trudging through the gathering crowd of drunk patrons to the exit.

A familiar soft-spoken voice stops him from leaving, “Excuse me, sir! Please do not eat the display!” Mando twists on his feet and watches the same waiter from earlier fight against a customer attempting to shovel a cluster of flower arrangements into his mouth. “Sir, I’ll make you something. Please just-”

Slurring his words and attempting to frighten the waiter off with flailing arms in her general direction, though his coordination is all off, the man groans something neither of them can register. She’s becoming just agitated at the man and Mando huffs a sigh through his dry lips, wanting a drink of his own, and walks up to the duo to prevent any conflicts, yet again. Mando’s becoming soft—running around and assisting any damsel in distress—he’s sensed it for a while now, and he doesn’t know whether to blame it on the Girl, the kid, or his age. It doesn’t really matter, he realises, as it all seems to just blend together anyways. 

Mando’s gloves come down on the patron’s shoulder and he clasps the flesh underneath, tugging backwards until he’s stumbling on his feet and disappears within the crowd. It’ll take him a while to work his way out of that mess; Mando turns to leave.

“Mandalorian! Sir, thank you.” She smiles brightly at him and he responds with a faint nod. “Please allow me to make you something on the house.”

“That’s not-”

“Please! It’s the least I can do. What about those pancakes you ordered earlier? I can make a batch up as quick as a flash.”

The pancakes. 

The sweetness of the syrup, the softness of the cake, the excitement of his tongue exploring the Girl’s fingers—it’s all toying with his mind, tormenting it. It feels like a lifetime ago with the chain of events having followed after it. It was a moment of pure euphoria for the Mandalorian and he anxiously wishes to recreate it, wants to proceed with exploring the Girl’s body, but not like this.

“No,” he nods again as a substitute for a friendly smile. “Thank you.”

Mando files through the small of his pouch, recovering the tub of bacta gel and alongside the spice pellets and places them on the edge of the Girl’s cot. Peli advised him it’d be best if he were to administer it to her—she trusts you the most—he finds it ironic. If that were true, wouldn’t she have admitted the truth before all of this - would she have ever confessed if not for the abduction?

Despite that, he’s willing to do it - he wants to do it, he realises once he’d unravelled the first limb of its bindings. 

It’s an excuse to touch her - an excuse to avoid thinking about the hurt in his heart.

He slips his hands from their confines and retires the leather to the nightstand. Frigid air assaults his flesh immediately—the wind gusting through the ajar window sharply—and he curls his fingers into themselves, tucking the vulnerable tips into the warmth of his palms. 

The Girl’s moaning ahead of him is enough to summon the primal instinct to tend to her wounds. Mando dips two fingers into the gel and gathers a load of it on the tips, the bright blue glistening from the candlelight. It’s healing properties are strong, much more so than the cheap knock-off he usually purchases and he can feel the soothing bursts in the peaks of his digits, it was fortunate timing he’d stumbled across the vendor low in stock - and it’s well worth the credits, though the funds are beginning to run dry with all the recent payments.

Peli’s droids had done a decent job on the Girl, though he wouldn’t vocalise it, and her slashes already looked to be healing from the cauterisation, but they’re still inflamed and sensitive. Regardless of the deception aching his heart and the suppressed clump of words in his throat, her actions don’t merit insufferable torment. So, Mando gets to work; slathering thick coatings of blue on each gash, using less pressure on the newest of the bunch, particularly the one that’d been in such bad shape back on the spacecraft. His forefinger streaks along with the bumpiness of the cauterisation scarring - it’s rough and so different to her. She’s so soft - pillowy, and he’s all shattered transparisteel - sharp and risky.

She stirs beneath his hands and strains to open her eyes. “Man-do?” she croaks and grabs hold of his wrist, pausing his momentum.

“Does it hurt?”

She groans a strangled reply, “No, it’s - it doesn’t mat-ter. I need… I want… I-”

Mando carefully pries his wrist from her clutch and continues lathering gel onto the irritable lines blanketing her arm. The faintest, timid touches establish goosebumps that reach up to her shoulders, and he adopts them - brands them as his; cares for them, feeds them with additional strokes from his tips as a reward.

“Just rest - heal.” 

“I can’t. I-I won’t,” she chokes out and the rawness in her voice causes him to stop on his own accord, his visor finally lifting to look at her and he wishes he hadn’t - wishes he didn’t see the Girl in so much pain; physical and emotional. There’s not a single tear in sight—she wouldn’t allow herself to shed one—but her eyes are glassy and red, her bottom lip sucked in between her teeth where it’s being relentlessly chewed on. “Why are you still here?”

“The Crest isn’t fixed,” he lies and it pains him to do so, not because the Crest was repaired—Peli had informed him of this earlier—but because he knows why he’s here. Mando knows exactly why he hasn’t just upped and left - why he hasn’t just continued his life on the run with the kid. 

It hurts, even more, to hear the Girl utter, “Oh.”

He succumbs to his pitiful emotions, “I won’t abandon you. I can’t.”

She places a shaky hand on his vambrace and shifts to sit up some, cringing at the discomfort in her limbs and abdomen at the change of position. “I’m so sorry, Mando. I-I wanted to tell you—so many times—but then- I didn’t want to - to ruin all of...this.”

He listens intently, silent but listening.

She reaches higher, her hand looming in the intimates of his neck but she pulls away sharply, clasping her adjacent hand over a pulsing and cracked cauterised mark. It causes the gel to smear across her forearm messily, coating the palm of her hands and dropping clumps onto the cot below. Mando delicately peels her hand away and wipes the caked-on clots away with her tattered poncho which lays draped over his knee. It feels so private—personal—tending to the Girl in her times of need just like she had with him, as though he was returning a favour - only hers came with an additional payoff; his cheeks redden at the thought of reimbursing her here and now.

“Mando.” She slips her hand into his mid-scrubbing and interlocks their fingers together. Residual gel transfers to his palms, squelching between each other’s grip, but he can only focus on the pounding against his ribs and the pressure on the back of his hand as her fingernails dig into the flesh - testing the boundaries she can push. There aren’t any. The Girl could push and push until he’s stumbling over his own feet and there’d be no boundaries; there will never be enough of her - never enough.

“Please, ask me anything,” she whispers, glancing up at the visor. “I’ll tell you everything.” 

“That’s not necessary.” 

“I don’t - don’t know what else I have to offer. I-I don’t know how to...to show you I’m sorry. Please,” she more or less huffs out the sentence, the pain starting to catch up with her.

Mando observes the small satchel on the edge of the cot and rolls it around in his free palm, feeling the individual pellets through the thin material. “I’ll make you a deal,” he complies. “I’ll fix up your other arm and ask anything I need to, but you need to take one of these.”

The Girl’s eyes dart to the sack and Mando opens it, retrieving a tablet and holding it up to show her. It’s small, almost too small to look like it’d be a mild pain relief let alone enough for one to get high off; no bigger than a third of his fingernails and a deep maroon colour that just screams narcotics.

“Spice,” he answers her unexpressed question. “It’ll help with the pain but it could be addicting. I won’t force you to take one if that’s what you wish.”

The decision is in her hands - it’s her life, after all. 

“You’ll ask me anything?” she asks and he nods. “Pass it over.”

Mando should be appreciative of her unsuspected complying—it’s not often she’s so easily won over like this—and it’s for her benefit, but he can’t help but wish she had rejected the pill. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to see her in that disoriented state, plagued with feral hallucinations vandalising the inside of her head and grinding her basic cognitive functions into tiny particles. Or maybe it’s because he’s scared of what he may discover without her possessing the ability to stop herself from oversharing. Mando’s had his run-ins with spice before and while he’s not entirely fluent with the substance, he’s aware of its susceptible capabilities. 

The Girl places a hand on his and he stiffens underneath it. She’s so cold, so desensitised, it’s so unlike her. She’s usually warm; intense flames constructed with passion and tenderheartedness. It’s as though it’s evaporated from her flesh entirely. She strokes his knuckles with her thumb, committing the peaks and ridges to memory and he wallows in the sensation of the pads of her fingers on his skin. It’s the most physical contact he’s been granted ever since he’d swore to the Creed. Even when he allowed himself moments of weakness with others, it's always been rushed—never about anything more than a hasty relief—and under no circumstances would he withdraw from his armour; it’s one of many unspoken promises to himself he’s broken for the Girl.

She twists his hand around and slides the pill from out between his thumb and forefinger, plopping it in her mouth and swallowing harshly. It goes down without a struggle, the pill being so minuscule it didn’t require water for a smooth entrance, and she eases back into the pillow with a weak smile in his direction.

“What do you want to know?” she asks. 

Mando sighs softly - where does he begin? His tongue darts out to lick a slow stripe across his cracked lips and collects a drop of blood from the slit he’d bit earlier, leaving a stale metallic taste on the tip of his tongue.

“How much did you see back on Arvala-7?”

“Everything from when you took down the encampment with that droid. We followed you back to your ship and watched you get electrocuted by the Jawas—that didn’t look pleasant—Kur wanted to head down there after that, figured you’d be out of it from the impact. I told them to wait, let you get your supplies back for us to loot, and it convinced them.”

Mando tilts his head. “They didn’t seem like the negotiating type.”

She nods. “They didn’t have much of a choice with me in command.”

That shocks him. “You were their leader?”

“No!” she scoffs as though he’d said the funniest joke. “No, no, but I was the only one who could use long-range rifles. I told you, I thought you were the bounty; they informed me it didn’t matter whether you were brought in dead or alive—they opted for a long-range advantage. They’d heard stories of Mandalorians and didn’t want to test their luck.”

Makes sense, he figures, that the group would prefer to deal with their targets swiftly—leaving no room for errors or loopholes, except one of their own violated their ruling, possibly the biggest error they’ve ever made - now they lay dead on their dormant spacecraft on the outskirts of the town. Nevertheless, the information surprises Mando. There was no underlying notion that somebody—no less five people—were stalking him on the ridges of Arvala-7’s desert. Perhaps he should retouch some of his stealthing capabilities.

The Girl waits for his next question, her hands fiddling among themselves in her lap uncertain if she should—could—reach out for him, and he doesn’t trust himself not to soothe her nerves; choosing to settle on the opposite side of the cot to care for her other arm. Stripping the bandages away, he asks, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I already told you that.” 

Mando’s brow crinkles in thought, his hands operating on their own accord now that he’s trying to remember; it dawns on him. “Because ‘you didn’t want to’?” he mimics her words back on the ridge—so, so long ago. 

“Mmhmm,” she hums. “I’m not sure what else it could be. I saw you, Mando, with the kid. He’d only known you for, what, like half a day and he was protecting you—used his abilities to prevent that mudhorn from killing you. And you...you were so gentle with him - so cautious around him. It was mesmerising watching a Mandalorian—a legend—covered in sharp edges and cold steel be so meek towards a bounty. I didn’t want to rip that away from the galaxy; it requires your compassion.”

She’d been watching him closely. Even Mando hadn’t noticed his change of demeanour at that point—it wasn’t until Nevarro that it crossed his mind that, perhaps, he’d fallen soft for that little womp rat.

Mando tips his helmet down to tear away from her eyes, feeling too seen - too examined. “What happened to you?” She gives him a confused eyebrow twitch and he elaborates by running a fingertip across a scar.

She sharply inhales and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to pity me, Mando, you’re entitled to be mad at me. You should hate me, should want me dead. You haven’t had time to reflect on everything you’ve been told back there.”

She isn’t entirely wrong. He hadn’t been granted the luxury of time to consider the circumstances, but he’s not certain whether he wants to. If he takes all of this into account, there’s no telling how he’ll react—he’s never had to deal with a situation where the Girl who makes him so hot and bothered had deceived him. Mando dips his fingers back into the container of gel and collects a small load, rubbing it into the tips of his digits with his thumb. He sighs. “I’m reflecting in my own way.”

The Girl scoffs mockingly. “By tending to my wounds?”

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No,” she answers quickly, too quickly, and nibbles on her lip anxiously. “I just… It’s - it’s nice—you touching me.”

Mando freezes, his fingers suspended above a mound of scar tissue below her collarbone. What’s he supposed to make of that confession? He drags his forefinger across the scar to transfer the remaining bacta on the padding and retracts, quietly complaining when the softness of her skin is replaced with a breeze of frigid air. “Seems like the spice is working,” he deflects.

“It’s not the spice,” she claims. “I mean - it’s helping say it, but…”

She lays her hand on his vambrace and he’s thankful for the reinforced steel suppressing the tension that travels the muscles underneath, but his uncovered hand is a traitor to himself as he grabs a fistful of bedsheets to stop climbing on the bed here and now—stopping him from pursuing something he sought like a medication to a chronic illness. Her fingers run down his beskar and rest atop his tendons, calming the flex in his hand until the fingers splay out underneath hers. This confession overrules her previous one by a longshot and swallows sternly, the saliva in his mouth increasingly by the second—if the tension persists he’ll be drowning in his drool.

The Girl fiddles with his fingers by twisting and forming them around her own; she’s exploring unveiled land, he ascertains. Mando inclines his helmet to watch them at work, eyes following the slender digits as they test the indentations of lines etched into his palm. She sighs and finally answers his question, “Tika did most of it; retribution for letting their bounty escape. The group came to an agreement to banish me to Arvala-7 since it receives low traffic. They hoped I’d die there.”

Mando’s visor returns to her face and, underneath the slab of transparisteel, his eyes lessen in stiffness. He can’t envision how she must see him—a leering, emotionless vessel of beskar wholly fixated on her features whilst she recounts her trauma and he hardly returns a nod in her direction. When her eyes meet him, he can’t see his own in the reflection. It’s only what he doesn’t want to see; a perfectly sculpted Mandalorian helmet made of the finest Beskar. He hates it, despises it. He aspires to rid himself of the obstructing constraint to gaze into her eyes; search for his reflection in them.

“I’m-”

She stops him, placing a finger on his helmet where his lips should be. “Don’t. Don’t pity me.”

Pity isn’t the word he would use—it doesn’t seem genuine enough. 

Perhaps there is no word to describe what he’s feeling. Magma is filling his veins yet again, thick and suffocating, but it’s not hot; rather icy cold that makes the tips of his fingers numb. The Girl’s eyes are interchangeable to the Child’s—big, soft, pure. Mando finds himself wanting to protect her from any potential threats—not that she needs his protection, she’s more than capable—to just seal her within the confines of his arms where she’ll be safe - where he won’t let anybody within a klicks distance of her.

She sinks her finger to the edge of his helm and drags him in close, disregarding the rumble his vocoder produces and snakes her other hand through the loop of his belt. “Come here,” she whispers.

Mando inches closer until her breath bounces off his steel and it’s not until he’s at such an intimate distance—where she’s warm and soft against his beskar, but also fuzzy and cloudy—that he recalls the narcotics in her system and that's plenty motivation for him to pull away. She whines and attempts to keep him steady but he’s too solid in contrast to her. “You’re intoxicated.”

“Didn’t take you as one to complain,” she jests lightheartedly.

Mando’s really starting to regret buying that spice. She’s initiating something she’s probably not even aware of and, if he hadn’t supplied her with those blasted pills he’d be under those sheets alongside her right about now—or maybe he wouldn’t; maybe it’s the spice making her confused and forcing her hand on him.

Mando needs to know - needs to hear her say those words.

Nerves wrack his muscles, twitching and shaking violently that he’s forced to rest his hands on the cot to ground himself. Mouth dry like the desert outside, Mando clears his throat awkwardly and curses at himself upon hearing the tremble in his voice, “It’s not how I want it to happen.”

The Girl is rendered like a malfunctioning droid, her eyes flickering to-and-fro from his visor to his hands—hunting his stance for any implication that he’s just screwing with her and her cheeks deepen with crimson when she finds none. One wouldn’t know she was intoxicated by her swiftness as she slings her legs out from beneath the blankets, leaning over the edge of the cot to place either of her hands on the curve of his helmet. “I want you, Mando.”

There it is—what he’s been waiting for all this time and he can’t act on his desires; it’s pure fucking torture. Mando places his hands atop of hers and leans into her touch, his eyes falling shut behind the helmet. Tardily, he withdraws from her clutch. “Get some rest.”

She pouts at him. “You can’t just tell me that and not-”

“Not now, not yet.”

The Girl hums as if contemplating his words and Lord it’s a beautiful tune—her pondering about him in more than just platonic. She remains still, half-on-half-off the cot with the blanket draped across her lap, her torso bare besides the undergarment protecting the privates of her chest. Mando rakes in the scars surfacing her body, ranging from little lacerations no smaller than a third of his fingers length to corked holes of a blaster’s laser. This wasn’t her first rodeo, the fresh wound simply another trophy of survival, but can’t tear his eyes away from the blemishes; they’re nearly identical to his own, in all of the same places and sizes but different contributors - she’s all slashes and lines of bumpy tissue and he’s drillings, his body simply a burrow for his foe’s lasers to retire.

He resists to reach out and touch them - feel the scarred trauma that mirrors his own. He can’t; won’t. Mando abruptly raises to his feet and fragilely strides across the room, collects his gloves, and murmurs, “Get some rest. Sleep off the spice.”

The Girl watches as he slips on his gloves before her, her eyes catching the flaky dried blood—her blood—on the tips of the fingers. “Don’t you have more questions?”

“They can wait,” he says matter-of-factly and manoeuvres his way to the exit, stopping with his hand on the doorknob. One couldn’t; no matter how terrified he is of the answer, he needs to ask it and if it’s not now he’ll never muster up the courage to ask. “Did you feel guilty?” 

“Guilty?”

“Back when I was shot—you took...care of me. Was it because you felt guilty?”

The Girl wants to say something snarky—tell him he’s an idiot for thinking that way, but his voice is quiet, soft; filled with uncertainty and anxiety. He’s concerned with the thought of that act—the one he let himself be so vulnerable during—was nothing more than a simple chip for her to cash in for self-redemption; to lift the weight on her shoulders for her intentions back on Arvala-7. 

“No,” she answers, her voice tranquil to match his. “No, it wasn’t guilt.”

The Mandalorian faintly nods, glances at her one last time, and exits the room with his shoulders light but his head heavy; the dreaded question finally put to rest but when one dies another rises from its ashes. If not guilt, what was it? She had confessed that she ‘wants him’ but could that have actually been true—could she genuinely want him the way he wants her? Mando tells himself that’s absurd—it’s just the spice suffocating her thought process like a sticky pool of uj’ayl. It had to be.

Mando makes an attempt to preoccupy his mind with the Crest, testing the durability of Peli’s maintenance with pointless button pressing and readying the craft for launch the moment the Child and the Girl are back on their feet, but his mind doesn’t stay busy for long before he’s thinking unwanted thoughts; the cockpit is where it all began and he can’t deal sitting in the pilot’s chair without the cooing of a child in his lap and the snarky remarks of a girl behind him. It’s a foreign concept to him—funny how time works; it wasn’t so long ago that he did everything on his lonesome from sleeping to fighting, he was his only companion, but not anymore. He’d spent nights rocking a ball of green to sleep in his hammock and battling alongside a reliable partner.

A partner—that’s what she is to him and so much more—he’s never had a partner before. Sure, a group here and there but never an individual he’s willing to put his faith into; his trust. Trust that the Girl had severed; or had she? If she had, surely he wouldn’t think of her this way—he’d just up and ditch her without a moment’s notice. So why does his heart ache and his lungs struggle to expand?

When he’s with the Girl it’s like he completely forgets about the deceitfulness, the lies, but when he’s distanced himself from her they return—unrelenting waves of anguish and frustration that leaves his head heavy and sore—until all he can think about is the threads connecting the two of them, knotted, frayed, tearing. 

Peli makes her presence known with a gentle knock on the durasteel besides the cockpit door. “I dunno what’s gotten between you two but I’m here if ya want to talk. I ain’t practised but I’ve been told I’m good for this.”

He doesn’t want to talk.

But he does, nonetheless, “She’s been lying to me.”

Peli tilts her head and examines the sulking Mandalorian with a cocked eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“She was going to kill me.” Mando swivels in his chair and crosses his arms.

Peli shrugs and gestures to him. “Obviously she didn’t, did she? Listen, I’ve seen how you act ‘round her—you’re soft for her, just like your kid. She might’ve been at ya, but she’s certainly not anymore. In your line of work, is that really a dealbreaker?” 

Mando’s rendered silent, staring at empty space above Peli’s head in hopes he can wrap his own around this. It’s so fucking tiring thinking about it—it’s all that’s on his mind and he wishes for nothing more than to crush it between his hands, free him of the burden.

“Do you forgive her?”

Yes, of course, Mando will always forgive her - will always be there for her, but no; he doesn’t, can’t...can’t he?

“I don’t know.”

“Well,” Peli clicks her tongue and shifts on her feet. “The two of you should figure that out. It’s only when you’ve forgiven her that you’ll truly move forward - or something like that, I read it somewhere. I ain’t saying you gotta forget about all that, but just think about it this way: you never woulda met her if she hadn’t been there to shoot ya.”

That’s definitely a unique way to look at it. It’s true though if the Girl’s group hadn’t taken the same commission as he had and hadn’t abandoned it halfway through he never would have met her; never would have the pleasure of being around such a winsome girl. 

Mando wants to forgive her and pretend this never occurred so they can continue where they left off but he’s unsure if that’s possible with the kid comatose; injured because Mando let his guard down, let them be captured by the enemy. The enemy he swore to protect him against but she’s not one of them—not a threat. The Child’s life is in his hands and it’s hot and heavy, identical to the volcanic rocks of Mustafar, but it’s tethered to his palms, scorching permanent burns as a reminder of his undertaking. 

Peli notices his silence and changes the subject, “Kid really did a number on those wires, ya know, took longer to repair than expected.”

He pivots on the chair again, returning to face the viewport. “How is he doing?”

“Still sleepin’.” Mando doesn’t reply and Peli continues, “He stirred for a bit there, but ended up falling asleep again. Don’t get your gears clogged, I’m sure he’ll wake the moment he’s hungry.”

Mando scoffs. “Kid is always hungry.”

“Well, he’s up in my cabin. I can bring him down to you and the Girl if ya like.”

“No, let him rest. I’ll check in on him in the morning.”

Peli hums and nods behind him, turning her attention to the Wookiee communicating with her droids below the Crest. “What’s his deal?”

Mando sighs. “Not sure—another lifeform I’m stuck with I suppose. I’ll ask her about him and let you know.”

“If he destroys my droids, you’re paying for ‘em!” Peli grumbles as she descends the ladder, leaving him to watch the Wookiee alone. Bookoo hadn’t approached Mando since his arrival to the Hangar, which was fortunate as he’s not proficient in Shyriiwook and he didn’t want to test the waters with a being he had in a chokehold. 

Mando deposits one of his spare sleeping shirts at the foot on the Girl’s cot, running a—freshly cleaned—gloved finger across her cheek and the curve of her jaw greedily. She doesn’t wake from his touches but he tears away nonetheless, allowing her space to rest, and saunters to the agape window overlooking the emptiness of the street outside and the glowing silver sphere above him—mocking him with it’s glowing. It’s so bright, so shiny, and it reflects off his beskar only amplifying it; Mando’s so dull, bleak, in contrast.

It’s a competition between him and the moon. There’s always been a rivalry—always something there to fight against, something to strive to defeat, to become bolder and brighter. It hangs above him out of his reach - always out of his reach. 

Behind him, the Girl stirs and the cot squeaks beneath her movements. “What’re you doing?” she croaks, slurred with sleep.

“It’s back.”

She cranes her neck to look over his shoulder from the bed. “The moon? Yeah, it does that. Comes and goes every night actually.”

He sighs and tilts his helmet down to watch the sand blow along with the gusts of wind. “Why did you shoot at me?” he asks. “When I returned.”

The Girl groans and clasps a hand to her head, attempting to rub the brewing headache away. “I was trying to scare you off. I hoped getting shot at would keep you astray, should’ve figured a Mandalorian wouldn’t’ve taken it too kindly. I just -- didn’t want them coming back and finding you there. It was better if you were far away from that planet.”

She was looking out for him - she’s always looking out for him.

Mando’s shoulder stiffens underneath the weight of her hand on his pauldron, but he daren’t turn to look at her. Instead, he crosses his arms against his chest and inclines his helmet upwards, isolating his vision to the reflective sphere on his visor. There’s three in fact, but the largest one is the one he focuses on; eyes boring holes into the undetectable craters on the surface. It’s nonsensical how luring it is, like a magnet dragging him in from his steel platings—no, it’s stronger and straining. Almost as though he was submerged in a tidal wave, incapable of fighting against the onslaught, and all he’s to do is frantically struggle while he gradually sinks to the bottom of the riverbed. Because he would sink. There’s no denying that.

“Waxing Gibbous,” she drags him out of his grim thoughts.

“What?”

She points to the moons. “That’s the phase they’re in. Waxing Gibbous. Don’t ask me what that means, I have no idea.” He twists his helmet to her and cocks an eyebrow underneath the visor. She seems to acknowledge his confusion and explains, “You look at the moon a lot. It reminds me of you in a way, you know.”

He scoffs. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, you’re the same colour as it for starters.” He mockingly rolls his eyes. “But… the moon is the greatest companion there is. In times of light it waits behind the clouds, but when we need it the most—in our darkest moments—it distributes its glow to keep us in the light; safe and alive. It’s loyal,” She places a hand on the curve of his helmet where his cheek belongs, “selfless.”

Mando’s breathing slows when she looks at him with those eyes—those eyes that could bend him over backwards with a simple blink. Subconsciously, he leans into the weight of her hand and relishes as best he can with a helmet. She’s wearing his shirt and it’s a few sizes too big on her but fuck if she doesn’t make it look good; the hem brushing against her thighs—where he belongs—and the sleeves rolled up to unmask her hands. 

“I prefer the sun,” Mando hums.

“Sun, huh? I hate the sun. Arvala-7’s fucked up my hands.”

A hand inches underneath the material of his shirt to situate on the curve of her bare hip, harsh leather stroking circles into the smooth skin but she doesn’t stop him - doesn’t seem to care that the leather isn’t as pleasant as his hands. “It’s not all bad. Even the strongest flora cannot bloom without it.” He tugs her closer until her chest is against his, erupting her into a hazy cluster of blushes. “It keeps me warm—so fucking warm.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting burnt?”

“It’s stubborn and strong-willed but no. I’m not afraid.” Mando swipes a thumb across her lips, noting how her tongue pokes out to catch a taste of stale leather but she pulls away before he can reciprocate. 

She twists the sleeves of his shirt around her wrists and sighs softly. “I’m not a good person, Mando. It’s not the lying—not that that’s not important. It is. It’s just- I’ve broken the Guild’s code multiple times and I-”

Mando shushes her once more by providing a calming hand on the back of her neck, tilting her head to look into his visor. “You’re rambling,” he informs. 

“I’m sorry.” She bites her cheek and tears her eyes away. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you. I never should have persisted about the stupid rifle—never should have stepped foot on the Crest.”

He’s doubtful on what to say but he knows he doesn’t want that; doesn’t want the Girl to wish she’d never come along with him and the kid. “Do you regret staying?”

“No. I don’t regret staying but-”

“Cin vhetin,” he whispers.

“Ci-what?”

“Cin vhetin. A fresh start.” Mando tilts his helmet in question. “Would you like that?”

The Girl stops breathing, he can feel it in her neck muscles and he strokes a finger into the base until she continues, her eyes flickering side-to-side along the top of the T-shaped visor and she sucks in a shallow breath. “You’re willing to - to - yes. Yes.”

Concealed behind the helmet and armour, Mando’s lips curl into a smile and his heart leaps over a crack in the surface. He nods in agreement and sweeps his fingers across her neck to cup her jaw, his thumbs stroking across her cheekbones. This feels right—finally correcting something that’s been pressing at the back of his brain non-stop. The Child is still the priority, he knows this, but he’s allowing himself a weakness; an indulgence that’s been taunting him for far too long. “Mesh’la.” 

She leans into the touch, placing one of her hands atop his. “What’s that?”

“I think I’ll hold onto that one.”

She pouts. “Come on, what’s it mean?”

Mando chuckles and responds by pressing the bottom of his helmet to her forehead in a mock kiss and murmurs, “Ner mesh’la. Ner.”

_____________

“uj’ayl” - a sticky scented syrup “cin vhetin” - a fresh start or clean slate “mesh’la” - beautiful “ver” - my/mine

taglist: @ohhersheybars​, @greatcircle79​, @northernpunk​

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x reader #mando x y/n #mando x reader #mando x you #mando/reader #mando/you #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader #grogu #peli motto #fan fiction #fiction #fan fic #star wars fan fic #star wars #star wars fic #star wars smut #smut #cw smut #mandalorian smut #din djarin #cw violence #lunar fic #star wars fanfiction

[the-final-sif]

Alright, since my prior post about consent has been getting a lot of attention, I wanted to make another to clarify some things that came up.

The TL:DR of the prior post is;

It’s on adults to make sure that we are behaving appropriately around minors online, and make sure that we’re setting boundaries in those relationships. But it’s on minors to communicate that they are minors, and respect those boundaries that are set.

Lying about your age to access a porn site is fine. Lying about your age to engage in sexual situations/adult-only spaces where other real human beings are involved is not.

So, some things I wanted to add to this based on my own thoughts and stuff I was seeing in the reblogs;

1. “If an adult is still willing to talk to you/interact with you in any way regarding sex while you’re a minor, then you run away.”

This is one of those things that sounds good but I actually purposefully avoided putting in my original post because it’s way too big of a blanket statement to be helpful advice for minors in practice.

First and foremost, “adult” and “minor” are broad terms. If you’re a 17 year old and dating/interested in an 18 year old or visa versa, that’s probably fine. 16 and 18 might be pushing it a bit, but as long as things are healthy and legal, a relationship like that is not inherently bad.

Check out what the laws are regarding age of consent for your respective state/countries and make sure you’re following those. Most places have laws that account for things like people being close together in age. Be sure that you’re following the law, because they are serious. If an adult is telling you it’s fine even when it’s illegal, or ‘you could wait for me’ or ‘don’t worry, nobody will find out’, then you block them. No exceptions.

Second, putting aside the more gray areas of ‘adult’ and ‘minor’, there are still situations where it’s appropriate to talk to an adult about sex as long as they are fully aware you’re a minor.

Some examples of situations where it would be appropriate to ask an adult you know online if they would be willing to talk to you about something regarding sex, particularly if you lack adults in real life who you feel you could ask:

You need advice from someone you trust about a sexual situation, maybe something happened that made you uncomfortable and you’re not sure what to do about it.

You need advice on finding trustworthy sexual health resources (side note, check out scarletteen, they’re wonderful).

You’re worried about something regarding your sexual health, and wanted to ask if it was normal (adults aren’t all medical professionals, but I also get that sometimes this is your most reasonable option).

You’ve been told something by other adults in your life about sex, and you aren’t sure if it’s true (sex ed is shitty af in some places, I get it). 

In general, if you’re talking about sex because you need advice or help from an adult you trust, then that’s fine. You may have trouble with finding conflict answers on google, or not be able to google things if your parents track your internet history (side note, a VPN can get around parental blocks and prevent your parents from tracking your internet usage, if you’re in a situation where those blocks/tracking is putting you at risk). But before you jump into asking an adult about anything regarding sex, make sure 1) that they’re aware you’re a minor, and 2) that they’re comfortable with answering your questions. Not all adults will be. Not all adults will have answers to your questions. You have to respect it if an adult says they aren’t comfortable discussing this stuff.

All in all, be careful about anything regarding sex that involves an adult. Make sure everyone is on the same page, that everything is legal and comfortable, and if you’re unsure about something, air on the side of caution.

2. “You should have your age publicly listed at all times.”

I saw a lot of people bringing my post to this conclusion, and I wanted to be clear that this is not something I believe in. You do not need to feel obligated to publicly flag yourself as a minor, because that can be uncomfortable for any number of reasons.

If you’re in fandom / sfw spaces, and you aren’t engaging in any nsfw situations (whether they’re sexual or other heavy topics that aren’t always appropriate for minors), then you are not obligated to publicly display your age. If you’re in a fandom / interest group that’s more adult oriented for whatever reason, I would encourage you to flag yourself as a minor in your bio, but you still don’t have to.

The point where you have to disclose your age (or give a rough approximation like 14-15 or 16-17) is the moment you are engaging in any kind of nsfw situation. I’m not going to say that you can never rp a sex scene with someone your own age. That works about as well as telling teenagers they’re not allowed to have sex till marriage. However, you do need to be upfront with anyone you’re engaging in nsfw activity with. You need to be honest about your age, and that should be one of the first things you check in with before you start any kind of nsfw activity.

Experimenting with sex is okay, but be careful about the law in your areas, be careful about who you experiment with, and be upfront and honest with your partner(s) at all times.

#fandom culture #consent #online safety #online privacy #psa #anyways just wanted to get this out here too #I try to minimize the number of absolute statements I make #I'm not here to police anyone's body or yell at teenagers for experimenting #but age of consent laws are serious shit #sif speaks #and open honest consent is not optional

[blissfulalchemist]

Hope you don't mind me sending one of these: Catlina - “you remembered?”

Hello there! I do not mind in the slightest! I'm sorry this took a while, but I have it finished for you! I do hope you enjoy though!

She still has about ten minutes before the meal is fully prepared and she’ll wait for another three hours in hopes that Liz will come. She has to come home at some point, Cat thinks leaning against the countertop folding her arms, It’s been almost two weeks. She lets out a slow breath, relaxing her body briefly, the shrill of the doorbell tensing her once more. Her eyes slide slowly towards the front door catching sight of the sleek black car parked in front of her house, Should I really be surprised at this point? She pushes herself off slowly making her way to the front door, pulling the cardigan closer, a soft knock out of time to her walk. 

Cat pulls the door open, the first thing she sees are John’s blue eyes darkened by the night. He smiles as she leans against the door, meeting him with a small smile, “Little late for missionary work don’t you think?”

John gives a small shake of his head, “Hilarious,” one of his hands holds a reusable shopping bag as the other gestures inside, “May I come in?”

She stiffened, heart picking up speed, “She might come back John,” Cat glanced back at the stove avoiding his gaze, at least nothing looked to be burning, “She won’t want to see you.”

His smile falters for a split second, “Well I’ll leave if she does show up,” Cat bites her lip, casting her eyes downward, “I just came to see you.”

She perks her head up, giving a small tilt, “You came to see me?” He nods, “Why?”

He shrugs, “Does there have to be a reason,” he asks, face not matching the apathy in his tone, “I figured you could use some company.”

She lets out a sigh, turning away back to the kitchen, “You better keep your promise of leaving if she shows up, John.” Cat leaves the door open, John following behind quickly watching as she moves about the small kitchen. He gives a smirk as he notes her familiar dinner pattern of having a meat, something heavy in carbs, and a vegetable to form a complete meal, he can only assume there’s some kind of dessert lying in wait in the refrigerator. 

He takes a seat at the round table, glancing around the room setting the bag on the floor next to him, “I’m surprised you didn’t find a house with a bigger kitchen my Catlina.”

“I didn’t need one,” she replies matter of factly, “Liz and I weren’t getting a lot of visitors so what was the point?”

“Because you could,” she still doesn’t face him head on, which is fine with him as he gets an opportunity to look at his ex-wife for more than just a few rushed minutes, taking in the new details about her. The way the grey in her hair shined through under the lights, how she moves about with more confidence than when he first saw her getting up from that bed seventeen years ago, and the sliver of art peeking out from beneath her shirt on her back making it easy to miss the scarred ends of sin if you didn’t already know of their location. “I made sure you’d have more than enough to get a nice place,” he muses, moving to stand.

Cat brings down the plates, three of them, with a huff, “I thought I made it clear I didn’t like using your money.” Her movements are sharp and short as she puts food on it, gripping the utensils with white knuckles.

“You did,” he sits himself back down as she walks over to him with a plate, “I just wanted to take care of you is all. You and Liz.” Cat gives a small eye roll, working to set the plate down gently rather than drop it like she wishes she could, it's part of her favorite set though.

Her jaw tightens moving to make her own plate, “I don’t need someone to take care of us. I managed just fine.” It’s a lie, his money came in handy when she kept moving hoping for a fresh start for Liz and then again when Cat had a breakdown the week Joseph became a fugitive. She never wants to tell him this though, doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction or the power over her. 

“You were the one that asked me for money though,” she splays her hands on the counter, nails digging into the faux granite, “So it seems like you did need me.”

“Only because I was at the last of my options,” she says through gritted teeth, “I set aside my pride for Liz because she needed a place that was safe and as free as one could be with her,” Cat paused, turning to look John up and down trying to hold back the sneer, “genetics. Ones that no one lets her forget once they know.”

His eyes narrow, a hand running through his hair, teeth grinding, “I am aware of her life and how it’s been Catlina, there’s no need to remind me.” 

“Never hurts to do so with you.”

John inhales deeply, closing his eyes, “There’s no need to bring this argument up once again, don’t you agree?” 

She glares at him a moment more before nodding, finally allowing herself to sit down across from him. Her shoulders fall with an exhale as she settles herself, eyes casting downward, replying softly, “I don’t really feel like arguing with you tonight anyway.” 

John lets the quiet loom, waiting for her to take the first bite before making any movement of his own. He shouldn’t have been surprised by how quickly the accusations started with her, her anger did always have its way of festering beneath the surface and John had always been the one that could draw it out. Little by little until it all flooded out and she was no longer the same person he had grown to love and care for. John smirks to himself at the memories of their first few weeks together, “Do you remember those first few weeks and we did nothing but fight all the time?” She glances up at him, “Sorry. When we did nothing but argue.”

“We didn’t fight all the time,” Cat mumbles, pushing the food around on her plate. “I didn’t really like talking to you, I remember that.”

John laughs, “You and I still talked quite a bit,” his teasing tone getting an eye roll from Cat, “and it always seemed to end with you stating an opinion that I didn’t agree with.”

“You know I wasn’t the only one giving opinions,” a smile teases at the corner of her lips, pointing the fork at him, “You baited me into those arguments. Tested my patience.”

“Not like it was hard to do, especially then.” John smiles resting his chin on his hand, “We were so different you and I, like oil and vinegar,” Cat snorts, giving a small shae of her head, “Pretty sure my brothers still wonder how we managed to actually end up falling for each other.”

Cat stiffens at the notion, swallowing the bite in her mouth, “There are people that believe they know how we managed that.” The memories of when she would call out to him in the months following her return to society and the calm responses of the doctors telling her that it was all made up, some side effect of whatever they drugged her with echo on the edge of her hearing. She swallows the memories back, “We did seem to meet up in some kind of middle, I’ll admit, even if it was brief.” Cat can’t even fake a smile as she casts her gaze down, no longer focusing on the plate in front of her. John slides the chair closer to her, reaching out to place his hand gently on hers.

He gives a small smile when she looks up at him, “There’s still time. We can always pick up where we left off,” Cat’s stomach flips, her chest pulling towards him while everything else backs away. He can’t be serious. He knows why we can’t, “After all, we do have a child together, so I doubt we’ll ever fully be out of each other’s life.”

“John,” she warns, looking up, “we’ve talked about this.”

“I’ll be good, don’t worry,” he says softly, “Just hard not to think about, on today of all days.”

Cat frowns, “What do you mean ‘today of all days’?”

He gives a genuine smile, something she forgot he could do, “It’s the day this all started.”

“You remembered,” she gives John a pointed look, arching a brow, “the exact day I finally woke up after the accident?”

“I could tell you the exact date if you’d like but it seems a little irrelevant considering that day passed.”

She opened her mouth ready to argue, closing it as she glanced at the digital clock on the wall the date spelled out for her. “Our wedding,” she whispered, eyes moving slowly to look back at John slowly, unease threatening to climb her spine, “That was today wasn’t it?”

He nods, giving a small hum, “Married seventeen years today.”

“I think illegally in the eyes of the law, technically, but that’s more your department,” Cat looks down to the bag still at his feet, “Is that why you brought that stuff?”

John gives a nonchalant shrug, “Kind of seems silly now, don’t you think? Especially since I was the only one of us to remember,” he laughs softly trying to keep the mood light.

“I used to remember it,” she admits pushing some of the food on her plate, “Used to fixate on that date to a point I’d get upset when it wasn’t.” Cat lets out a slow breath, “Used to convince myself that you would finally come back, would whisk me away from that place and we’d live out our lives happily, because surely my husband, who loved me so deeply and obsessively, wouldn’t just abandon me on our anniversary.” 

“Ah,” he hunches, leaning his elbows on the table, “I see.”

“Eventually days started to blur and I worked to actively not think about Montana. Honestly it became too painful to do so and I had Liz to focus on.” She shook her head, “So I’m sorry, I-well I needed to forget that date. Forget the significance of today.”

“I understand,” John attempts a smile that falls quickly, “The first one didn’t go so well for me either. I lost your ring….,” he sighs, “O well the dep-Chance stole it from me. Probably should have taken that as a sign looking back at it all.”

They let the silence fall, each taking small bites finding nothing either could do to lift the disappointment. Cat paused peering closer to the contents John had brought with him, the only thing she could identify with certainty being a bottle of wine. It’s just one night. It doesn’t have to mean anything long term, She bit the inside of her lip, It doesn’t even have to go beyond talking. She swallowed, inhaling deeply, standing to make her way to the cabinets, John watching curiously. 

She pulled down two goblets, one a smokey black and the other a deep red, giving them a quick rinse and drying them off before walking back to the table. “Now don’t read too much into this,” she started going back for the wine opener, “but given we were both sort of on good terms with the other at the time of our first anniversary I say that we let ourselves celebrate it late.”

John smirked, arching a brow, “Do you really think that’s a good idea, my Catlina ,” he asked, pulling out the bottle from the bag, taking the opener from her.

“I think it’s the nice and right thing to do,” she smiled giving a shrug, “Besides it might help us get some closure on us.”

He pulled the cork out with ease, eyes widening, watching as she poured their glasses. There was little hesitation to her words, something that he once again should have seen coming, still it did little to ease the sting, “Yeah, it could,” he agreed reluctantly, “We both can use the closure.” 

She threw him a smile, going to the fridge once more putting away the remaining dinner, John took a glance at the small purple wrapped box he pulled from his pocket as she announced her idea of celebrating. He took a deep breath sliding it back into place, opting to pull out the small container of chocolate covered fruit before Cat had turned back to him fully, his smile on to its full charm once more. He could let himself enjoy these few hours, let himself believe that there was a chance for them once more. John held up his glass once she sat down, “To celebrating our first and only year of marriage,” Cat laughed, tapping her glass against his before they took their first drink of the night. One night. She could let herself indulge in the fantasy she once, still, craved for just this one night. It didn’t have to mean anything more.

#x: tribulation #salvations two paths #catlina rojas oc #I'll put a banner later cause I can't find what I like at the current moment but I hope you enjoy it still! #getting some post salvations catjohn was interesting to say the least in getting that relationship right

[alleycat97]

Slippery Slopes Pt.2

Part two y’all! Sorry it’s late, I’ve been busy. Should be one more part to finish this up!

Tag list: @samanthadalton @fundamentalromantic @avalawrencefl @penda-bear @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @kamilahsayeet2063

It had been an interesting 24 hours since the accident on the slopes yesterday. No word had been passed on about Emma and that left her suitors restless. Mason couldn’t cope with the fact that his father or ex best friend had committed such a cruel act that hurt Emma.

Noah couldn’t believe he was even in this situation. He should have never trusted Jennings but he let his guard down for the sake of the trip and Emma, and this is what he got. He was looking at charges for trespassing and endangerment while Principal Jennings seemed to be clearing his name.

Mack couldn’t stop pacing, Dr. Price was doing an awful job of updating his own daughter on her sisters progress. Ava wasn’t fairing much better. She had organized their room over and over trying to make sure it’s perfect for when Emma came back to the lodge.

It was just a sit tight and stand ready type of situation. None of them had a personal car available, so trapped at the lodge they were.

Ava stopped her cleaning when she heard a cellphone go off, to no surprise it was hers and the caller was Bayla. She grumbled and put the phone back down, she had called 4 times already today. Ava couldn’t bring herself to talk to her girlfriend knowing Emma was hurt in the hospital. She would sound weak, vulnerable, all red flags Bayla didn’t need right now.

Another call rang out across the house, this time it was Mack’s phone, and judging by her facial reactions, it was with her father. Mack nodded enthusiastically and ended the call, yelling out to find Mason.

“Emma is ready to come back here, dad said she will be ok, we need to go and pick her up. Spare keys are in his room, I’ll grab them and we can go.”

“What all was wrong?” Ava rushed out of the room and into the foyer.

“He didn’t say. I guess we will know when we all get back.” Mack said noticing the gloom placed on Ava’s features. “She’s gonna be alright.”

Ava went and tidied up the room once more and without knowing what Emma would require, she just cluttered the entire nightstand with odd and ends eliminating the guessing.

The front door slamming was her queue to come running, she leaned over the balcony railing only to see Jennings and Noah.

“I don’t know how you got those signs in my bag old man, but this isn’t over.” Noah hissed shoving his way past Principal Jennings.

“Maybe you should think twice before doing illegal activities. You’re never going to learn trailer trash.” Jennings barked stopping Noah dead in his tracks.

Jennings was an asshole. This dude seemed to get off on making teenagers lives miserable. The tension was unbearable.

“I know you knew about the course being closed. I just can’t figure out why you’d try to hurt Emma. You’re a sick bastard and if I go down, you’re coming with me.” Noah said inching up into Jennings face.

The scene was split up when Mack came through the door. Mason in tow pushing an unconscious Emma in a wheelchair. She had a cast on her leg and looked so cold. Dave brought up the rear looking like hell. Looks like sleep wasn't an option for him either.

“Ah yes there she is. How did everything go?” Jennings asked unfazed of what transpired.

Mason ignored him and tried to walk past to the staircase with Emma sleeping.

“I said how did everything go?” Jennings said jerking Mason back almost causing him to fall. Noah shoved Jennings aside helping to stabilize Mason so Emma wouldn’t fall out of the chair.

“Ask Mr. Price dad! Let go of me, Emma needs to be in bed!” Mason snapped shoving his fathers hands away from him.

Jennings jumped at the outburst and gritted his teeth, turning to Dave. “Let’s talk in the kitchen, I’ll have the Chef whip up some coffee.”

With the adults gone and the room de-stressed, Noah assisted Mason in carrying Emma up to her room, Ava steering clear of them until Emma was placed in bed.

“Ok boys thank you. I can handle her from here.” Ava shot out shoving them aside to check on Emma.

The boys looked to each other confused but didn’t say anything about the outburst. Mason needed his own rest and Noah had a busy day ahead of him with Jennings and the ski patrol assholes.

“Just let us know when she wakes alright? Mr. Price has her medicine.” Mason said closing the door leaving Ava alone with a sleeping Emma.

Ava had no clue why she wanted the privacy with Emma. She was a taken woman and Emma was her bestie. Nothing else, she tried to convince herself.

But the longer she sat and stared at Emma, the more her heart pounded, the more she wanted to wake her and kiss her all better. The thoughts of such activities made her dizzy and she had to get away. But it was Emma, she had this way of keeping her grounded and for the life of her, Ava couldn’t drag herself away.

So she continued to sit in silence, begging for Emma to wake up, because quite frankly? She didn’t look too well.

Ava easily got up and slipped out of the room and looked for Mr. Price. She heard some quiet commotion from the kitchen, what a shock.

“Now you listen here Jim, I don’t know how it happened, all I know is my little girl just underwent a major leg surgery after she took place in your little race.”

“Now I know how it looks Dave, I’m quite sorry that it happened, but Mr. Harris is the culprit here. I should have known not to place trust in him. What a terrible thing, taking down those signs.”

Noah heard his name and flew into the kitchen,

“I told you Jennings! I didn’t take down any signs!”

“Quiet scum! Adults are talking here! Don’t you have a meeting with the ski patrol?” Jim teased.

“I don’t know how you twisted this on me, but I’ll get you back.” Noah inched closer so only Jennings could here, “Maybe I should call off our deal?”

Whatever was said, Jennings went pale and cleared his throat. Removing himself from the conversation.

“Mr. Price?” Ava said entering the room. “Emma is still asleep. And she’s so pale, she looks sick.”

“I feared that. It’s her medication, she should be awake anytime now for another dose. Here, please give her one of these when she awakes. I’m going to get some rest.” Mr. Price said handing over the medicine.

Ava returned to the room with the meds and hot tea to find Emma slowly awaking.

“Hello sleepy head.” Ava rushed over with a smile.

“Where am I?” Emma groggily spoke out.

“Back in the bedroom with good ol me.”

Emma rubbed at her eyes trying to get them to open, “Are you an angel?”

Ava snorted, “Oh now you wanna shoot your shot huh.”

“Worth a try.” Emma laughed. “I feel terrible.”

“You look it.” Ava agreed dodging the pillow Emma tossed.

“Here Mahomes, here’s your pill and I made your favorite tea.” Ava giggled as she sat down next to Emma to help her take the meds and give her a sip of tea.

“Psh, Mahomes wishes he had this cannon for an arm.” Emma tried laughing but she done exhausted herself.

“Relax, you just underwent surgery. I’m actually impressed they released you so quickly.”

“Perks of having a doctor for a dad. I’m not about that hospital food.”

The two sat in silence for a moment while Emma sipped her tea. It was so nice just the two of them, Ava had Emma all to herself, no intruders, no boys, and no Bayla. Crap....Bayla was still her girlfriend.

Ava came to and realized she was stroking Emma’s delicate hair, resting her hand on Emma’s soft cheek. She quickly composed herself and stood abruptly, creating as much distance as possible.

What was this? What were they? Friends? More than friends? Ava knew what the answer should be, but the timing was terrible. Bayla was her own girlfriend, and Emma had her own issues.

A text shot through to Ava’s phone, it was Bayla. “Speak of the devil.” Ava whispered. She had been putting her off for long enough and by judging by the text she received, Bayla wasn’t happy.

“Ava?” Emma called out oblivious to Ava’s aggressive texting.

Ava turned immediately to face her, “Yeah?”

“Where are the boys?”

Ava doesn’t know why, but with her issues with Bayla and her feelings for Emma, hearing her ask for the boys really added fuel to her blazing fire.

“Idk. Mason is resting and Noah and Jennings are with the ski patrol.”

Emma could hear the aggression in Ava’s voice, but she couldn’t tell if it was at her texting or towards her about her question.

“Is everything alright Ava?”

“Yeah. It’s just Bayla. She’s bugging me because I haven’t responded in awhile.”

“Oh. I wonder what has her in a twist.” Emma asked innocently.

Ava knew why. She told Bayla before she left the arrangement, so naturally she had to keep tabs on her at all times. Trust between the two were slipping, but Ava wasn’t helping her cause and Emma wasn’t either. “Because that’s what a good girlfriend does!” Ava snapped surprising Emma. “She’s just concerned!”

“Oh. I understand, I’m sorry.” Emma apologized.

“No Emma you don’t! You don’t understand and you never will!” Ava said slamming her phone down on the counter and stomping towards the door.

Something told Emma deep within this was more than just Bayla being worried, she couldn’t help but think this was all her fault and the reason Ava was upset.

Ava had to get out and breathe, she loved Emma, but she couldn’t take her indecisiveness. She couldn’t stand competing for her hand any longer, it was time to set the record straight. She stepped back in to grab her phone before heading back out again.

“Where are you going?” Emma tried.

“I’ve got a phone call to make.”

#playchoices #pixelberry #ava x mc #ava lawrence #mackenzie price #noah harris #mason jennings

[cami-chats]

A Professional Woman

Fandom: Jurassic World, Marvel

Pairing: Claire Dearing/Tony Stark

Warnings: Injuries in keeping with Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

Read on AO3 or below

Tony was signing through the pile of paperwork that was on his desk when Mrs. Arbogast buzzed him. He clicked at the intercom. "Yes?"

"Miss Claire Dearing is requesting to see you," she said.

He'd thought that she was going to be at work all day today-- and tomorrow too, for that matter. It's not as though they were living together, so he well and truly had not expected to see her for a couple more days. A phone call, maybe. An in-person visit? He hadn't dared hope. "Send her in."

"Yes, sir," she said.

Tony took his hand off the button and checked his appearance in the mirror. His jawline wasn't as smooth as he liked for it to be, but it was late in the afternoon so there was nothing to be done about that. A moment later, his door opened and he quickly tore his eyes away. Claire was, as expected, as beautiful as ever. She never had a hair out of place.

"Claire," Tony said, smiling. He got to his feet and walked around his desk. There was no point in sitting behind it like this was a meeting, after all. "This is a pleasant surprise." He took a quick glance at her outfit; it was professional, but not a suit like she used to wear when she was running the park every day. "I take it you're here on business?"

"Just came back from business, actually. Didn't have the time to change, but I wanted to tell you in person."

"Uh-oh," Tony said jokingly.

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning."

"Leaving?" Tony repeated, smile sliding away. "I thought your work was stationary to New York, now."

"It was when I was just making phonecalls."

"What changed?"

Claire's jaw went a little tight. "The hearing was today."

The hearing that she'd been waiting for ever since Isla Nublar's volcano went active. It had pushed her schedule from busy to insane because she was on a crunch now, where before, she'd had time to get all her ducks in a row, as it were. She'd been talking about it for weeks, about how this hearing could be the final judgment for what happened to the dinosaurs. "I thought that was the twentieth," Tony said, stomach sinking. He knew how important it was for her, and he'd had it in mind to make the time to be there for her.

"Today's the twentieth."

"Fuck," he breathed, rubbing at his eyes. "Sorry. How'd it go?"

"They decided not to intervene."

"I'm so sorry."

Claire shook her head. "The US government won't intervene, but there's another offer on the table. I'm getting on a plane tomorrow morning to help them track down as many of the animals as they can. Once they have them onboard, they are going to transfer them to a secure location."

"You're- I think I misheard something because it sounds like you're talking about illegal animal trafficking here."

"If there are no laws to protect them, then there is likewise no law in place to make it illegal to take them off the island."

"I wouldn't take that bet if I were you," Tony said, worried. He knew that Claire could handle herself, but she had a bit of a blind spot when it came to the dinosaurs; she felt responsible for them and for everything that had happened to them since the Indominus Rex had broken out. "And that's not what I mean. Selling them is going to-"

"Oh no, we're not selling them," she said quickly. She laughed, relieved. The stress that had been building up in her shoulders was gone, leaving her as relaxed as she'd been when she walked into his office. "No, they'll be brought to a privately owned island so they can continue living without human interaction. No visitors, no interference."

"When I offered you that, you told me to keep my nose out of it," Tony reminded her.

"I wanted to do this right, not ask my boyfriend to fix everything for me." She walked closer and gave him a quick peck on the cheek to soften any insult he might have taken from that. He put an arm around her waist to keep her close, so she put an arm around his shoulders as she continued to talk. "This is a legitimate offer from people involved in the Jurassic Project. I only came by to tell you that I'm going to be leaving tomorrow, and I'll be out of contact until I get back to the States."

Tony wanted to argue. He wanted to push for more information about these people so that he could vet them and make sure they were up to snuff, but her business was her business and she'd made it clear how she felt about him interfering. "Do you know when you'll get back?"

"The island's about to blow. Can't be more than two days, but I imagine it's only going to be one. We leave early in the morning tomorrow, and we should be leaving before tomorrow night. Day after, I could stop by, if you won't be too busy."

"I can honestly say that I don't know my plans. We could plan on you coming to my place for dinner?"

"I look forward to it," Claire said.

When Tony leaned in for a kiss, she met him. "I'm guessing you're going to be busy tonight?"

"I should go to bed early, and I do still need to pack a bag, but I could spare an hour or two." She cocked her head slightly. "What did you have in mind?"

"Nothing exciting. Pasta, maybe a movie in so we can be as dressed down as we like," he said with a smirk. "Does that sound at all appealing?"

"Extremely." She kissed him again. "For now, I will leave you to your work. See you at... seven?" she guessed. 

"Six thirty. I should be back by then, and if not, Jarvis will let you in."

"Or one of your other roommates," Claire said, ready-- as always-- to remind him of the fact that he lived with the other Avengers.

"Jarvis gets upset when they don't let him answer the door."

"I won't pretend to understand that."

Tony shrugged. "He's an old-school butler; he doesn't like other people doing his job. I'll see you tonight."

Since they were standing so close already, Claire gave him a hug and bid him farewell before leaving.

*

It was long past the time that Claire said to expect her back. Normally, Tony wouldn't be too bothered by that, since it had been someone else's schedule and she'd been guessing. However, he checked the news and saw that the volcano had erupted. There was no (reasonable) chance that she had been on the island when it happened, so she had to be back on continent. He called her phone and got no answer.

He gave it until she was officially late for their date to take action, which he thought was admirable restraint on his part. Tony did a little checking and was able to find out who she had been working for when she got on that plane. He did some digging and did not like what he found.

He rushed to go put on the suit. He'd be able to fly to the Lockwood Estate faster in the Iron Man suit than if he took the quinjet or went by car, even though he knew that Jim hated when he did this. Most of the time, Tony was understanding. Today did not count as 'most of the time'.

"Tony?"

"I'm busy right now, Jan."

"I can see that," she said mildly. "Do you need backup?"

"Unknown, but it's not Avengers business."

"Would you like backup?" Jan asked.

He glanced at her and saw that she was already suited up. "I don't know if it's anything, but if it is something, Claire's likely in danger."

"Claire... that's your new girlfriend, right? The one you don't want to meet us?"

"That's the one." Although ‘new’ wasn’t necessarily accurate to describe their dating status. They’d been together for a while. Granted a lot of that time had been long distance, so maybe that’s why Jan thought of her as being new. 

"She's the dinosaur lady, isn't she?" Jan asked, interest piquing significantly.

"Yes, and that's why I don't want you to meet." 

"Aw, c'mon, what's the worst that could happen?"

"I'd rather not guess. She might be kidnapped right now." At least, he was hoping she was kidnapped, because the other option was dead and the evidence would be buried under a volcanic eruption. "And if my suspicions are correct, it's tied up in animal trafficking."

"I think you mean dinosaur trafficking."

Tony shot her a flat look, and she tried, unsuccessfully, to smother her laughter.

"Sorry. So what's the four-one-one?"

"I'll tell you on the way."

"You got it," she said, giving him a mocking salute. Normally, she only did that to Cap, but Tony guessed it was fitting right now.

*

"So I know you said not to do you any favors," Tony said, closing the hospital door, "but I think this time should count as an exception."

Claire gave him a faint smile. It was hard to say if she was just tired, or if it was an effect from the oxygen mask she currently had on. It was only a faint stream to help with the smoke inhalation, so she moved it off to say, "I think I'll forgive you this time, because of the extenuating circumstances. And thanks. For saving us." Her and her team, she meant. They were next door and down the hall; Tony was going to check on them next. "What did you do with the dinosaurs?"

"I'm surprised that you waited a whole five seconds to ask about them," Tony teased. "They're on one of my islands. When you’re feeling up to it, I wanted to talk to you or someone in your office about the climate. I took my best guess at which one was the best fit, but I'd feel better if I had an expert's opinion." He knew pretty much nothing about animals, but they'd been dating long enough that he knew to actually care about climate.

"I'll see who's available," she assured him.

"Thanks." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm going to go check on the others, and then I'll come back. Do you need me to get you anything?"

She shook her head. "You've done more than enough."

"I'm glad you think so, but that's not what I asked."

Claire chuckled. "I would really love a soda, if you can find one."

"Diet Coke?" he checked, and she nodded. "You got it, sweetheart."

"Thanks," she said. Tony left, and she moved the oxygen mask back on. The nurse had told her that it would be off by tonight, and she was looking forward to it. Moving it off anytime she wanted to talk was annoying. 

*

"Does Claire remind anyone else of Pepper?" Hank asked.

"Yes, but we all had the good sense not to say it aloud," Jan said without looking up from her sketchbook.

Steve, sitting next to her also drawing in his sketchbook, nodded. "They're both very professional women. It seems to be Tony's preference in partner."

"And it always has been," Jan added. "Trust me, Tony likes people who are competent. That being said, I suggest you not make that comparison to his face. Things are still... delicate, between him and Happy. And while we’re at it, don’t mention him meddling in Claire’s business. We’re not supposed to do that." 

“Yes, dear,” Hank said. 

#jurassic world #marvel #fanfic #tony stark #claire dearing #my writing #old school tony babeeey

[springday-aus]

SVT’s Wonwoo: Daytime Scares

—

Fic Written by: Admin Grandma of @springday-aus​

Moodboard Link: created by Admin Grandpa

Main Characters: Y/N [fem. reader] and Seventeen’s Jeon Wonwoo

Other Characters: OCs [Ae Jae, Mi Jeong, Yoojin, and Minjae], Chaeyoung (BlackPink), Yongsun (Mamamoo), Seventeen [Seungkwan and Mingyu] 

Genre: fluff, romance, comedy, college!Wonwoo

Type: one-shot writing piece

Word Count: approx. 11.6k

Plot Summary: Wonwoo is nothing more than an attractive stranger in your ethics class. You have no relation with him whatsoever, but that changes when you suddenly have a nightmare that he tries to kill you. That’s a whole level of psychoanalyzing you would rather not dive into. But now things get weirder when he’s starting to talk to you. 

→ Based on the AU prompt: “I had a dream that you tried to kill me and now I’m scared of you” 

Sleepovers typically mean movies, gossip, and face masks. It’s a fun time to be with your friends and it’s good for lowering stress after midterms. The only level of stress here is would be finding a movie to watch—which probably should have been selected beforehand. But, in your defense, it was hard enough to schedule this hang-out; who has the time to actually schedule the activities? 

So, right now, you lay comfortably on the carpeted floor of Ae Jae’s studio apartment with Mi Jeong. You two are on your phones, trying to find a movie to watch. Meanwhile, Yoojin scrolls through her laptop—connected to the projector—browsing through her Netflix account. 

“What about Hustlers?” Minjae asks. 

“I could really use some J.Lo right now,” you say with wiggling eyebrows. 

“Ugh, we can all use a little more J.Lo,” Mi Jeong says. 

“That movie is too recent,” Yoojin says. “We can’t find that on a streaming site.” 

“Hello?” Ae Jae says. “Have you heard of Dailymotion?” 

“Do you want me to just pull up one of those illegal websites?” Minjae asks. 

Yoojin turns around to face her. “Ma’am, that’s called pirating.” 

“Exactly.” 

Mi Jeong laughs at them. Yoojin gives her a pointed look, but you all know it’s no bad intentions. 

You set your phone down and sit up from your previous position. “Might as well. We can probably browse through the other movies and figure out some other options to choose from.” 

“What I’m hearing is,” Ae Jae says, “is that we don’t have to pay to watch these new movies.” 

Yoojin rolls her eyes and moves out of the way of her laptop. “I guess we have nothing to lose.” 

“No fear of the viruses?” you ask. 

“Potato, potato,” Minjae says. 

Yoojin shrugs. “Fire away, Minjae.” 

You watch her practically jump over from her previous spot to the TV to type in one of her illegal sites, which you may or may not have frequently used—thanks to her. You can only laugh at her antics. 

It’s nice to be with your friends again. It’s been a while since you had properly sent time with them. With the assignments and overlapping work schedules, you’ve all kind of distanced yourselves from one another and, with midterms coming up, things were just piling higher. After midterms week finished, when things calmed down, you and your friends aligned your schedules to catch up with one another. 

But who knew it would take nearly two hours to figure out what to watch? Granted, one of the flaws within your friend group is the fact that most of your friends (you included) are incredibly indecisive. 

As Minjae moves from one page to the next, everyone else silently scans the movies presented in front of them. 

“The live-action Lion King is out,” Mi Jeong says. “That could be an option.” 

“Hm,” you say. “I’m pretty sure it’s just the same as the original one.” 

“It is,” Minjae says. “But we can just put it on a list of things we could watch. We can still look.” 

“Let’s just do that,” Yoojin says. 

About ten movie pages (and a list of six possible movies to watch) in, Minjae gets into the horror movie section. You tense up from the movie covers—each one making your stomach twist in apprehension. The one thing each one of your friends know is that you get easily scared, which means you dodge horror movies like the plague. 

“Oh, what about It: Chapter 2?” Ae Jae asks. 

You start to whine, realizing where this is going. “Nooo.” 

You’re ignored. 

“I still haven’t watched the first one,” Minjae says.

“What?” “That was literally everywhere.” “How did you manage to miss one of the biggest horror movies?” 

Minjae shrugs off the questions. “I just never got to it.” 

“It’s a good movie,” Mi Jeong says. “Right, (Y/N)?” 

You scowl at her. “No, it’s not.” 

Yoojin snorts. “You probably didn’t even watch it.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Since (Y/N) and I haven’t watched it,” Minjae says. “Should we just watch it?” 

“NOOO—” 

Everyone ignores you. 

“Since it’s kind of old,” Ae Jae says. “They’ll probably have it in higher quality.” 

“NOOOO—” 

“You’re probably right,” Yoojin says. “Oh, 1080hd. That’s fancy.” 

“GUYS. IS ANYONE GOING TO LISTEN TO ME?” 

“I found it!”  

You let out a long sigh, kissing a month’s worth of sleep away. You mumble under your breath. “Guess no one cares about my well being and health.” 

You move yourself to properly lay between Mi Jeong and Minjae, throwing another pillow down. All three of you are on the carpeted floor with too many pillows to count. Ae Jae moved herself and now, she lies on her bed with Yoojin. A blanket is placed on your head and shoulders, ready for cover whenever Pennywise’s face appears on the screen. 

You’ve never wished for poorer eyesight until now. You will never understand the trolls that found this clown attractive. A shudder runs down your spine, seeing his face flash in the lightning from the sewer. You quickly pull the blanket over your head to erase the image. 

You feel a couple of tugs. 

Mi Jeong’s pulling on it. “Jesus Christ, it’s just a clown!” 

“John Wayne Gacy was just a clown too and he turned out as a murderer. This one just happens to be supernatural!” 

Minjae starts to tug down the blanket as well. “Be apart of the friend group!” 

“NO!” 

A pillow is flung towards you, in courtesy of Yoojin, who yells down at all of you. “Be quiet!” 

“I want new friends.” 

It’s 3am—you’ve all moved on from It and onto some generic cartoon movie. You were the main advocate for another movie, in an attempt to rid yourself of the horrific images Pennywise provided. Mi Jeong and Minjae are both asleep on each side of you—both with pore strips still attached on their noses. Yoojin snores lightly from Ae Jae’s bed, whereas Ae Jae is up with her elbow propping up her head. 

“Hey,” she says. 

“What?” 

“You up?” She gives you a teasing smile. 

You roll your eyes at her. “This is your fault. Of course, I’m up.” 

“What? You really can’t sleep because of the movie?” 

You stare at her, but refuse to actually move. “Believe it or not, terrifying images of a killer clown that’s telling me I’ll float isn’t a good sleeping mechanism.” 

She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again, once the words come to her. “They help Mi Jeong sleep.” 

“She’s got a different way of thinking.” 

“Hmm, you’re right,” Ae Jae says. “Do you just want a melatonin instead?” 

You’ve got nothing to lose. “Sure.” 

She manages to get up, without waking up Yoojin, and walks over to the bathroom. She opens the cabinet, looks through it, and pulls out her melatonin gummies. She pops the lid open, walks towards you, and hands it over. “Take two and you should be asleep in thirty minutes.” 

“Thanks.” You take a couple, as she advises, and hand the jar back to her. You slowly chew on them, keeping your eyes on the screen in front of you. The images start to pass like a blur and you can’t retain what you’ve just watched. 

About twenty minutes later, your eyelids start to droop, feeling the melatonin kick in. You begin to feel a bit tired, so you fully close your eyes and drift off to sleep. 

You find yourself in a sewer, blindly moving through a lightless tunnel—with no clue as to how you ended up there. It’s dark, you note to yourself, and it smells foul. The muddy water splashes with each step and it rises as you go through, practically filling your boots. There’s a mist as well, blocking nearly half of your sight of the tunnel. You try to squint through the fog, trying to make out what’s ahead. 

You’re able to see a small light at the end. As if you had no control over your body, you run towards it—but it never gets any bigger. You can feel your heartbeat pounding against your chest as your legs keep you running. 

But then you slip. 

You swear you had felt a pull on your leg, but you couldn’t tell due to the murkiness of the water. You end up on your hands, your lower half is soaked, still in the water—you can’t even make out your reflection. You look closer at it, trying to see what could be underneath it. Suddenly, a hand pushes your head down. 

The dirty water fills up your nose and you struggle to escape from this person’s hold on you. As you’re submerged, you hear it. The familiar voice, but you can’t pinpoint where you’ve heard it. 

“Can you float?” 

You freeze, hearing those words. 

The hand lets go and you resurface, taking in a deep breath of much needed air. You look up at your tormentor, who looks down at you with a smirk. His teeth are sharpened, shining with the little light of the tunnel. His eyes are dark and long eyelashes curl on top of his eyelids. Raven-black bangs stick to his forehead—from sweat or water—you couldn’t tell. You look up a bit further, spotting the deviled horns on his head. 

You put it together. 

It’s Wonwoo. But, what’s he doing here? 

He tilts his head at you, pitying you as if you were a lost kitten. His lips fully curl from a smirk to a sinister smile. He lowers his head closer to you. 

“Can you float?” he asks. 

You don’t have the words to answer him; you don’t think you can find any. 

He asks again. “Can you float?” 

Before you say anything, he shoves your head underneath once more. 

It’s been two weeks since the sleepover (and the last time you had proper sleep). Classes have started up again, but you’re already tired. It isn’t even from the goddamned workload (which you are definitely not doing). Since the sleepover, you’ve had the same recurring nightmare over and over. Same place, same face. 

Right now, you sit at a table in the dining hall with a single coffee mug that’s already empty. You wait for your friends to arrive at the table, tapping away at your phone, trying to make yourself busy. 

“What’s up,” Chaeyoung says. She takes the seat in front of you and sets her plate on the table. She spots the sad coffee mug and looks between it and you, before asking. “Is that all you’re getting?” 

You set your phone down. “No, I also had a bowl of ice cream earlier.” 

“(Y/N), it’s noon.” 

“Sugar means energy.” 

She lets out a sigh—not surprised, just disappointed. You would think after knowing you for so long, she would get used to your horrible eating habits. She is your meal buddy after all. She takes a stab at her food. “So how was your mid-semester break?” 

“I think we both know that break is a joke.” 

“Still.” 

“Well, I got to meet up with some of my old friends, spent some time with family—you know, all the good stuff.” You lean on the table with an elbow propped up and a hand underneath your chin. “How was yours?” 

“Eh, I did the same thing. It was nice to chill for a bit, but then I remembered how many readings I have to do.” 

You force a smile at her. “I haven’t done any of mine.” 

She throws her head back with a laugh. You start laughing too, at yourself and at her. 

Yongsun comes around to the table. She sets down another cup of coffee for you, which you previously asked for, and her own plate as she sits herself next to you. She looks between you and Chaeyoung. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing really,” you say. “Just talking about how oh-so productive we’ve been since break.” 

She gives you a bitter look with regret evident on her face “That break is a joke. I got nothing done either.” 

“Glad to know everyone is on the same track.” You take a sip of your coffee. 

“No offense,” Chaeyoung says. “But you look really tired. Are you okay?” 

Yongsun laughs, nearly choking on her food. “It’s the exams creeping up, that’s why her eye bags are a darker shade.” 

Your eyebrows slightly rise. “Not wrong, but doesn’t mean I don’t feel attacked.” 

“Are you having trouble sleeping again?” Chaeyoung asks. 

Yongsun takes a closer look at you. “You know, now that she’s said something. She’s not wrong. Are you okay?” 

You sigh and take another big sip of the coffee. “My friends made me watch It.” 

“That’s all?” Chaeyoung asks. 

“Kind of.” You set the coffee down and lay your head on the table. “I’ve just been having the same nightmares for a while now and I can’t sleep.” 

“What do you see?” Yongsun asks. 

“Why? Are you going to psycho-analyze them like you do with the others?” Chaeyoung asks. 

“Absolutely.” 

“Oh my god.”

“Now,” Yongsun says. She fully turns to you, pointing at you with her spoon. “What happens in your nightmares?” 

You hesitate. “The nightmare overall…. it makes sense but there’s a piece that I can’t figure out.” 

“What?” Chaeyoung asks. “You know what, just explain the entire dream and we’ll figure it out.” 

You scratch the back of your ear, feeling a bit sheepish of the whole thing. “Do you guys know Jeon Wonwoo?” 

There’s a silence, but you can practically see them racking their memory for him. You look between them, seeing if either one of them would know him. It’s ideal that they don’t, but if they do, they could probably picture it better. 

“Jeon Wonwoo,” Yongsun mutters under her breath. She speaks louder the second time. “That name is so familiar but I can’t pinpoint where.” 

Chaeyoung looks confused as well. “I get that. I feel like I know him too.” 

“What does this have to do with anything?” 

You let out a long sigh. “Because my nightmares are essentially him just trying to kill me.” You don’t take notice of Yongsun’s frantic typing on her phone. “I don’t understand why it’s him specifically.” 

Chaeyoung hums, nodding along to what you’re saying. “Maybe it’s just a random face from memory—you could have just seen his face and now it’s stuck. Is he ugly or something?” 

“He’s in my ethics class,” you say. “And he’s definitely not ugly.” 

“So he’s attractive and trying to murder you?” 

“Mmhm, basically.” 

“Is there a kink you aren’t sharing with us?” 

“No, who wants to be murdered?” 

“There’s lots of college kids who want to be murdered, (Y/N),” Yongsun says. 

“Okay, fair point.” 

“In other news though.” Yongsun pauses and sets her phone down for all three of you to see. “I found him and I can confirm that he is hot.” 

You take a peek at the Facebook profile—the familiar face is in the little profile image and you shudder out of habit. You move away from the phone, feeling uncomfortable from his face. “Yup, that’s him.” 

“Jesus,” Chaeyoung says. She grabs the phone and zooms in on the image. “This is the face you’re seeing? How can someone look like that?” 

You grimace. “I can’t.” 

“What do you mean?” Yongsun asks. 

“I sit in the front, far away from him, so I don’t have to look at him anymore.” 

“What do you think this means?” Chaeyoung asks. 

“From my perspective,” Yongsun says. “Maybe you’re scared of how attractive he is.” 

You and Chaeyoung squint at her, both not understanding. She continues. “This can mean a lot of things. I need the context.” 

You try to recollect your dream memories. It isn’t hard, considering the fact that you’ve had the same nightmare for a couple of weeks. Although, there have been odd additions every once in a while. Just last night, you were on an empty road rather than a sewer. Sometimes there was the pile of children there and would start floating in front of you. Wonwoo stood in front of it, just staring at it, before turning his head to you to start shoving you into the water. 

You shrink in your seat. You feel like throwing up. 

“Well?” Yongsun asks. “Any details?” 

You grimace again. “I would rather not share while we’re eating.” 

Chaeyoung looks at you with a bit of worry in her eyes. “Do you think you’ll be okay?” 

“Yeah.” You drown the rest of your now-cold coffee down. “It’ll be fine. It’s not like Wonwoo’s a friend. How hard could it be to avoid him?”

Another restless week passes and you’re convinced your sleeping schedule will never bounce back. You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up somehow—it’s your third cup of coffee of the day and it’s done nothing for you. 

It’s 11:20am and class is supposed to start in ten minutes. The class is already half full of students. Everyone else fiddles with their phones, or talks to others about weekend plans. You sit in your seat with a laptop out, fully blanking out, but attempting to stay awake. Granted, you can just ditch, but attendance counts and if your GPA is below 3.0, you can kiss that scholarship goodbye. 

You groan from the thought of being in this class for an hour. You lay your head on the table, feeling the cold table pressed on your cheek, and closing your eyes for just a moment. 

Suddenly, a chill comes over you and you feel more awake than ever. You open your eyes, only to see Wonwoo walk in. His backpack is slung over one shoulder; he wears a soft, black cardigan that’s tugged on his hands to form sweater paws. He has his hair down, tousling through his bangs with his long fingers. He looks like such a soft boy. 

Despite his boyish looks, you felt your body physically react. Chills run up your spine and you felt the hairs on your arms raise. You feel more alert than you’ve been in weeks. You quickly sit up and straighten out your back at his presence. That’s right: you’re in ethics. You always forgot, until you came to class, see him and the nightmares become daytime horrors. 

You let out a sigh. Somehow, you feel more exhausted than before, despite feeling more awake in Wonwoo’s presence. Once the professor arrives, she immediately starts her lecture. Frankly, you can’t even remember what she’s talking about. It all goes in one ear and out the other. You simply type away, your note page expanding as each minute passes. 

An hour eventually passes and you let out a breath of relief. 

“Alright class,” she says. “Remember for the next class, we will be working on our papers, so bring those laptops fully charged and be prepared for discussion.” 

Everyone, including yourself, groans. 

“We need to start preparing for the final and, from my previous feedback, I hear this is really helpful. So, prepare yourselves.” Your professor shuts off the monitor and starts to shut her books. “Now, get out.” 

No one had to be told twice; everyone practically floods out of the room, ready to take a nap or eat, or whatever else college kids do. With the combination of your previous exhaustion and the lecture, you were moving slower than usual, not wanting to tire yourself out further. You could feel your body nearly shutting down again. You close your eyes once more as you rotate your neck around. Once again, you feel the chills creep up your back.

You follow your instincts and open your eyes, spotting Wonwoo from the corner of your eye. Unknowingly, you flinch, immediately looking away from him. He tries to smile in your direction on his way out, but you move your body away from him, trying to look preoccupied as you shove your books into your bag. 

Once he leaves, you let out a long sigh you didn’t realize you held in. Resting your head on the table, you close your eyes—only to see the images of Wonwoo from your nightmares with devil horns. You sit back up, rubbing your eyes and trying to shake the sight of him out of your mind. 

This is going to be harder than you thought. 

“Paging Sleeping Beauty, are you awake?” 

You slowly sit up from the library table, trying to keep your eyes awake as you lean on your hand. “Yes, sir. I am physically present.” 

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow at you. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“When am I ever okay?” 

“Fair.” He sets down his books in front of you and takes a seat. “How much did you get done?” 

“I just finished the draft and took a lil nap.” 

“In a public space?” 

“I didn’t get robbed. I’m fine.” 

He blinks at you, shakes his head and tries to move on from the odd comment. “Anyways,” he says, pulling out his laptop. “I finished my essay earlier during class, so.” 

“So it might be garbage?” 

“Hell no.” He opens the laptop, mindlessly moving the mouse around. “I’m just saying, consider the conditions when you read this. I was in a highly stressed environment.” 

Seungkwan and you have the same professor for ethics (just at different times), so it only made sense to work together for this paper. You two knew each other from a previous class and bonded over a mutual friend of yours, Soonyoung. Obviously, suffering is the only way to bond with other college students, hence your blossomed friendship with Seungkwan. 

You rub your eyes, trying to keep yourself awake in front of his laptop. But, it doesn’t help and the words start to blur together. After the third sentence, you lean back and close your eyes in an attempt to regain your focus. 

“Hey.” You feel his hand on your shoulder. “(Y/N), are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” You reopen your eyes, to see concern in Seungkwan’s eyes. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to answer. “I just haven’t been getting much sleep lately and there’s only so many sleeping pills a person can take.” 

“Is it stress?” 

“Not… not exactly.” 

He raises an eyebrow, leaning his chin on his hand. “Do tell, (Y/N). If not stress, is it a lover?” 

You give him an unamused look at his teasing. “Ha ha. No.” You shift in your seat. “I’ve been having nightmares about this guy in my class.” 

“Ooooh?” 

“Stop it.” 

He pouts. “Can you at least tell me who? I might know who it is.”

You rub the back of your neck, feeling a bit apprehensive. The problem is that he does know everyone. Apparently, everyone else seems to know Wonwoo, one way or another. He does have that reputation of looking like a moody emo bad boy. The fact that he’s good looking means he gets away with being creepy. But then again, he is polite to everyone—a very well mannered boy. You sigh, feeling the exhaustion hit all at once.

“I have a suspicion that you know who it is,” you say. You let out another sigh. “It’s Wonwoo.” 

His eyes sparkle with interest. “Jeon? Jeon Wonwoo??” 

You let out another sigh and place your head in your arms, muffling the groans you make. “Jesus, of course you know him.” 

He makes a face. “Why?” Before you can answer him, he leans closer to you. “What’d he do?” 

You can feel yourself inwardly cringing before the words even come out. You feel embarrassed about making a big deal about this small thing. “He’s done nothing to me. He’s just scary.” 

“Wonwoo is one of the least scary people I know.” He moves away, looking off into the distance as if to collect his thoughts. “Minghao… He’s on that list, but Wonwoo? He’s like a scared cat…” At this point, he’s just mumbling to himself. 

You look up, resting your head on your folded arms. “Earth to Seungkwan?” 

“Right, back to you.” He pauses. “So these nightmares, are they that bad that you’re losing this much sleep?” 

You nod. 

“Wow, is he that scary to you?” 

“Well, considering in the dream that he’s trying to murder me… I would say he’s pretty scary.” 

“Okay, but what’d you think about him before?” 

“Before what?” 

“Like, before you started dreaming about his face and death.” 

You blink, staring at him for a bit, lost in thought. You haven’t really thought about Wonwoo without the devil horns, but then again, you don’t really talk to him. It’s a required class, so there’s a lot of people in this lecture hall. Also, it’s a lecture hall, it’s not like people have a chance to interact with one another. The only reason why you’ve heard of him is because of your mutual friends. You admit though, he is attractive. 

But you couldn’t let Seungkwan know that. He would never let it go and he’s friends with Wonwoo. Who knows what he’d do with this information. 

“I was neutral about him,” you say. “Since I don’t really know much about him.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t even find him attractive?” 

You grumble as you begin to sit up. “Can we not talk about this and go back to suffering?” 

“Ugh.” He throws his head back in a dramatic fashion. “I wanted the tea though.” 

“This ain’t a tea shop honey, so I’m not giving you any.” You put your attention back to his laptop. “Let me just go over this draft and you can trash mine.” 

You push your laptop towards him with the draft of your paper open. 

He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Fine, but I want details later.” 

“Boba break?” 

“Boba break.” 

Your professor sets down her books on the podium. “Alright class, please pull out your drafts. Your classroom partners are already assigned on the classroom page. If you can’t find it, it’s also on the projector.” 

Your eyes don’t move away from your computer screen. The list of peer review partners has been pulled up and you scroll through it to find yours. You can only stare once you spot it. 

(Y/N) and Wonwoo

This can’t be right. 

You look from your screen to the projector. Your names are clear on the screen. 

(Y/N) and Wonwoo

Someone clears their throat, snapping you out of your inner panic. “You’re (Y/N), right?” 

To your right, Wonwoo stands with his messenger bag, a couple of textbooks in his hands, and a polite smile on his face. You can only nod, feeling the chills run up your back. He takes the empty spot next to you and sets down his things. Having him sit so close to you… it’s even scarier than you even imagined. 

He glances at you with a small smile. Ugh, he is handsome. You’ll give him that.

As he turns his head, you get a closer look at his profile. In an instant, you see the devil-horned image of him flash. You shudder, turning away and wordlessly setting your laptop closer to him. 

You manage to speak up, but it gets quieter as you talk. “Here’s my draft. You should be able to make comments… suggestions or something…” 

He gives another smile (although you don’t see it) and hands you his laptop. “I have my draft on here too. I’m sorry, but it’s still a bit messy.”

His voice is so soft, despite his cold features. You take another glance at him to take his laptop. Your hands brush against his and you try to ignore the goosebumps that raise on your arms—whether it’s from fear, you can’t tell. 

For a while, it’s quiet. Everyone is working on peer-editing their partner’s drafts, including you and Wonwoo. You both read through one another’s drafts. Ugh, he’s such a good writer. This was supposed to be a rough draft, but he makes it look like the final draft. This thesis makes sense; the support from the text is present; the counter-argument is made and redirected back to the thesis. Meanwhile, your draft probably looks even more half-assed than you originally intended for it to be. 

You go through the document again to try to give some feedback on his draft, despite how hard it is to make something up. By the end, you only manage to give him three comments. Turns out, you had finished earlier than you’d thought. You look around, seeing everyone still working and interacting with their partners, before looking over at him.

He stares intensely at your screen, still scrolling through the hot mess you call a rough draft. Every couple of seconds, he types a comment and you feel yourself flinch at how hard he presses on the keyboard. You knew it wasn’t the best, but there’s no way for it to be the most awful thing you’ve written. You hadn’t even realized you’ve been staring until he turns his body towards you. 

You lightly flinch at the sudden eye contact and, unconsciously, inch away from him. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he sets your laptop next to you. 

“I wrote a couple of recommendations as to how you could expand on your argument further. I think you have a solid thesis and the evidence you provide from the texts are very strong. I didn’t know what else I could add, so I did the best I could to add some comments to help. You don’t have to use them, but they were just some ideas I thought you could use.” 

He gives you another smile and you couldn’t help to feel a bit touched. Typically, people half ass these types of assignments. To see that he actually put effort into it and even added in ideas you can use... 

You push his laptop further away from you and he immediately scrolls through it, before you can get a word in. That’s probably why the word vomit began and you haphazardly try to explain things, without even looking at him in the eye. 

“I couldn’t really add in as much as you did. I thought it was really well thought out and made some really good points. I just made a couple of comments on word choice, grammar, and how it all connects. You’re a really good writer so you don’t have to really pay attention to these things. They really don’t make a big difference or anything. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you anything particularly helpful…” 

You trail off from your nervous rambling, glancing up at him to take in his reaction. He looks rather sheepish; his hand rubs the back of his neck and light blush dusts his cheeks. 

“It’s really nothing… I’m not that good…” 

This vision of Wonwoo is definitely a 180 from your nightmares. The stoic and heartless image of Wonwoo with devil horns flashes once again. But then, you take another look at him. All you see a shy boy, flushed from a couple of compliments from a classmate he doesn’t even talk to—well, at least, until now. 

You both sit there for a bit in silence, fiddling with your laptops in an attempt to work on your drafted papers. From what you can read, he put a lot of thought into his recommendations. After about five minutes, as the conversation around you begins to stir up again, he turns his body to you. 

“Are the comments okay?” He pauses. “Were they able to help you?” 

You hum and give a small nod. “I think with your suggestions this paper will be a bit easier to write.. I’m sorry for not being able to help you much with yours.” 

He speaks in a small voice that you almost don’t hear. “You did help though…” 

You give him a sheepish smile. “Not really. I gained more from this than you were able to… it’s unfair, sorry...”

“You shouldn’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong, you tried your best.” 

You let out a light laugh. “Did I though? I’m sure you’ve gotten more helpful feedback from other people.” 

“Well, most people here don’t really care about this since this doesn’t ‘count for points.’” 

“You’ve got a point.” 

“Alright,” your professor says. “Considering how much you’re all talking, I’m assuming you’re done exchanging your drafts. If you’re done, you can leave. Consider it a reward for finishing early.” 

You start to pack your things, as does Wonwoo. The both of you remain silent for a while, but, as you get up to leave, he speaks up with a soft voice. 

“Did you want to work together on this paper later sometime?” 

Before you can answer, he continues. “I just meant, like… I know you and Seungkwan work together and I was wondering if I could join you two or something. You don’t have to! I was just curious since Seungkwan and I work on it together too and I just thought it would be good if we all meet up.. together or something…” 

“Oh…” Frankly, you didn’t even know they were working on the essay together too. No wonder Seungkwan’s draft was so good—that son of a bitch. On one hand, you already know Seungkwan is most likely to agree. On the other hand, you are still unsure you’re mentally prepared to willingly spend more time with him. 

He’s nice, but you’re apprehensive as to how your brain is going to interrupt this. Who knows what your unconscious can unload? What if he transforms into a demon in your next dream? What if he turns into one of those gross monster-sized spiders and eats you whole? 

Another chill runs down your spine, but you fake an unbothered smile. “I’ll talk to Seungkwan.” 

He smiles back; it’s small, but genuine. 

You sit at the library, tapping your fingers on the table as you wait anxiously for the boys’ arrival. You flip your phone over again, to check the time and any new text notifications from Seungkwan. You were starting to regret all your life’s decisions. Okay, maybe that’s too dramatic—even for you. But, you are regretting your decision of joining Seungkwan and Wonwoo’s study session. 

To be honest, when you said you would talk to Seungkwan, that was 100% a lie. So, when you get a text from Seungkwan… you are more than shocked to find that he has oh-so graciously arranged the study session for you. That also meant getting a couple of pokes from him. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. As if he knew someone was talking shit, he enters the library and easily spots you in your usual corner. He drops his backpack onto the table and sits himself across from you, pulling out his laptop and textbooks. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I had a couple of questions for my professor and…. I forgot how much that man likes to talk.” 

“Hm, sounds like someone I know.” 

“Ha ha, very funny (Y/N).” He opens his laptop and starts to skim through his books, but, eventually, he gets bored and looks back at you.

You feel his eyes on you and look up from your own laptop. “What?” 

“From our last conversation, you said you were scared of Wonwoo.” Save it for Seungkwan to be blunt rather than beating around the bush. 

“I didn’t say that—” 

“It was implied.” 

Your lips purse, finding yourself at a loss of words. “What about it?” you mumble, shrinking into your seat. 

“Soooo,” Seungkwan says. “Why did you agree to the study group?” 

You frown, squinting at him. “I’m sorry, but who decided to put us all into a group chat???” Your frown becomes a pout. “You can’t just put me in a group chat, ask about a meeting time, and think I’m going to be the asshole who says ‘oh no, I can’t make it.’ Then have you point out that I’m not doing anything.” 

He shines a bright smile at you, ignoring your negative tone. “You wouldn’t have joined so otherwise.” 

“Ha! So it was a ruse!” 

“Of course it was.” He leans back to his seat. “You were so scared of him—look at you now, you’re making plans with him.” 

“You made the plans.” 

He waves a finger at you, “Semantics.” 

You can only roll your eyes at him and type away, trying to sort out and prioritize on your latest assignments. “Why do you care so much about what I think about him?” 

He blinks and you swear, for a second, he seems to have run out of words. You raise an eyebrow at his silence. 

“Well... “ He stammers. “I—I just... just want all of my friends… to—to get along and be… friends.” 

Your eyebrows furrow and you hum along, but you don’t believe a single thing he says. “It’s all the subconscious. I never had a problem with him in the first place.” 

“Problem with who?” 

You both turn around to see Wonwoo and another boy standing next to you two. From the unfamiliar voice, you can assume it was said by Mingyu—the other participating victim in the groupchat Seungkwan made. 

“No one,” Seungkwan says. “Problem with no one—right, (Y/N)?” 

You can only stare wide-eyed as you glance between them. “Yes, what he said.” 

Mingyu laughs. “Uhm, okay.” 

They both seat themselves at the table with you and Seungkwan—Wonwoo on one side and Mingyu on the other. They both give you a friendly smile and start to pull out their materials. You can only smile back awkwardly, typing away at your laptop. 

“No offense,” Mingyu says. “I’m glad to be here, but I’m confused why I’m here.” 

“It’s a study group and you’re our friend,” Seungkwan says. 

“We’re not in the same class.” 

“Moral support.” 

“For what?” 

He glances at you, which makes you narrow your eyes at him. He turns his attention back to Mingyu. “For things.” 

Mingyu raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“So,” Wonwoo says. “Shall we get started?” 

“What should we start on?” you ask. 

“I was thinking maybe the essay since that’s due the soonest,” Seungkwan says. 

You all nod along, even Mingyu. 

“So, I’m not involved either way,” Mingyu says. “This is fine, I totally don’t feel left out.” 

Seungkwan shrugs. “You can do other assignments too.” 

Mingyu pouts and his silent sulking is ignored. 

You and Wonwoo chuckle at their antics. “Sorry buddy,” he says. “This plan wasn’t scheduled well.” 

“Hey!” 

Wonwoo ignores Seungkwan and turns to you. “Were you able to work on the essay?” 

You shift in your seat, feeling awkward from suddenly being in his direct line of vision. “Yeah, I did—it’s coming along. Thanks again, by the way.” 

“It’s not a problem. I’m glad I could help,” he says. “Did you want me to look at it?” 

Your eyes widen, meeting Seungkwan’s, who makes a face. To be honest, you haven’t worked on it since you opened it during class and you’re too embarrassed to say you’ve been procrastinating. It’s due in two days and who says you can’t write an essay in one night (who isn’t a professor). 

“Are you having trouble concentrating again?” Seungkwan asks. Before you can answer, he interjects himself. “Is this because you’re still having sleeping problems? Dude, just keep popping those pills.” 

The other two’s attention have been turned to you. You inwardly groan from the eyes and try to focus on Seungkwan—but your body responds for you with a grimace. “Can you not say it like that? It’s melatonin and they’re technically vitamins.” 

“Hmmm, sure.” 

“You have sleeping problems?” Mingyu asks. 

You sheepishly rub the back of your neck. “Yeah, it’s not that big of a deal though.” 

Seungkwan snorts. “Sure it isn’t. It’s not like you were nearly falling asleep when editing my essay just a couple of days ago.” 

You smile. “I bought you boba though.” 

“But can I really be bribed?” 

“Of course not,” you say. “Because no one can afford your high maintenance.” 

Seungkwan’s jaw drops from your bluntness, but there’s a small smile in it. Mingyu doubles over in laughter and Wonwoo tries to hold his in—the smile on his face gives it away, causing you to laugh as well. 

Seungkwan quickly straightens up in defense. “This is what I get for trying to be nice.” 

You give him another teasing smile. 

“Okay, okay,” Mingyu says. “How bad is this sleeping problem?” 

“It’s..” You click your tongue, recalling as to how bad your sleep schedule has been since these nightmares began. “It’s really bad, dude.” 

“You know,” he says, turning his body towards you. “There are foods good for sleep.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, one time I made this banana almond parfait.” 

“Oooh, sounds fancy—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Seungkwan says. “But I doubt that’s going to help (Y/N)’s situation.” 

“Why not?” Wonwoo asks. 

You’d almost forgotten he was there for a second. 

“It’s a subconscious thing.” 

Wait a second. 

“So it’s psychological problems?” Mingyu asks. He props his chin into his hands. “Do tell.” 

You stifle a laugh. 

Wonwoo is the one who speaks for you. “Mingyu, you just met her and you already want to open up her psyche?” 

“What’s a better way to get to know someone?” 

“Anything else, bro.” 

Mingyu’s lips purse, then form into a pout. “Booooooooo.” 

“Okay,” you say. “Let’s just move on. We actually have to work on this essay.” 

“Boooooo!” 

“Shut up, Seungkwan.” 

“I don’t care what anyone else says,” Chaeyoung says. “Lizard people are real.”

Yongsun nods along, digging her spoon further into her ice cream. “I’d buy into it. Matthew McConaughey has a lizard smile.” 

You can only sigh in disappointment and put your head in your hands. “Why am I friends with you people?” 

Your comment is ignored and Chaeyoung continues to talk. “Controversial statement: Shawn Mendez? Lizard person.” 

“Oh my God, he kind of does.” Yongsun shows her screen to the both of you. “He has the same lizard smile as Matthew.” 

As the two continue to converse other celebrities with lizard qualities, you sit at the other side of the booth, playing with your food. Dining hall food isn’t great, but it is free. What’s the point of these dinners, if you’re just going to want to throw it back up from these types of conversations? 

A couple of weeks ago, y’all had a whole conversation as to how Ted Bundy got away from his crimes for such a long time (to be honest, he wasn’t even really attractive so….). Then, last week, y’all talked about white boy names—the looks you got from people with those names were absolutely hilarious. Side note: you don’t give a solid shit to anyone named Todd (what Todd have you met that WASN’T an asshole?). 

By now, you’ve just learned to sit back and let these topics just… happen. At some point, these conversations are going to bite you in the ass. 

“(Y/N)?” 

You look up from your plate. 

“I thought that was you,” Mingyu says with a smile. 

You return it with one of yours. “Hey, Mingyu, right?” 

“Yeah! I’m Seungkwan’s friend—although, I’m more known for being Wonwoo’s.” He pauses, before mumbling to himself. “And Jungkook’s…” 

“Wonwoo?” Chaeyoung asks. 

“Jeon Wonwoo?” Yongsun adds. 

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “You know him?” 

“We’ve heard of him,” Yongsun says, nudging your rib. You smack her elbow away. 

Chaeyoung scoots herself over. “If you want, you can sit with us.” 

“Sure,” he says. “I have class in an hour, so I have time.” He sits himself next to her and looks between you and the other girls. “So, what are we talking about?” 

Yongsun swallows her ice cream, pointing her spoon at him. “Lizard people.” 

You push her spoon out of the way. “Can we please move away from this subject?” 

“They! Are! Here!” Chaeyoung bangs her fists on the table, along each syllable. 

You put your head back into your hands. “Oh my God. You need to stay off the internet.” 

“Lizard people…” Mingyu says slowly. “What is this exactly?” 

You look up, eyes wide and warning. “You do not want to ask her that.” 

“So, there are theories that some people roam around Earth—” 

“And, so it begins.” 

Chaeyoung ignores you. “—as lizards. They are living amongst us and planning to overthrow the human race.” 

“We’ve possibly identified a couple of them,” Yongsun says. “Hear us out. Matthew McConaughey and Shawn Mendez. Thoughts?” 

“You do not have to answer them, by the way,” you say to him. 

As if Mingyu was possessed by someone else, he nods along as he listens. “I could definitely see that. They have weird face structures.” 

Your jaw drops from his participation in your weird dinner discussions. Your respect for him as a person has dropped. “Dude, don’t encourage them!” 

Chaeyoung points at him, as if he isn’t present. “I like him better than that Wonwoo guy.” 

“Ditto,” Yongsun says. 

“I thought you guys didn’t know him?” Mingyu asks. His head tilts to the side—for a second, he looks like a puppy. 

“We don’t,” Yongsun says. She slurps up the remaining ice cream melting from her bowl. “(Y/N) mentioned him and we looked him up—he’s just as hot as (Y/N) said.” 

Your cheeks flush and you flick some of your water in her direction. “That’s not what I said!” 

Her lips purse in response and she continues to slurp from her bowl. Meanwhile, Chaeyoung gives you a look, which you refuse to acknowledge. 

On the other hand, Mingyu’s attention has been turned to you in interest. His eyebrow raises and you start to squirm. 

“So,” he says with a twirl of his fork. “What have you said about Wonwoo?” 

You’d honestly thought this conversation was behind you, especially since you had dodged away from the topic during your study group a couple of days ago. The difference between Seungkwan and these two is that these two have very little regard for your opinion. While they are your friends, they are also very invasive and you are very sure that they will ignore your protests. It’s almost as if they had heard your thoughts—they answer the question for you. 

“She said he’s attractive,” Chaeyoung says. 

“Technically,” Yongsun says. “She said he wasn’t ugly and I think she also said he murders her.” 

Mingyu turns to you with surprise. 

Just when you thought you had died before, you were sure that you have died now and were stuck in your customized purgatory hell. 

“That,” you say into your hands. “Was not what I said.” 

Yongsun squints at you. “Are you sure? Because I distinctly remember you defining your death kink with those weird dreams.” 

You stare at her for a while before deciding on what to say. “Are you on crack? I was sure that your crackhead energy was drained last week during your history exam.” 

“How dare you? I am completely sober.” 

“Debatable.” 

You both turn back to the other two at the table, where Chaeyoung continues to eat and Mingyu stares off with confusion evident in his features. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “But what’s the piece I’m missing?” 

“I’ll give you a short version,” Chaeyoung says. “You see, (Y/N) has been dreaming about Wonwoo murdering her and we think it’s a loo—hey!” She grabs a napkin to wipe her, now, wet hair. 

You give her a bright, fake smile as she playfully glares at you and the glass of water you’ve flicked on her. Yongsun chuckles at your antics and turns to Mingyu. “Either way, it’s 100% repression.” 

“Repression of what exactly?” you ask. 

“Attraction,” Yongsun points out. 

You flick some more water at her, ignoring her yelps. You turn your attention to Mingyu. “Ignore them and everything they’ve said because it isn’t true.” 

“Lies!” Chaeyoung says. “Yongsun’s right. It’s probably repression because Wonwoo is definitely hot—stop throwing water at me!” 

You ignore her once again, flicking more water from your glass. “I did not say he was hot. I just admitted that he wasn’t ugly!” 

As you continue to attack your friends with your water, Mingyu stays silent, but makes note from the conversation. Oh, how things will become more interesting….

You continue to type on your laptop, wrapping the conclusion paragraph with one last sentence. You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” you mutter under your breath. This god forbidden essay is done and you can easily turn it in. You look up from your screen, where Wonwoo continues to type on his. 

His glasses sit on the edge of his nose and his eyes are narrowed, as if to physically focus on the words. You have to admit: the glasses suit him and his oversized sweater. While he has worn them every once in a while, this is one of the rare times you’ve seen him this close up. He looks like a soft boy molded from a John Green book. 

You look a glance around and, seeing how he’s gathered the attention of a few people, you can tell you aren’t the only one who’s noticed. To be fair, if it wasn’t for your nightmares, you would be a lot more attracted to him. 

Admittedly, it has been nice to spend this time with him—you managed to reduce some of those nightmares and get a bit more sleep. You might even admit that he’s a friend more than just a classmate now. 

Speaking of friends, Seungkwan and Mingyu are pretty late. It’s been 20 minutes of just you and Wonwoo. You don’t mind, but you all made a plan to meet here (since the essay is due tonight). 

“Are you done with your essay already?” 

Wonwoo’s voice snaps you out of your inner ramblings. You look towards his direction, freezing from the sudden eye contact. “Huh?” 

He clears his throat. “Are you... done? With the essay?” 

“Ah, kind of. It’s probably bad, but it’s done.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine. Let me see.” He gestures to your laptop. 

“Compared to your English major ass?” You pull the laptop closer to you. “No.” 

“(Y/N),” he says with a sigh. “I’m sure it’s not even bad.” He gets ahold of the top of your laptop, lightly tugging it away from your grasp. You can only pout as the device is taken away from your hold and he begins to read. You place your chin into your hands, watching Wonwoo’s eyes dance from sentence to sentence. 

You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring until he makes eye contact with you and sets your laptop back near you. If he noticed, he doesn’t say anything about it. 

Wonwoo adjusts his glasses, pushing them closer to the bridge of his nose. When his face comes to view, there’s a small smile. “I told you your essay was fine. In fact, you could probably turn it in right now.” 

Your lips purse, considering the idea, even though you were already planning to. Originally, you wanted Seungkwan to check it too—especially since he saw the real rough draft of it, which was a blank document. 

“I kind of wanted to wait for Seungkwan,” you say. “Since we all agreed to do it together.” 

He nods along with your words. “It makes sense.” He looks at you with a head tilt, thinking aloud. “Where is Seungkwan?”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you say with a small laugh. “Is Mingyu coming?” 

He checks his phone, wrinkling his nose as he squints at the screen and scrolls through his messages. “Honestly, I have no idea—last time I checked, he was supposed to.” 

“Yeah, I ran into him yesterday and I assumed he was coming too.” 

“Oh yeah,” Wonwoo says. “How was the lunch?” 

“It was actually pretty funny beca—” You stop. You didn’t mention anything about lunch… so, how did he know about that? Your eyes narrow at him. “Did Mingyu tell you already?” 

“Uh.” Wonwoo’s eyes shift. “Kind of?” He hunches a bit more over his own laptop, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Mingyu basically tells me everything.” 

Mingyu basically tells me everything. 

Oh, no. 

You try to recall exactly as to the different topics during that one hour lunch with him. He was almost late to his class, since he was in a heavy debate with Yongsun and Chaeyoung as to whether or not Perry the Platypus cosplayers are considered furries… 

It was a conversation that you had to be there for, in order for the context to be understood. 

There was also the topic of whether Twilight should be watched for ironic purposes and/or the cinematic value of it. There was also discussion about what was the weakest element—which Yongsun was debating on the side of water. 

You were getting off track; curse your friends for having such bizarre conversations. That line shouldn’t have triggered you, but for some reason, it feels off—as if there was something you were forgetting. You look at Wonwoo, who’s sitting across from you with flushed cheeks.

Wait a second. 

She said he’s attractive. 

Death kink with those weird dreams. 

(Y/N) has been dreaming about Wonwoo murdering her. 

Just when you thought things were just starting to become normal-ish between you two. 

Your face flushes as you remember all the things your friends said… which were most likely echoed to Wonwoo through Mingyu (seeing how much blush is present on his face). 

There’s only one thing you can say. “I can explain.” 

He lets out a little, breathless laugh—but it sounds more like an uncomfortable one. 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, I swear.” 

He pushes his glasses up once more. “You—you don’t have to.” 

“It’s okay,” you say. “I should explain myself. It’s not supposed to sound as bad as they made it out to be and it’s not even your fault. I don’t even know why my subconscious chose your face out of anyone else’s. Yongsun said it’s repression, but you probably already know that and—” You sigh. “I’m—I’m sorry.” 

“For what? It’s not really your fault.” 

“Yeah, but I guess, it’s just in general.” Your fingers glaze over the keyboard, absentmindedly toying with the keys. “Over break, I watched a horror movie with my friends and then I started getting nightmares. Again, I don’t know why your face was there, but… it just was.” 

“I’m not mad,” Wonwoo says. “And it’s not your fault—you don’t have to apologize.” 

There’s a small silence, which is just you and Wonwoo looking at one another with wide eyes, unsure as to what happens next. 

“I will say,” Wonwoo says with a small voice. “I’m a bit flattered.” 

“That I dream of you murdering me?” 

“No.” He lets out a small laugh. “That your subconscious ‘chose my face.’” 

You chuckle rather sheepishly when he took the words from your previous rambling. “Yeah… Seungkwan suggested that it was just a face that was most memorable.” You let out a long sigh. “And Yongsun likes to psychoanalyze into things.” 

“So, do you… think my face… is attractive?” 

You look up at him from your keyboard, only to see him dodging your eyes. His Adam's apple moves as he swallows. On the table, you can see that his hands are curled underneath the sweater paws, moving as he fiddles with his fingers. You can feel yourself shrinking into your seat, shyness overpowering you. 

“Well….” you say. “You are… attractive…” You say the last part quieter than you intended, but Wonwoo’s eyes meet yours once the words are said. 

His face turns a shade darker and he smiles a bit wider than before. “Even.. Even if I was part of a nightmare?” 

You nod, but look off to the side to shake off the embarrassment. 

“I think you’re attractive too.” 

Your head turns to him, but his concentration is back to his laptop. While he can act like he didn’t say anything all he wants, the redness of his ears give his emotions away. You press your lips to repress your smile. 

A bag being thrown into the table interrupts your moment. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Seungkwan says, clearly out of breath. “This ladder here wanted to stop by Starbucks and there was a line.” 

“How was I supposed to know?” Mingyu yells. 

“It’s Starbucks! You should have known!” 

“You couldn’t have sent a text?” you ask. 

“My phone died,” he says with a pout. “Speaking of which, do you have a charger??” 

You can only sigh in disappointment, but rummage through your bag nevertheless. “You’re lucky I brought this one.” 

“You’re a lifesaver.” 

“I know, I know. Now sit down and shut up, people are looking.” 

When you open your eyes, you’re running—from what, you are unsure of. This tunnel is nearly pitch black dark. A part of you is calm, but the other is panicking. Probably due to previous experiences you’ve had in this subconscious. You continue to run, refusing to look back at whatever remains behind you, but you can hear its footsteps echoing. 

Your shoes are soaked and continue to splash against the muddy waters, as you continue to run. It stays dark for so long, but then it gets lighter, as if the sun poured itself into the tunnel. The footsteps stop. Whatever’s behind you diminishes. 

But you can’t stop running towards the light, which burns closer and closer. The light embraces you, shining brightly and bouncing along your surroundings. You try to shield your eyes from the sun, only to be greeted by shimmers. Your vision starts to clear, enough for you to identify your surroundings. 

You’re at the park. But what for? 

You stand in the grass, surrounded by trees and rose bushes. The flowers are just in bloom, blossoming towards you, as if you were the sun itself. The skies are clear of clouds and the sun shines down, but it isn’t beating. Butterflies flutter and graze above the ground, but they don’t get close enough to you. The birds are chirping lightly, sounding like a song’s melody. The air is fresh and the aura is soothing. 

As you walk through, you start to soak in the aroma. To the side, you notice a small hill with, no doubt, the best view. A picnic blanket is laid out, along with plates and other objects. 

Someone else is also there. 

It’s a familiar figure, but you can’t make out who it is from the distance. 

You call out. “Hello?” 

The figure turns and there Wonwoo sits.  He has his glasses intact, but, instead of the casual wear, he’s a bit more dressed up—his white button-up showcases his nicely built chest and his slacks reveals how long his legs are. 

He smiles at you, white pearls sparkling and eyes shining—you feel as if it’s almost like the buds have bloomed as well. For a moment, you think you’re stuck in a picture. 

And then the wind blows, brushing his hair against his forehead. 

“Are you coming, (Y/N)?” 

---

Your eyes shoot open. The warmness in your chest is gone and is replaced by the coldness of your sheets. You shift under the covers and attempt to sit up. 

The grogginess stays, but one thing remains in your mind—what was that and why did the dream change? 

It’s 11:15am once again and you sit at your unofficial reserved spot. Your head lies on the desk, awaiting for the other students and your professor to arrive at the lecture hall. Tiredness continues to overpower you as your eyes consistently flutter to shut and reopen. 

A knock on the table interrupts your attempted naptime. You look up to see Wonwoo’s face above yours. He gives you a small smile as he sets his bag on the seat next to yours. From his presence, you sit yourself up and rub your eyes, in an attempt to wake yourself. 

“Are you tired?” he asks. 

You can feel yourself internally curling from his close proximity. “Yeah, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

He lets out a small, airy laugh. With a shake of his head, he jokes. “Still getting nightmares about me murdering you?” 

A blush creeps up to your face. “Ha… Not really,” you say. It’s not like it’s a lie, but it’s not exactly the truth. You unconsciously move yourself a bit further from him as you recall the image of him surrounded by roses. “It’s probably just insomnia—bad sleeping habits most likely piled up.” 

He nods, humming along as you speak. He rummages through his bag, pulling out his laptop and notebook. His side profile is illuminated through the sunshine that’s reflected on the window. He looks like he’s sparkling… 

You quickly turn away as soon as he moves his head towards your direction. God, you were starting to stare a lot more than usual. You shake your head as you try to refocus on what you were doing. 

What were you doing? 

Closing your eyes, you try to regain your train of thought—only for you to lose it immediately after. You eventually decide to pull out your laptop and open up your lecture notes. On another tab, you see the essay that you’ve already turned in. 

“Oh,” you say. You turn back to Wonwoo, “I almost forgot, did your essay turn out okay?” 

“Yeah, it took a little bit of editing but I turned it in on time.” 

“I’m sure it turned out great,” you say. “You’re definitely getting an A.” He gives you another shy smile and his cheeks start to blush. You shift into your seat, trying to find a comfortable position. “You’re really smart anyways,” you mumble. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” you say. “Nothing at all.” 

“Well, I’m sure you’re getting an A too,” he says. “It was really well put together. At least, from what I remember.” 

“Ehh.” You shrug your shoulders. “We’ll see.” 

“Give yourself more credit, (Y/N),” he says in a softer tone. “You’re really smart and it’s okay for you to brag.” He turns his attention back to his laptop. His red ears have made a return. 

On the other hand, you position yourself in your seat to straighten up and hide your smile. You take the opportunity to glance around, noticing the other students who’ve entered the lecture hall. Others are starting to enter as well. 

You check the time on your laptop and it looks like it’s time for class to begin. Your professor arrives as well and sets up her materials. 

“Open up your textbooks and turn to page 304. We’ll start with the four categories of ethical theories.” 

Without turning from your laptop screen, your hand hovers over the textbook in your bag, but Wonwoo’s whisper interrupts your movement. 

“Did you forget your book? I’ll share mine with you.” 

You should probably say no, but your hand speaks for you, moving away from the bag. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.” 

He gives another smile, leaning closer as he scoots the book towards you. Your professor continues to lecture, going over the slide’s content, but you can’t concentrate—not when Wonwoo’s this close. He smells like fresh laundry, the kind that you want to wrap yourself in before the warmth is gone. When you look at him, the sparkles return, along with the image of him from your dreams. 

“Hold up,” Seungkwan says. “Yongsun thought that water is the weakest element? It’s clearly fire.” 

“That’s what I said!” Mingyu yells. He sighs in disappointment from the recollection of the conversation and moves his strawberry milkshake to the side. “Fire is just a stupid element that can be destroyed by water AND all living things need water in order to survive. There are so many benefits to water and—” He stops himself with another sigh and takes a long sip of his milkshake. 

Next to him, you shake your head with a small laugh. Taking a fry from your plate for a bite, you can only observe and let the conversation take its course. While your focus remains on the other two, your eyes glance over towards Wonwoo, who sits in front of you. 

“I think earth is debatable,” Wonwoo says. “But, I feel like fire is the weakest due to the fact that it’s more destructive rather than productive.” 

While the essay was already due, Seungkwan invited you to dinner at a nearby diner. You figured that it’d be nice to not eat dining hall food for once, so you agreed. But when you got there, you didn’t expect Mingyu and Wonwoo to already be there—hence your current position in front of Wonwoo, next to Mingyu, in a booth, while they’re arguing about the strongest element. 

You blame Yongsun and Chaeyoung for this chaos; if they hadn’t pulled him into this conversation, he wouldn’t have brought it up now—which also dragged Seungkwan and Wonwoo into the discourse. 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say. You continue to gnaw away at your fries, even when all three of their eyes land on you. Typically you’d refuse to engage in these conversations, but you refuse to let them walk around without an argument. 

Seungkwan clears his throat, as if he was asking you to elaborate. Meanwhile, Mingyu continues to sip on his shake and Wonwoo has an eyebrow raised. 

You let out a sigh from the eyes and toss the half-bitten french fry back to your plate before speaking. “You can argue that fire is the weakest, but we cook with fire and that’s what allowed our society to thrive because we started to have less time devoted to farming.” 

Seungkwan and Mingyu’s jaws slightly drop from your point, while Wonwoo smiles. 

“We can technically live without fire,” Seungkwan says. “We can go back to farming and let the animals thrive.” 

“First of all, cold temperatures are a thing and fire provides warmth. Secondly, did you not hear me? Cooking gave us more time to further develop society, so, without it, we would figuratively and literally be unable to live.” 

“She’s got a point,” Wonwoo says. 

“Thank you.” 

Seungkwan’s mouth moves, but no words find their way out. 

“Wow, I left Boo Seungkwan speechless,” you say, as you begin to finish off your fries. “You’re welcome.” 

Mingyu looks on impressively. “Niceeee.” 

“That’s a very hard feat,” Wonwoo says. “I’ll give you points for that.” 

Seungkwan has suddenly regained interest from Wonwoo’s words. He leans his chin on his hand, moving uncomfortably closer to Wonwoo, who attempts to swat him away. “When did you two get along so well?” 

“We have class together,” you say with narrowed eyes. 

“And I sit right next to her,” Wonwoo adds. 

Mingyu smiles slyly. “Since when did that happen?” 

You miss the way he looks over to Seungkwan. Wonwoo blinks at the question and you suddenly have developed more interest towards the salt on the fries. 

“I feel like we shouldn’t be here,” Seungkwan says. 

“You invited me,” you say. “But okay.” 

“I know that,” he says with a huff. “But it just feels like a moment we shouldn’t be in.” 

You roll your eyes in response, but the smile on your face shows no malice. Wonwoo remains quiet—scratching his neck, feeling the heat creep up to his face. 

“So, are you dating yet?” Mingyu asks as he glances between you two. 

“Oh my God,” Wonwoo mutters. He lays his face onto the table with a thud and you almost choke from Mingyu’s directiveness. 

Mingyu goes on, ignoring both of your reactions. “You both like each other right? Well, at least, I know Wonwoo does.” 

“DUDE!” 

“Oops.” Mingyu’s lips pull back. He turns to Seungkwan. “Should we leave now?” 

“Please don’t,” Wonwoo whispers. 

Your jaw drops as you watch Seungkwan nod, smiling at you like nothing’s happened. Seungkwan and Mingyu side out of their side of the booth, but. before they leave, Mingyu drops one hand on each of your shoulders. “Don’t worry about the check. Consider it a present from your cupids.” 

“You owe me one, (Y/N)!” Seungkwan shouts from the door. They both head towards the door, giving both of you little waves with their fingers. 

Both you and Wonwoo sit in silence, not knowing what to say to the other. But, in all fairness, Wonwoo owes you the explanation. 

You swallow, suddenly feeling your throat dry up. “If it makes you feel better…” 

He looks up at you from the table. 

“I like you too.” 

A smile grows on his face and he starts to sit up slowly. “Really?” 

“What can I say?” Your smile mirrors his. “My subconscious chose you before I could.” 

He lets out a chuckle, readjusting his glasses and fiddling with his fingers, before settling them on the diner table. They’re free from the usual sweater paws and tap against the bright countertop. 

“Just to be clear,” he says. “You aren’t scared of me?” 

“Well, I was before,” you pause. “But that was before we even really talked or hung out. And now….” 

“What about now?” 

You blush, remembering the roses, the sparkling, the picnic—it all sounds so… nice. You couldn’t think of the words and Wonwoo could sense that. 

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” 

A sigh of relief escapes you. “Maybe next time then.”

His smile grows. “So, there’s a next time?” 

You nod, feeling the butterflies in your stomach and your heart pounds in your chest. His hand moves towards you, closer and with caution—so yours meets his halfway. When your fingers intertwine, he looks from your hands to you with sparkling eyes and you can feel the warmth return to your chest. 

This. 

This is what feels right. 

#admin grandma #grandma writings #writings #rom-com #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fics #kpop writings #seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fics #jeon wonwoo #jeon wonwoo imagines #jeon wonwoo scenarios #jeon wonwoo fics #wonwoo #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo fics #college!au #college!wonwoo #group: seventeen #member: jeon wonwoo

[angst-fairygodmother]

Light Fingers (The Umbrella Academy)

Diego’s vigilantism brings him repeatedly across the path of a young cat burglar. But as he finds himself developing feelings for the thief, he begins to wonder if there’s more to her than meets the eye, and whether they’re really on opposite sides. And as their relationship deepens, it brings with it a plot involving his estranged adopted father, and threatens to destroy all of them.

CHAPTER 7: HEIST, HEIST BABY

Word Count: 2058 Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader Rating: M Content Warnings: criminal activity, canon-typical violence  Cross-posted to AO3: here

Previous Chapter: Laid Bare || Masterlist

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After the first, most intense night of planning, it took three weeks before you were confident that the pair of you was ready to carry out your heist. You spent most of that time on “research,” staking out the warehouse to verify things such as guard rotations, security systems, and surrounding traffic, watching for patterns in shipment deliveries, hoping for a slip up, one missed logo on a shirt or van, anything to tell you who or where the crates were coming from. When you weren’t busy with that, you and Diego were going over the plan, discussing each person’s role and what you would do in different potential scenarios (in addition to being an almost normal new couple, getting to know each other even better and learning how to exist in conjuncture). 

Finally, you were satisfied that you had everything you were going to get from mere watching. Diego, trusting your instincts on the matter, agreed to your decision, meeting you at your apartment for last minute planning and then commencement of the main event.

You picked up the backpack containing your gear, turning back to grin at Diego. 

“Ready?” you asked. 

“Not quite,” he answered with a soft smile, stepping well into your personal space.

“What do you--” your question was cut off as he cupped your face gently between his hands and kissed you. You inhaled sharply, the breath slowly escaping again in a sigh as you melted into his touch. 

“For luck,” he whispered against your lips, eyes crinkled in a smile when your eyes fluttered back open. 

You smiled back. “I don’t think we need luck, but maybe you should do that again, just to be sure.”

“If I do that, we might never leave,” he said, voice low and gravelly in a way that sent your skin tingling. 

“Promises, promises,” you teased, shaking your head. “Alright, let’s get this party started.”

~

The streets were dark around you as Diego pulled his car to a park, about a mile from the warehouse. Your getaway secured, you made your way the rest of the way on foot. The agreement was that, given the size of the building, you would go in together and then split up to cover ground. Each of you would try to find a few worthwhile items to bag that were small enough to go unnoticed, and you’d make note of any information you found in the process that would tell what Reginald was doing with all this stuff, or who he was getting it from and sending it to. Exit the way you came and rendezvous at the car in two hours. You had a series of signals in place in case something went wrong, and what to do if it did (primarily scatter and meet back together when the coast was clear, possibly even a day or two later if necessary).

Partnerships were risky in your line of work, but somehow it felt safe with Diego. 

Covering you both in a wavering reflectivity in case there was a camera that you missed, you tried the unsecured back exit that was meant to be your way in and frowned. This door, by all rights, should have been easy to open, kept unlocked and unhindered as an emergency escape for the employees. 

“Locked,” you said with a frown, deadly serious despite your light tone. “Now that seems like a safety hazard. Maybe we should fix it for your dear old dad.”

Diego placed a hand over yours where it trembled on the door handle. You turned your head to look back at him, heart clenching at the expression of concern and understanding on his face. You breathed a shaky sigh, blinking back the tears (mostly of anger) in your eyes and tried to get your mind back on the work at hand. Examining the lock again, you decided on the right tools and pulled a thin crowbar from your bag, twirling it in your hands a few times before holding it out to him.

“Would you like to do the honors,” you smiled at him, “partner?”

He flashed a grin back, placing his hand just over yours and taking the bar from you. You shifted back, watching - and greatly enjoying the view of - him make quick work of popping the lock, his muscles flexing visibly beneath his tight black sweater. He passed the crowbar back to you and held the door cracked open.

“Ladies first,” he said softly, bowing to you with a flourish that made you giggle. 

“You just want to be able to watch me walk,” you teased, winking.

He shrugged, gesturing as if to say it couldn’t be helped. 

The warehouse had a certain spookiness to it as you entered, slipping carefully through the rigidly arranged aisles of shelf after shelf of crate. Each one seemed to be perfectly aligned as a sharp, straight line from floor to nearly ceiling. Somehow, you weren’t surprised by this, given everything you had heard or learned about the infamous Hargreeves. But it gave you the creeps, nothing should be this perfect, especially not a warehouse of suspicious and possibly illegal goods. 

By now, you had lost track of Diego in the maze, and even though that was the plan, it sent a shiver down your spine. Eventually, you found your way to a more open section, clearly some sort of inventory area with half-opened crates and long metal tables covered in individual objects. 

As you glanced around in the dim light, something moved on the other side of the area, making you jump. Your foot skidded on loose packing material, sending you stumbling into one of the large rolling ladders and it subsequently squeaking across the floor.

“Who’s there?” a voice called from somewhere up above and behind you.

Freezing, not daring to even breathe, you called upon your powers more firmly while your mind raced. There were catwalks that weren’t on the blueprints, or the shelves were such that they supported security officers walking around on their tops. There was security inside the building that you had somehow missed, despite staking out for so long and tracking the comings and goings. How had you messed this up so badly?

Your eyes flickered to the ground where the packing material lay and noticed that it was only on the ground near where the aisles joined with the room, and the ladders happened to be positioned right next to those spots. 

“Shit,” you muttered. You had led the way straight into a trap. 

“I’m guessing you just noticed that this was a setup too,” Diego asked, voice barely audible as he appeared at your shoulder (you had been too busy scolding yourself for your mistake to notice him creep around the edge of the room).

You nodded, biting your lip as you continued to look around, feeling the walls close around you like a cage. 

Suddenly a bullet whizzed past your head as Diego yanked you out of it’s path, pressing tight to you and pinning you against the wall. He turned, whipping something from a nearby table at the guard, hitting him squarely and causing him to stumble back. 

You heard shouts and the pounding of more boots on the metal pathways above.

“Well Master Thief, what now?” he asked, breath ghosting over your face. 

“Now? Running’s always a good option. I don’t think these guys will be so amenable to flirting as a distraction while we make our grand escape as some.” You couldn’t help winking at him, teasing despite the danger.

He stared at you, incredulous at your brazenness, but still he nodded minutely in consent. You waited a breath before linking hands with him and pushing off, moving shadow to shadow and stretching your powers as best you could to aid in your flight. The two of you darted back through the shelves, and you prayed that you were indeed headed for the door you had left propped open and ready for escape. 

‘Why were there no alarms going off?’ You wondered, sure that there should be more concern at your presence. 

You burst through the back door, and kept going, lungs burning as you wove your way through the deserted streets. Eventually, you realized that there was no pursuit and slowed to a halt in a narrow alleyway, still positioned so that you could watch in case you were proven wrong.

Diego doubled over and you collapsed against him, holding each other up as you panted, breathless from the run. His shoulders shook, and you quickly realized he was laughing, almost giddy. It was an unfamiliar sound, and it made your heart light. Unsure why you were doing it or what could possibly be funny, you found yourself joining in, until you could both barely stand for a new reason. 

When your eyes connected, you instantly sobered, breath catching as he leaned closer, one hand finding the back of your neck to draw you in. No matter how many times he kissed you, it still felt like the first time, like a once in a lifetime moment. 

“What was that for?” you asked, dazed as he pulled away. 

“Do I need a reason?” he countered, smiling at you. 

“Hmm,” you pretended to think about it for a moment before kissing him this time. “No. You don’t.”

A few moments later, he sighed. “What happened back there? Besides a huge disaster. Nothing was what it was supposed to be?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t like it,” you said darkly. “It wasn’t a total failure though. I did get this.”  

You held up a long, looped necklace practically dripping with pearls and chips of sapphire, the jewels and metal glittering in the floodlight over the nearby restaurant back door. He shook his head incredulously, gaping in wonder at you and trying to figure out exactly how and when you had managed to slip that into your bag without him noticing. 

“Plus, you can’t tell me you didn’t have fun.” You grinned, waiting for him to try to deny it. 

But he didn’t even try, knowing that he, in fact, had. It wasn’t so much about the actual theft, and breaking and entering really wasn’t new to him, but having you there with him, working with you. It was perfect. And to see the delight glittering in your eyes as you inspected your prize, your expression too pure to be greed and too calculating to be adrenaline…

“I love you,” he blurted out. 

The necklace slipped from your hands, clattering to the ground, but you hardly heard it, ears still ringing and repeating what you just heard. 

“Diego. Did you just…” you murmured, hesitating, afraid that asking would make him backtrack and that your heart might actually explode if he did.

“I,” he took a deep breath, catching your now empty hands in his. “I love you, Y/N.”

Before you knew what was happening, there were tears rolling down your cheeks. Panicked, he dropped your hands in order to brush them away with his thumbs, cradling your face in his palms and shushing you soothingly. 

“What? Sh-should I have not said--” he looked crushed and frightened.

You shook your head as best you could from this position. 

“No, I just never…thought someone would...what I mean is that they’re happy tears,” you tried to explain. “And I love you too, Diego, so much.”

His grin was dazzling, brighter than anything you could have mustered even with all of your power. Your heart fluttered, so overjoyed that you struggled to focus as he leaned in.

Just as his lips ghosted over yours, a high-pitched scream cut through the night. The pair of you jumped apart, looking around for a source, tense and ready to fight. 

“We’re, uh, going to go investigate that, aren’t we?” you asked with a barely suppressed sigh of disappointment. 

Diego, shrugged apologetically. “We should.”

“Alright, I wasn’t expecting to do this whole ‘step into the other’s shoes’ thing both in one night, but lead the way, my stabby boyfriend.” You gestured dramatically and grinned.

Diego rolled his eyes fondly before taking off in the direction the sound had come from, maintaining a light jog and you kept up pace just behind him, pulling little motes of light from the streetlights you passed, just in case.

#because as soon as I said it out loud there was no other choice but to use that title #another big chapter #which is why I also technically have chapter 8 written #because I decided to terminate here before it ended up being Too Much #Diego Hargreeves x Reader #The Umbrella Academy fic #Light Fingers

[mafia-skz-bot]

Mafia Chat-Bot

Disclaimers: This Chat Bot is a Mafia Chat Bot. It contains extreme elements. Please do not interact if you are younger then 18. This also is no way or form represents stray kids, Ateez, or NCT personalities. 

Caution Contains:

Blood

Gore

Weapons

Guns

Knives

Strangulation

Torture

Gun Violence

School Shootings

Explicit Language

Abuse

Killing

Manipulation

Yandere Themes

If you are uncomfortable with these ^ stay away. 

Members (Spots):

Stray Kids:

Chan (0)

Minho (2)

Changbin (0)

Hyunjin (0)

Jisung (2)

Felix (2)

Seungmin (4)

Jeongin (4) 

Ateez:

Hongjoong (3)

Seonghwa (3)

Yunho (4)

Yeosang (4)

San (4)

Mingi (4)

Wooyoung (4)

Jongho (4)

NCT:

Taeyong (4)

Kun (4)

Taeil (4)

Johnny (4)

Yuta (4)

Doyoung (4)

Ten (4)

Jaehyun (4)

Winwin (4)

Jungwoo (4)

Lucas (4)

Mark (4)

Renjun (4)

Jeno (4)

Haechan (4)

(If you don’t see who you wanted NCT wise. I apologize. I’m not comfortable writing them all yet!)

Prompts:

He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, always seen as a spoiled child, but his rich family doesn’t define him. As heir to the Seoul Mafia, He is nothing less than ruthless and will not hesitate to put someone in their place, even if it may be six feet under. Even though he has a dark past and an even darker future, the one thing he knows he will always have is you, whether you agree to it or not.

He was a poor kid, his parents not even being able to support themselves. When he was kicked out he found himself living in cheap motels and sleeping at bus stops. Despite his struggles to keep himself going, he pushed through his shifts at the local gas station with dreams of rising to the top and seeking revenge on his parents. All his dreams suddenly seemed to become possible when you lead him into your dangerous life of drugs, violence, and most importantly to him, money.

His life was never anything but abusive. Between his father’s drunkenness and his mother’s adultery, all he wanted was peace, something he could only find being with you. Not being able to take it anymore, he ran away, pulling you along with him, and somehow getting himself involved with a gang in the process. Unfortunately, he wasn’t aware of what he was getting himself into. 

He came from a rich family, his parents giving him anything he could possibly wish for. Although his life looked perfect from the outside, on the inside his dad’s infidelities were ripping the family apart.  A new hooker every week sent the family in a downward spiral until he chose the wrong whore. You. He didn’t get very far with you, as you assassinated him and his wife before he even laid a hand on you. Little did you know about their son, and as he began to seek revenge, he quickly realizes how intoxicating you really are.

He was born an orphan, never knowing his parents. His mom too young to raise a child, his dad nowhere to be found. Jumping from foster-home to foster-home he never knew what love felt like. When he turned eight-teen he was forced into the world with nowhere to go. He had no choice but to turn to a life of illegal dealings of weapons and false documents, but when he met you his whole life turned upside down. Little did he know, you were the daughter of his biggest buyer, the boss of a Mafia.

He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, his parents well off. He was a wonderful student and an even better son. He was sent off to a prestigious boarding school across the country, which was widely known. With fame comes jealousy and danger, and suddenly his perfect life of studies and riches was burst into flames. All it took was one school shooting, the blood of his friends staining his white uniform. Suddenly he was a completely different person, setting out to get revenge on the group that murdered his friends, and in the process crossed your path discovering your common past and goal. 

He had always been the cunning type and although intelligent, often blinded by his desires. Though his rich family was commonly targeted by violence, he didn’t let that stop him from sneaking out to see you. He had never been happier until your head gained a target as well, a near-death experience being to close for comfort. He swore he would protect you, and if that meant joining a gang and taking others lives, then so be it...

To Activate

Please first read the Admin Introductions and Rules

Reblog and Message

Message with your choice of member and prompt, your name and pronouns, kinks (Optional), requested Admin and a safeword

(The female characters can easily be changed to male characters, just let us know)

Have an idea of how you first want to meet your member if not mentioned (we will ask)

The roleplay will start after a few messages

If you need to contact us outside of roleplay either message @skz-r-player or if you don’t want to ruin the mood send us an ask. (If you ask off anon and want it to be private just say and I’ll answer it privately! Otherwise I’ll be posting it)

Just to inform you in advance this is a prompt bot with a plot and will include lots of action with the dialogue. Because of this, messages will be in such format:

“Dialogue,” actions, thoughts, etc

Lastly, it is expected that you will put effort into furthering the plot, if you fail to do so this may lead to me not replying for a longer period of time or even being blocked.

How to Deactivate

Say “I never want to see you again” + [safeword] 

To come back simply say “I should have never left you.”

 The layout of this post belongs to @paranormalskz

I was also inspired by @freckelboifelix @paranormalskz @schoolracha and @3rachaaxbot  

Original Chat Bot credit: @yanderelee @yanderechris @yanderejisung @build-a-minho @daddyhanjisung @daddybangxhan @babyhj1sung

#Chat bot #Skz chatbot #Mafia chatbot #skz mafia #stray kids #stray kids chatbot #stray kids mafia