#untouchable ch12

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable Ch 12- No Way Out (S2E13)

Warnings: murder, death threats, mentions of mental illness, Lydia having a death wish, and... a disembodied head?

Ch 11 | Ch 13

~ ~ ~

The small diner was a quaint area to conduct her first interview with a serial killer. She would have appreciated different circumstances, like no bystanders or some sort of upper hand over him, but her choices were limited at the time. There was a calm murmur around the single-room restaurant. As they entered a waitress approached them, but Lydia paid her no attention.

You walk in first. Look like you’re in charge. Don’t look to me for any help. You know what you’re doing. If he doesn’t respect you, he won’t tell us where she is. Make him respect you.

A man sat alone in a booth, facing away from the door. Gideon had told her all about this man. He doesn’t feel fear. He doesn’t know how. When you speak to him, neither will you.

A man in his late 50s. Average height. Grey hair.

She stood next to the table and waited for him to acknowledge her. When he didn’t turn away from the window, she said, “Is this seat taken?”

He was completely smug to see her standing there beside him. It was sickening. But she acted as though she reveled in his attention.

“Please,�� he replied, gesturing to the cushioned seat across from him. “You should try Fat Sam’s milkshakes.”

She shook her head, leaning back comfortably in the booth. “Not in the mood. I’m cold and tired.”

“You’re also not from around here.”

She shrugged in acquiescence. “Where are you from?”

Gideon silently stood beside the table, watching the man across from her intently. He gave away nothing as they spoke, but his serene composure was evidence enough. They knew he had done it. That’s not why they were there.

Morgan stayed by the door, glancing outside at the cop cars surrounding the building.

The waitress approached, dropping a milkshake with the extra in a separate cup on the table in front of them.

“You really should try the shakes,” he tried again, pulling the pink drink towards him.

“Is that an offer to have some of yours?”

He shook his head, sternly. “What’s your name?” When she didn’t respond he tried again. “Come on. Names are a hobby of mine.”

“Lydia.”.

“I’ve never met a Lydia before,” he admitted. Then, he nodded towards Gideon. “What’s his name?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

Gideon didn’t wait for him to decide, putting his hands down on the edge of the table. “My name is Jason Gideon.”

“Jason. From Greek Mythology. To heal.” he said, sounding like he was reciting from a textbook. “Gideon. A hero from the old testament who led the Israelites against the Midianites. Your parents had great ambitions for you.” He looked back at Lydia. “I’m Frank. Germanic. Third century. Deprived from the name of a type of spear. I wonder what aspirations my parents had for me.”

“Why don’t we cut the crap, Frank?” Morgan interrupted, walking over to their table. “Where is she?”

He didn’t take his eyes off Lydia. “Now, that’s direct.”

“You’ll have to excuse Morgan, he doesn’t have our patience,” she said, sizing him up for a moment to show him she wasn’t intimidated. “If you’d prefer that I’d be more forward, though, I can work that out. You were right, I’m not from around here. I work for the FBI.”

The whole room went silent, many turning to stare at the group. She pulled out her badge, sliding it across the table to Frank.

He didn’t touch it, just stared for several moments. “You’re not an agent,” he remarked.

Bad idea. She was losing his respect. “I’m not old enough. You’re too old. They’re picky at the Bureau, like that.”

“How do you know how old I am?” he asked curiously.

“You can learn a lot about a person by who and how he kills others. We were looking for a male in his mid- to late-fifties. Listens to Beehtoven. Wears a corduroy jacket with a fleece-lined collar.” She glanced at his coat, then back at him. “He’s left handed. In his right, inside jacket pocket will be a notebook,” as she said this, Morgan reached across Frank and pulled a small, black notebook from the very spot Gideon had told her it would be, “and it will give the extensive detailed accounts of the torture inflicted on every one of his victims… Do you know anyone like that, Frank?”

He smirked. “That’s quite the magic trick.”

She had him back. He was impressed. She grabbed her ID from the table and slid it back into her pocket.

“No magic trick, Frank,” Morgan growled. “Just the profile of a sadistic serial killer.”

People nearby started to look around frantically. Lydia knew that Morgan and Gideon would have to get them out soon, else they might cause a panic that interrupted the investigation. But Gideon told her that no matter what happened, she had to keep her focus on Frank. So, she did.

“Ambers, this thing is brand new,” Morgan said, flipping through the booklet. He followed Gideon’s instructions, speaking to her like she was in charge. “There’s only 2 entries in it: ‘black male, 220 pounds, portly; white female, late twenties’. This doesn’t prove anything.”

She raised an eyebrow at Frank. “Hm. Were you scared, Frank? Why hide the work that you were so proud of?”

“Guess what,” he continued, ignoring her question. “When I’m finished with my shake, you’ll get what you’re here for, but then… I’m going to get up… And I’m going to walk out of here… And you and your lap dogs are going to let me.”

This was good. Calling them her lap dogs indicated that he completely believed their act. So, she matched his pompous attitude. “You know what, Frank? That would be a magic trick.”

For the first time since sitting down, she turned away from him and looked out the window at the cars and officers surrounding them. There was no way for him to get out alive. But clearly, he didn’t care about that. They needed some other way to get him to tell them where the sheriff was.

“He’s looked at that clock three times in as many minutes,” Morgan noted. “He’s waiting for something.”

Frank glanced at him. “If I had your looks, do you know how much easier my life would be?”

“If you think you’re going to negotiate your way out of this one, you’ve got a whole ‘nother thing coming.”

Lydia sat up. The deputies told her she had 15 minutes to talk, and then they were coming in. If Frank really was waiting for something, might as well keep him busy until it happened. “Do you want to know how we caught you?”

“Please,” he nodded, but he knew. He had been the one to lead them there.

“Ambers, those men out there want to kill this guy,” Morgan argued. “We’re in the middle. We don’t have time for explanations.”

“You have the time it will take me to finish this shake,” Frank told her.

The milkshake again. He was planning to finish it before leaving. She wondered if there was a way to stall or speed up the process. And what would Gideon want? He could be waiting for something awful to happen, but at the moment, they had nothing to do, but wait.

“That’s all I need,” she informed him. Keep talking. “We got a request from Sheriff Georgia Davis. She had two victims in the Desert Rose National Park that had been dismembered. They asked the BAU to determine if this had been the same killer who left a dismembered body in the park 10 years ago. You see, serial killers don’t usually just stop killing. So, 10 years with no bodies was strange. And we like strange.

“A little research and we discovered hundreds of unsolved cases. Spanning 30 years and the whole country. All of them were people who lived on the outskirts of society, not a lot of friends. They were all left along the I-80 highway. And every dismembered torso that was recovered was missing a right rib bone.” She tsked. “That’s dedication. I believe Gideon’s exact words were, ‘the most prolific serial killer ever’.”

“Wow,” Frank replied, more to Gideon than her. “You truly think-”

“I know it,” Gideon snapped.

“And so,” Lydia continued. “We came to Nevada.”

Finally, Morgan and Gideon split up, telling the patrons of the restaurant, one by one, to get up quietly and leave in an orderly fashion. Lydia watched Frank closely, making sure he wouldn’t have a negative reaction to them letting innocent people out. But he just stared back, waiting for her to keep talking.

“You were saying?” he pressed.

“You dose them with ketamine and bring them to your trailer. The ceiling has a mirror, so that they can watch you mark where you’re going to cut them and as you dismember them, you cauterize their arteries, so that they won’t bleed to death as you torture them. It’s excruciating, they’re trapped in their own bodies, completely helpless. And you look them in the eyes as you do it. It’s how you get your high off the kill. They look so scared and you love it, don’t you?

“Although,” she reasoned, “I don’t think love is the right word. You are a psychopath. You can’t feel anything, can you? You’re incapable of remorse, compassion, and even love.”

He looked away when she said that. But not at the clock. Not at Gideon or Morgan. Just off into the distance. It was the first time he’d done that. What she’d just said had hit a nerve with him. She wanted to cry with relief, knowing she was getting somewhere.

“Do you disagree?” she inquired.

“Beauty can cover a multitude of sins,” Frank explained. “But underneath… we all look… exactly the same.”

“You are not leaving this diner,” Morgan hissed.

Frank just shrugged. “I don’t want to. Not until her story is done.” And then, he glued his eyes onto Lydia again, taking a sip of his milkshake.

“Thirty years ago, you picked up a girl on the side of the road. She was barely twenty. Her name was Jane. When she woke up in your trailer, she thought she’d been abducted by an alien. I spoke to her yesterday. She told me how beautiful it was. And how she looked into your eyes and felt completely relaxed. And you couldn’t kill her. Because she wasn’t afraid of you. People in town call her Crazy Jane, because no one believes her story, but she didn’t make it up. She just couldn’t understand at the time what you really were.”

“I read about a woman whose body was found in her apartment-- upper east side, I think.”

“If this is a confession,” Morgan interrupted. “Start with the woman you just took.”

“She had killed herself. But her body wasn’t found for more than a year. Surrounded by over a million people, and not one of them missed her. What does that say about society?”

“Don’t act like you care about her,” Lydia snapped. “Those that society forgets-- the throwaways, the runaways, destitute, disenfranchised-- they’re the very people you target… But not last night. Last night you took someone of prominence. Someone that mattered to everyone. Why?”

“That’s an interesting question, Lydia… Why?”

There was a commotion outside. But Gideon had promised that he would deal with any outside factors. So she stayed completely engaged with Frank.

“Gideon,” Morgan warned, pulling out his gun. A man had just entered the diner with a shotgun. 

This was not part of the plan. She still had 5 minutes to talk to Frank before the deputies came in. 

“Sir, do not come any closer,” Morgan ordered, but their newest threat was not in the right headspace. His eyes and gun were pointed at Frank.

“That man has my wife!”

Mr. Davis. Not good, not good. In her peripheral vision, she could see Gideon and Morgan blocking the aisle towards her and Frank, but if he decided to shoot from there, Lydia was in trouble.

“Please, put the gun down,” Morgan continued.

Lydia could feel Gideon’s eyes on her. Frank may have been closer, but she was still in the line of fire. Perhaps he wanted her to break, in order to get out of harm’s way, but she wouldn’t. She had to convince Frank she was powerful. She wouldn’t back down yet.

“Tell me where my wife is or so help me, I will shoot you.”

“Sir, I said put the gun down now!”

“Where’s my wife?!?”

The yelling back and forth continued. Without breaking eye contact with her, Frank leaned down, picking up something from the floor and dropping it on the table. It was a carpet bag.

He smirked at her. “You know what’s an even more interesting question? What’s the psychopath got in the bag, Lydia?”

She shrugged, unimpressed, but her heart was trying to leap from her chest. It was the size of a head. And knowing Frank, it probably was one. Could she keep her poise if she came face to face with the head of Sheriff Georgia Davis?

“Open it,” Mr. Davis demanded.

“Put it down!” Morgan insisted.

“Open the bag!”

Lydia rolled her eyes dramatically and asked Frank to excuse her for a second. Then, she looked up at Mr. Davis for the first time. He was so scared. He needed to know if Frank had killed her. But Lydia could not drop her face for him.

“Mr. Davis, I cannot open this bag until you put the gun down.”

His hand was shaking, but finally, he lifted the barrel towards the ceiling and Morgan was able to ease it away from him. With the threat finally diminished, she focused herself once more.

“May I?” She shrugged towards the bag.

Mr. Davis kept repeating ‘I’ll kill you’ from the door and Frank just smiled at her.

With no disagreement from anyone in the room, she reached forward and unzipped the bag. She was holding her breath, preparing herself for what she’d find inside. And she’d been right about one thing.

Frank had brought them a head.

The head belonged to a black male. Nothing like the blonde, tiny sheriff. Her heart clenched at the sight of it, but the fact that it didn’t belong to someone she recognized saved her from losing face in front of him.

“It’s not her,” Morgan told Mr. Davis, who began crying on the spot.

“Oh, thank god,” he was murmuring.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“I believe the correct question would be: who was this?” Frank sneered.

“You’re one crazy son of a bitch!” Mr. Davis shouted and Morgan started to usher him off the premises.

“We are all sons of bitches.” Frank looked disgusted by the sight of Lydia. Something had changed when she opened that bag. He stopped enjoying her presence. He didn’t like talking to her. But so long as he didn’t look down on her, she could work with him. 

“Who is this, Frank?” she demanded, more forcefully.

“He’s irrelevant. Beyond being my ticket out of here.”

“Your ticket out of here?” Morgan cried, finally getting Mr. Davis out. “Even if you think you can get out of that booth and past us, I promise you those men out there will tear you to pieces.”

“I rather doubt that,” he grumbled. “So… finish the story, Lydia.”

“What do you want me to say?” she asked, calmly. “We set up a tip line for people to call. A nation-wide APB. We searched Golconda for an RV, later amended to truck and trailer, that was muted in color, in perfect working order, with a CB, radar detector, and police-band radio. And then, we got a call from Katherine Hale’s cell phone. That is, the Katherine Hale that you, so graciously, dumped in pieces two days ago. And we tracked her phone to Sheriff Davis’s house, where you had followed Crazy Jane. But Jane got away. And you, in your desperation to have her, took Sheriff Davis. Then, you came back here and turned on Katherine Hale’s cell phone so that we would come to you. But something has to happen first, no? You can’t tell us your deal until you’re done with your damn milkshake.”

“I thought you were interesting, Lydia,” he said, out of the blue. “People have such deep emotions. I knew you were going to act all stoic, but I figured I could break you. Make you angry, sad, confused, afraid. I wanted to see how that mind of yours worked. But you saw that head and barely blinked. You’re just like me, aren’t you?”

Lydia couldn’t stop a small twitch of her eye. He thought she was a psychopath? That’s why his demeanor changed all of a sudden?

She smirked. “Sorry to disappoint, but you’re the only psychopath in this room.”

“That’s why they sent you, isn’t it? No one could look me in the eyes, knowing all that I’ve done, and keep up a conversation, but you. That man who came in had a gun on the two of us, and even when your partners stepped out of the way, you didn’t break eye contact. Don’t you have to be just a little insane to be able to do that?”

“Don’t talk about things you don’t understand. It doesn’t look good on you.”

He didn’t argue with her, finally leaning forward and taking the final sip from his drink. All eyes were on him as he slurped loudly and sighed, dropping the glass on the table.

“One is perfection. Two is decadent.”

This was it. Final showdown. Whatever he’d been waiting for, it would happen now.

He turned away from the booth, sliding out, but Morgan had his gun out in a second.

“You take another step and I will shoot you.”

“No you won’t,” Frank argued, but Lydia’s words did keep him in place.

“What was it that Jane said to you?” she inquired. Poor Jane had survived this guy’s wrath only to live pitifully for the rest of her life. “She looked into your eyes. But that wouldn’t be enough for you. She must have said something. What was it?”

“I’m a sexual sadist,” he sneered. “I can’t feel anything. Remember?”

Morgan’s phone started ringing and he started talking to Hotch in the background.

“Are you trying to argue that? Did you feel something?”

“They just found his trailer,” Morgan announced to the room. “The remains of another woman and the sheriff, alive.”

They did it. They caught him. They saved the sheriff. But nothing about this was right. And Gideon knew it, too.

“He doesn’t care about the sheriff. To walk out of here with Jane, he’d need more than that.”

More hostages? Someone more important than the town sheriff? If someone like that disappeared, they’d already know about it.

“Jane said… how beautiful my eyes were,” Frank told Lydia, answering her question from earlier. “I looked at her like I’ve never looked at a woman before. My hands began to sweat. I dropped the knife. I tried to pick it up, but it fell again. I got butterflies in my stomach. Isn’t that love?”

“She was fascinating. More interesting than me. Or than all those you’ve killed.” More noises outside. Her 15 minutes were definitely up. “But sometimes, fear and love are easy to confuse.”

“Gideon. Ambers,” Morgan warned, watching people approach the door.

“What are you suggesting?” Frank inquired.

“We got George! She’s alive!” Deputy Silo announced as he burst in, the rest of the officers following him. “Get on the floor!”

“Take it easy!” Morgan stepped in front of them.

“Move!”

“Don’t ask dumb questions,” Lydia whispered. “You know I won’t answer them.”

“Take it easy!”

There was so much going on, she didn’t even register the entire group's cell phones beginning to ring. The high pitched buzzes echoed around the room.

And Frank smiled.

“No…” Silo sighed. “That’s impossible.”

He winked. “Magic time.”

~ ~ ~

Spencer listened as Emily softly comforted Sheriff Davis in the backseat. Being stuck in a trailer, in a coffin, all night was reason enough to be shaken up. But Frank was completely sadistic. She had seen his work. Probably first hand. There was no forgetting that.

Hotch pulled up to the diner where they had surrounded Frank abruptly. As they helped the sheriff out of the car, Spencer put on his sunglasses and surveyed the wall of cars and armed men set up around the building. They had him trapped alright.

“George!” her husband cried, pulling her into a hug. “Thank god. Thank god.”

“He killed Tommy’s teacher,” she sobbed. “I saw it. Annie. She was just 22.”

22… He couldn’t imagine Lydia dying so horrifically at her age. Spencer saw some horrible things in his everyday life, but he’d never been the center of it. Being able to compare the body they’d just found to Lydia was not a comforting thought.

Where was Lydia?

The sheriff’s husband started to explain their recent findings. Looks like Frank had killed the school bus driver on a kids field trip and abducted the kids. He’d been waiting all day for them to find the body of the bus driver and the abandoned bus.

“How?” she demanded. “We had the whole town shut down. There was no way out.”

“What was the one vehicle we weren’t looking for?” Hotch reasoned.

“School bus,” Spencer murmured.

Hotch stepped away from them towards the diner. “More importantly, where are the children?”

Spencer’s eyes followed him, then stopped upon looking into the diner windows. Frank was seated in a booth next to a window. There were multiple sheriff’s inside with guns pointed at his back. Gideon and Morgan stood to his side. And seated across from him, was…

“Oh my god, Lydia,” he breathed.

Emily followed his line of sight, seeing her in the window and felt a wave of sympathy for him. Followed by fear.

“If they shoot, they’re going to hit her,” she realized.

Spencer nodded frantically. “What is she thinking?!”

~ ~ ~

Lydia wanted to drop her head into her hands. “You have the town’s children.”

Silo had looked like he was going to faint upon admitting that the school bus for the kids’ field trip was just recovered outside of town. The kids had never made it home.

“Only the little ones,” Frank teased. “You profiled me. You know I have no interest in harming children.”

“We will find them,” Morgan snapped. “We have helicopters, dogs-”

Frank kept his eyes on Lydia. “The desert is over 25,000 square miles. And what with the rising coyote population…”

“If it’s Jane you’re after, we don’t have her,” Morgan insisted.

“Yes, you do.”

He looked out the window just in time to see a new cop car approach. And low and behold, Crazy Jane stumbled out of the backseat.

Lydia turned back to him. There was a way to win this. She didn’t like it, but there was a way to get those kids back. “If you want us to make a deal for Jane, you are going to get up slowly and let Agent Morgan handcuff you. You follow our orders and walk out of the diner peacefully before we discuss your terms for getting those kids back. Are we clear?”

His lips pulled tightly around his teeth in what could hardly be called a smile. “Crystal.”

As he promised, he got up, his hands in front of him for Morgan to handcuff. And he said nothing as Gideon and Morgan roughly shoved him down the aisle and to the door.

Lydia’s eyes stung just knowing that his gaze wasn't fixed on her anymore, but she had to keep the act up for just a while longer. She allowed herself one deep breath before standing up and following them out.

Everyone’s eyes were focused on the group as they left. Mostly on Frank, but she caught a couple of the officer’s gazes as she stepped down. She could see Spencer, Hotch, and Emily standing with Jane. She couldn’t tell where any of them were looking, due to the fact that they were all wearing sunglasses, but if she had to bet, she was certain Spencer was scared for her. When Gideon had taken her away from the crime scene to talk to Frank instead, she didn’t even believe it. He had been training her to interrogate suspects for almost a year now, but she’d never had the opportunity before. Why now?

“Jane!” Frank shouted.

They both tried to run to each other, but were held back.

“Tell them, Lydia,” Frank insisted. “Tell them I’m not interested in harming children. Have I ever once harmed a child? It does nothing for me. Give me Jane… and they’ll have their children back.”

“Is she part of this with you?” Silo accused.

“Look at her, Rick,” the recovered sheriff said. George had just gotten back from Frank’s trailer with tear streaks down her face. Lydia couldn’t imagine what her night had been like. “She’s not a part of anything. She’s as much his victim as you are.”

“With Jane in my life, I will never harm another human being,” Frank tried to argue, but no one believed him. 

“Take me with you, Frank,” Gideon began. “Just you and me.”

“And my Jane?” It wasn’t a question. With all the town’s kids at his disposal, it was a demand. And Jane looked thrilled to throw herself at him.

“You’ll take me to where the kids are?”

“Happily. I couldn’t have that on my conscience,” he joked.

Lydia’s stomach flipped, but she was immensely relieved. What Gideon was about to do was insanely dangerous, but if they got those kids back, she did her job. She’d talked to him, gotten him to comply. And she’d been terrified for a moment that he was going to insist she come along. With his agreement, she was done with this heartless, tiresome act.

She stepped away from the group as Frank clarified his terms, wanting to collapse somewhere private, but was overcome by dread when he called her name.

She shivered as she flipped around, putting her unimpressed face back on. “Mhm?”

“I look forward to seeing you again.”

It was a sickening thought. She had no clue what he could possibly mean by it. But she couldn’t worry herself about anything else at the moment.

She smirked. “You better hope you’re that lucky.”

She didn’t make eye contact with anyone as she stormed away. Every interaction demanded something from her and after today, she had nothing left to give.

She got around the black SUV so that no one would be able to see her and promptly fell against the door, clutching her stomach. She just wanted to be able to take a breath that felt like enough. Smell something that wasn’t the dry dust coating her nose.

She thought she’d give herself a second to recover, then compose herself and reemerge, but as soon as he could sneak away, Spencer went after her.

He hesitated to say anything for a moment, seeing her so shaken. He didn’t want to startle her and make it worse, but he needed to speak to her.

“Hey,” he breathed.

Lydia glanced around him for others, then launched herself into his chest. And it was like her lungs cleared, just taking in the feel of him. Her breaths were shaky, but they weren’t so shallow anymore.

“Hi,” she replied. “Sorry, I just… that was weird.”

He was surprised by her sudden reaction, but pulled himself back to his senses and wrapped his arms around her back, one of his hands gently stroking her hair. “It’s okay. Are you… Is everything alright?”

“So much better now,” she mumbled into his chest. “We’re gonna do something fun together when we get back to DC, okay?”

“Of course.”

She leaned back to look at him, not dropping her arms from his waist. “Someone’s going to check on us if we stay here any longer.”

He nodded and slowly let his hands slip to his sides. “I, uh… I was so scared when I saw you in the window. No one said anything about you talking to Frank one on one and the deputies had guns trained on you. It was a lot.”

“It was a lot for me too,” she admitted. “He’s terrifying. He was convinced I was a psychopath-”

“What? Lydia, you’re not a psychopath!”

“It feels like it sometimes,” she grumbled. “He had a head, just sitting in a bag and I didn’t even flinch, Spence! I was just trying to do what Gideon told me, but that’s not human, is it?”

He sighed. “This job can desensitize us to things like that. But it doesn’t make you less human. I mean, now that you’re away from him, you understand how horrific he is.”

“I don’t think there’s a word to describe the things he’s done. And if there is, I don’t want to know it,” she added. “I just wanna go home.”

“Soon,” he promised. Then, he stepped away. “I’m gonna head back now. Take as long as you need.”

She nodded watching him go, before taking out her phone. In the time she’d been with Frank, her sister had called her seven times. It was unusual for Beck to be so persistent. There were a few texts, as well:

Beck: Call me.

Beck: Lydia.

Beck: As soon as you get this, please call.

Beck: NOW LYDIA!

What the hell…?

Lydia clicked on her sister's contact and put the phone up to her ear.

Beck answered after a single ring. “Oh my god. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call-”

Automatically, something stood out to Lydia. Beck didn’t sound mad at her. At all. In fact, she sounded like she wanted to cry.

“I’ve been working,” she explained. “Is everything alright?”

“You need to come home, Lydia. Mom- Sonia’s had a stroke.”

Oh god. She might actually puke from stress at this point. “What happened?!” she cried, already searching for Hotch. “Did you get her to a hospital?”

“Yes, yes. They did a CT scan. They say her chances of surviving are high and will be even better once they dissolve the blood clot. But, oh god, Lydia it was so scary. She started having a seizure and I didn’t know what to do-”

“It’s okay… She’s in the hospital now. You did everything you could.”

“You have to come home, Lydia. Tonight.”

“I’ll catch a flight as soon as possible-”

“I have Katie and Adam with me. Please, get here now. I need you. She’s going to be in the hospital for at least the night and I don’t know what to do with them. They don’t understand what’s going on. Katie started crying when the EMTs got there and she’s been stressed ever since. And Adam is bouncing off the walls of the waiting room like a maniac.”

Lydia couldn’t even imagine how freaked out Beck was. Katie and Adam were twins that Sonia had been fostering since Lydia left for college. They were seven now.

Finally, she caught a glimpse of Hotch and made a break for him. “Beck, I’m going to be there as soon as I possibly can. I promise you. But I have to go now and figure this out, okay? Just stay there, text me any updates, and I’ll call once I have a flight.”

“Okay. Please hurry. I love you.”

“Love you,” Lydia agreed before hanging up and reaching Hotch. He was talking to the sheriff, still wrapped in her shock blanket. They both looked startled to see her running at them, but she didn’t let them say anything. “Hotch! My foster mom just had a stroke. I need to go home. Is there-”

He was automatically understanding, trying to problem solve with her. “That’s fine. Go. Sheriff, can one of your deputies take her to the nearest airport?”

George nodded immediately. “Stay right here,” she ordered. “I’ll discretely explain to them what’s going on.”

Lydia thanked her as she left. It took a strong woman to help others after what she’d been through.

“Do you need anything?” Hotch asked her.

She shook her head. “According to my sister, she’s okay so far. But she still has the blood clot. Hotch, it’s going to take her a few weeks to recover, at least. Someone has to be in the house, looking out for her and the other kids she’s fostering. I can try to get back to DC soon, but-”

“Take all the time you need,” he insisted. The sheriff came back with an officer in tow. “Call me once you get to the airport. When we get back to DC, you can send me a list of things you want shipped to California and I’ll grab them from your apartment, okay?”

Lydia had never felt so compelled to hug Hotch before, but she figured now was as good a time as any. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Then, she followed the deputy to his car and took off, forgetting to explain herself to anyone on the team. Or, more importantly, forgetting to explain herself to the one person on the team who deserved to hear it from her.

Spencer.

~ ~ ~

Tags: @kris-stuff @wooya1224 @spencerelds

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All of these contain smut, cursing and are NSFW. DNI if you are under 18.

Link to my Ao3

All The Kings' Men (Dark!Bucky x Reader, King!Loki x Reader) (in progress)

Summary: The Odinson Kings take over Midgard, appointing commanders to help them colonize the entire surface of earth. Commander Barnes finds you during a raid of lands left untouched and claims you as his own. You endure months of torture and abuse at the metal hand of the cruel man and are set to suffer even more when he sends you to King Loki to break you further. Upon meeting the feared man, you find that looks can be deceiving, and rumors are not always what they seem.

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 Ch11

Ch12 Ch13 Ch14 Ch15 Ch16

The Course Of True Love (Lokix OFC) (complete)

Facecast

Summary: Loki Odinson never expected to see his mother hurrying down a hall with a smart-mouthed, soot-covered figure who was supposedly the princess of Vanaheim. He never expected her to stay more than a week, much less an entire century, and he surely did not expect their initial animosity to morph into the fluttering, tickling feeling he got in his stomach every time she was near.

Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 Ch11 Ch12 Ch13 Ch14 Ch15 Ch16 Ch17 Ch18 Ch19 Ch20 Ch21 Ch22 Ch23 Ch24 Ch25 Ch26

One Shots & Short Series:

Birthday Tricks (Soft Dom!Loki x Reader)

Summary: Teasing the God Of Mischief is all fun and games until he decides to make you suffer the consequences.

Leather-Bound (Dom!Loki x Sub!Reader, Switch!Loki)

Summary: The Prince of Lies catches you touching yourself on his bed and decides to punish you.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Safe (Dom!Reader x Sub!Loki x Sub!Bucky)

Summary: The Avengers are giving the newly reformed Loki a hard time, so you and Bucky decide to take him under your wing. Sexually.

Part 1 Part 2

Special Education (Loki x Virgin!Reader)

Summary: You grew up on a tiny island that taught you nothing about sex and its derivatives. When you come across it in a steamy erotica book , you ask the God of Mischief to teach you everything he knows.

Take Care Of You (Sub!Loki x Reader, Switch!Loki x Reader).

Summary: You give a massage to the touch starved God Of Mischief and soon realize that under his dominating exterior lies a prince just wanting to be taken care of.

Part 1 Part 2

Yellow (Loki x Virgin!Reader)

Summary: The accidental ingestion of a sex potion leads you to the bedroom of the God of Mischief

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

[thicksimpx]

Prologue| Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 |Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | CH16| CH17

Summary: Leaving the soul society for “research” - desperately looking to find answers, anything that’ll help him take down the Spirit king.. that is until he meets “HER” - She has him enamored, desperate and most of all curious… there’s something about HER

“Sometimes we do bad things for the people we love. It doesn’t mean it’s right, it means love is more important”

Warnings : 18+ , mature content, mature language, possessiveness , stalking , murder/gore, rough penetration, creampies , fingering, cam girl y/n, Lots of Psychology lessons 😂, violence, public sex, unrequited love.

"Where's that fucking syringe."

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

(Y/n pov)

taking his hand and walking into the dining room he pulls out a chair for you to sit. You look at it hesitant to sit. 

"what's wrong?" he asks gesturing for you to sit in the chair. you looked around the dining room and sighed.  "you did all this? For me?" 

"yes, please.. sit?"  he says softly. you nod and sits down whispering a thank you as he pushes your chair in and runs out of the room. You look at the dining room. It looked untouched just like everything else in his place. You couldn't tell the color of the walls because the room was lit by the multiple candles he had laying around. The table you sat at was a cute four-person table, but it only had two chairs, an empty vase in the middle and three wine bottles, one of which was already open. He's trying to get drunk drunk ..Assuming the opened one is from earlier you grab it and pour some into the empty glass in front of you. 

"This is for you," you hear him say from behind you. You choke on your drink a little, you didn't even know he was in the room again. How long has he been in here? You use a napkin and dab your mouth before turning around and seeing him handing you a bouquet, ten red roses.  No ones .. ever gotten me flowers. You stare at them a little bit and look back up to him before slowly taking them out of his hands. You push your nose into to them smelling them.

"You didn't have to, thank you so much," you said lowly looking up to his face that held a gentle smile. You smiled back sincerely to show that you really meant it when you said thank you. He nods and rushes back out of the dining room. You take it upon yourself to sit the roses in the vase on the table since it already had water in it. 

He came slowly walking into the dining room finally brought the food to the table, setting yours down in front of you, a little plate of bread in the middle of the table and then finally his own plate. You smiled, mouthwatering from all the delicious smells.

You wait for him before you begin to eat, a sad habit you picked up as a child, never eat before the man of the house. 

"Hey? Something wrong with the food?" He asks leaning over the table. 

"Uh -no .. I was waiting for you. " you smile blinking away the bad memories. 

"Oh okay, we'll dig in" he smiles at you picking up his fork.

"God, that's so good. Thank you. This is delicious," he said.

"Thank you" you giggled a little louder then intended to. "I've mastered the art of spaghetti over the years, but I usually use store bought pasta. I could never make it on my own"

"I'll teach you next time" he shrugs. There's a next time you internally squeal. Your heart skipped a couple beats feeling hot from the atmosphere and the food. You bite my lip, watching him pouring himself a glass of wine.

"So, " he says after taking a sip. "I was thinking, maybe you have a few hours to spare for an early lunch tomorrow?" 

"Yeah, of course" you smiled taking a bite of your food. "You know .. I've been thinking..."

—- (Aizen Pov)

Oh, fuck what is she going to say. Where's that fucking syringe. 

"You know so much about me, but I don't really know much about you. I mean I know stuff, but I don't know stuff .. you know?" She says taking big sips of her wine. She's nervous ..

"Alright ask away then" I chuckle lightly. —- (Y/n POV)

What do I ask? What are some questions? Shit.

"When's your birthday?"

"May 29th" he asked plainly.

"What's your middle name?"

"I was born in Japan, as weird as it sounds people can have two first names but no middle names. So, no I don't have a middle name"

"How'd you end up here then?" You ask, you knew he was Japanese, but you didn't know he was born in Japan.

"My family moved here when I was young for my father’s job, been here ever since"

You nod. And continue to eat not knowing what else to ask. "Your place is nice; you should give me a tour one day" you say and go back to eating your food not noticing the way he looks at you. — Two bottles of wine later.

"Seriously Stephen, I don't know what was wrong with me" you laugh with tears brimming your eyes. "I really pretended to be dead in the pool just floating and cried when no one noticed" you laugh even harder.

"But I just don't understand why you cried" he laughs with you.

"Becauseeeeee" you whine. "My dad just grabbed my shirt and dragged me out the pool saying let's go. I could've been a dead body!" You said lightly slamming your fist on the table. "And ..."

"And?" He says raising a brow holding in his laughter.

"And I may or may not have practiced holding my breath for days before we went to the pool just so I could do it" you say lowly folding your arms over your chest looking away.

"P-pffftttt. You are adorable" he laughs sliding his chair over to your side of the table. 

"Stop laughing at me it's not funny" you say chuckling softly as he pulls you into a hug rubbing your back.

"Well, if I was there I would've definitely cared to see if you were a dead body" he says laughing. 

You didn't think you would have as much fun with him over dinner like this.  Just enjoying the conversation and time spent with him. You know for a fact that once you stand you're going to feel the wine in your system. Shit. I should probably try to sober up before leaving. 

"We should clean up” you say in his chest. 

"You asked for a tour though right?" He says grabbed your shoulders and pushing your body back for him to see your face.

You bite your lip and nod slowly. He stands quickly and his chair falls behind him. He yanks you up from your seat and you stumble a little feeling dizzy. 

"I can carry you" he says holding you steady.

"No, you don't have t- ahhh" you shout as you're thrown over his shoulder. 

"Oh my god, put me down. What kind of tour is this?" You giggle

"You've seen these rooms already" he says walking out the dining room

"What about the dishes?" You shouted, still laughing as he marched through the living area and down the hallway.

"I'll do them later, don't worry. We've got plenty of time."

———

Putting you down on your feet you make sure you have balance before walking into the door of the room he’s caging you in front of.

"This is the only room that you haven't been in" he huffs brushing his hair out of his face. "Enjoy"

You walk in and notice it was his bedroom. Immediately you blush and turn around to leave but he blocks you in. "It's alright, explore away. They say the best way to get to know someone is through their house right?"

"Mmmm okay" you say looking around at the neutral-colored room. Nothing but black, grey, and white, very different from your own room. It smelt of fresh laundry. Either this man is never here or he's very clean. You eye his large bed in the middle of his room and notice his room looks as if it has two doors. Before you could open your mouth to ask he answers. 

"This was a two-bedroom, Two bathroom. I had the wall taken down to make one big room. "

"Ahh" you say. ———— I watch her as she roams my room running her fingers over things gently. She stops and picks up a glass sphere I had on my nightstand and starts to look through it. She’s drunk. I'll need at least 8 bottles to be where she is. This human alcohol is weak. 

She stops at my desk and takes long hard looks at e pictures on my desk. I purposely left those there as "decoration" and proof that I have some kind of social life. Taking the chance while she was distracted I glance around my room and make sure nothing that wasn't supposed to be out is out. That picture situation could've been bad. Very bad.

I close the door and walk into my master bathroom quickly opening the medicine cabinet and carefully setting down the syringe behind my glasses case, incase it's needed for later. 

I close the mirror to the cabinet and jolt feeling arms around wrap around my body seeing y/n behind me in the reflection. Fuck, she didn't see the syringe right? 

"Oh, you scared me" I let out a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry" she says softly.

"Something wrong?" I ask looking at her through the mirror. She shakes her no and begins to undo my belt. I grab her hand stopping and she hides her face behind me pressing it into my back. Neither of us say anything. I left her hands go and she continues to undo my belt. She pulls my shirt out of my pants and slides her hands under it up my chest. Her hands are so soft and warm. I close my eyes lulling in the touch I've been craving for so long. Even if this is all I get tonight, I'm happy. 

One of her hands slid down my chest as the other slides up from my torso to my neck. My eyes snap open feeling her hand wrap around my neck. I prepare myself to turn around and choke her back, but I lose all thoughts when the hand that was sliding down my body slips into my pants and grabs my already hard dick.

"y/n .."

" Stephen .." she says softly.

"I hope .. you know what you’re doing." I say swallowing hard. "If you don't really want this we can pretend this didn’t happen .. and continue with our night. But .. if you do all you have to do is tell me.. " please... please tell me you want this so help me god. 

"I want it Stephen " I heard her clearer than I've heard anything in my life. Immediately I turn around in her hold shocking her and push her against the wall of the bathroom smashing my lips on to hers. Tonight, is the night .. don't fuck it up by being too rough Sousuke! 

I back up just as quickly as I kisses her to look at her reaction. Instead of saying anything she wrapped her arms around my neck and jumped up wrapping her legs around my waist. I take it as I wasn't being too rough that time. 

Humming into the kiss as I feel her hands unbuttoning my pants. I let them fall down my legs as I begin to attack her neck with kisses. Her dress rids up and reveals she's not wearing any underwear. Fuck me .. how did I not notice? The slight of her cunt glistening in the light of the bathroom was enough to make me cum.

"Steph-Stephen, hurry up" she whined. Oh, she wants me to hurry up. Okay.  I nod pressing a kiss to her lips using one hand to pull my dick out of my briefs and line it up to her cunt slowly pressing myself in. She swore and cursed, bucking her hips up to me.

"Relax, I'm not all the way in yet. I, I don't want to hurt you"

"It's fine. I'm a big girl"

"Fuck, y/n" I hisses pushing my whole length in. I lean back adjusting our position putting her legs over my forearms as she hissed in pleasure, pressed her into the wall I begin to thrust hard and fast.

"Ahh- Ste-Stephen slow dow-nn" she moans.

"What happened? I thought you wanted me to hurry up" I cooed looking at her face scrunched up in pleasure. She's making that face because of me. Because I'm fucking her. Tell me I'm better than those out guys. Better than those fucking toys. I thrust into her harder and faster tuning out her moans and cries. I've waited so long for this.

"You're so tight," I groan in her ear. Feeling her squeeze around me I lost myself and my dick started to throb. In seconds I was cumming inside of her. Shit shit shit you fucking blew it! She’s going to compare me to Shawn. I don't want to be another guy she just fucked and talks shit about in her show. She can't leave Nope .. she must stay. I need a do over I 

"Stephen did you hear me?"

"No, I’m sorry what did you say?" She's about to try to leave. 

"I asked if we could continue on the bed, the walls so hard on my back" she grunts taking her leg off my arm. I let her down and watched her wobble out of the bathroom. She wants to continue; she doesn't want to leave. Who is this woman? Does she love me?

I smile like a fool kicking off my pants and briefs. I walk out of my bathroom throwing my shirt to the side. I’m going to fuck her so good she'll never leave me. 

"Are you ready to continue?" She asks from the bed with her legs spread wide rubbing her clit with me cum leaking out of her. This .. this is the moment I've been waiting for. Tonight, I’m going to breed y/n l/n because she's mine.

--

tags - @mxchaluvv​ @luffysthickwaifu​ @indiecursor​ @dejwrites @thismf7 , @serinaeatsrainbows @rinhoes​ , @pulchritxde , @chaichaiiskai ​ , @taesd-urag​ , @ry0m3n​ @apollostears​ @hhawkz​ @littlemochi @imperatorkhaleesi @gabzlovesu

Thicksimpx© 2022. Do not copy, claim, modify or translate my work without my permission. thanks 😘

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR; CH12

18+ EXPLICIT Content: Unprotective sex, vaginal sex, oral sex (female receiving), cum eating, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18. MANDO'A TRANSLATIONS AT THE END Chapter Word Count: 14,704 aah im sorry no im not Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader - no 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 TWELVE: LET ME SHOW YOU

“So about that break…”

One simple sentence is all it took for the two of them to silently agree to their departure of Tatooine and to seek refuge somewhere quiet, secluded and undisturbed by baleful bolts of shimmering reds. It escorts them to the moss-green planet bedecked by marshland and chirpy fauna—its atmosphere crisp and welcoming to that of Tatooine’s sand-choking airspace.

“So you’ve been here before?”

“Yes. There’s a village nearby. They took me in for some time.”

“So you’re thinking they’ll let us crash there for a while?”

There’s a click on the vambrace and the Razor Crest’s hatch closes behind the trio. “If all goes well. Are you sure you have everything? It’s a bit of a walk.”

A tap on a blaster holstered to her thigh, a finger trailing across a wrinkly green forehead, the faint touch on a steel pauldron. “Blaster, kid, Mandalorian. Check, check, and check.”

The Mandalorian chuckles and takes the lead through the woods, heading towards the unnamed village of Sorgan—its inhabitants surely awaiting his emergence the moment the Crest snapped through the atmosphere and swooped low among their needle-point rooftops. It’s selfish, he knows this, returning to the haven he once envisioned himself hunkering down at—having the opportunity of a joyful life, a family, a love—with a different woman matching his stride is destined for failure; for tension. It’s wishful thinking to pretend it’ll produce anything but, to pretend this could be normal.

Sorgan hadn’t changed one bit, except for the lack of invasive Klatoonations, thanks to yours truly. It’s still so green, so wet, so clean and fresh. Its air could regenerate the deflated lungs in his chest from decades-worth of smoke, dust, and discipline, its waters purify his blood, its pacifying ambience replace the void he reserved for quiet nights in space, its company fill

the vacancy between his arms—that last one wasn’t entirely Sorgan’s doing and he gazes at his companion treading alongside him, feet generously lifting over an undisturbed one-eyed aqua frog in her path.

He sighs and places the flat of his leather against the back of her shoulder. “I trust them, they’re good people, but my name can’t be spoken here.”

She twists her neck to look at him and dips her head in a nod. “I know that, Mando.”

Mando. A name that once sounded like shiny credits falling from the clouds now so bleak and rusted. It’s mere corroding steel in comparison to her moaning his name in such a broken voice it heats his abdomen and increases his blood flow. The Girl is like a spice, a strong dose of alluring desires that he’s incapable of acting upon—the inquisitive little alien in his care interfering with his white-knuckled primal impulses.

Idling in hyperspace, confined and carnal, with a toddler and the woman who made his knees weak, heart leap, fingers itch, was dangerous. There he was thinking the atmosphere back on Tatooine was tense; how wrong he was. If that was tense, this had been downright torturous. He could cut the tension with his vibroknife; reduce it to tiny physical pieces he could chew on and grind his enamel down to the gums.

Sorgan is their opportunity to explore their unspoken relationship further—to disassemble the barricade of panels in place and analyse the circuitry underneath. Mando downplays the increased pumping of his organ to himself, masquerading his excitement with faulty breathwork.

“I can take him,” Mando gently tugs on the rucksack strap situated across her shoulder, the child cooing at her hip. “Those slashes haven’t healed.”

“They’ve healed enough.”

He insists, “They reopened, you’re going to strain them with the weight. Let me carry him.”

The Girl grumbles under her breath and picks up her pace, tenacious to prove she’s more than capable to carry the toddler despite the ache the satchel strap is producing; burrowing its residency in the pads of her shoulders. The Mandalorian remains at his tempo, allowing her the distance she incessantly pursues. “Atin,” he breathes.

Their shared moment back in the abandoned cantina seemingly sectors away—so out of reach and untouched it almost never occurred.

All though there had been times, dead in the middle of hyperspace when the kid was napping in his hammock, where the Girl would join him in the cockpit to share a few soft spoken words and purposeful touches he couldn’t begin to dissect. The sensations of her hands running along his shoulders still so crystal in his mind, her knuckles brushing against his cowl as he’d tip the helmet back against the headrest simply to get a little glimpse of her. She knew what she was doing when she’d administer feathery kisses against the surface of his visor—sheer seduction on her part—and it took all of his fizzling restraint not to bend her over the controls and fuck her until her thighs are burning, calves trembling, her skin star-kissed.

Believe him, he’d imagined it. On many occasions in fact. He’s pictured taking her anywhere and everywhere—against the walls, on the floor, in his bunk—but nothing, nothing, was more appealing than the thought of having her in his lap in the pilot’s seat, her back smooshing the buttons of the navigational controls until the Crest whined in agony.

Needless to say, the circumstances didn’t allow the rise for many opportunities; the kid often waking the moment his glove makes contact with her. Mando had to settle for small glances here-and-there, the occasional stroke of her arm as she passed.

But he needs more—needs her.

The Girl is an additive through and through—functioning as a pricey flask of spotchka sedating his muscles and justification and in exchange stimulating his appetite for her; flesh, muscle, tissue, whatever his nails could dig themselves into he wanted.

Mando’s teeth grit together and his eyes scan her back ahead of him, nursing the heavy eyelids on the curve below. The cockpit had been too electric, the recycled air too thick with his desperation; the projection of the Girl naked—because he knew what that looked like now—never far from his mind. But he hadn’t seen her bare from behind; a view he can only imagine - for now.

A throaty grunt slips past his lips as he stumbles on a grounded root in his trance. She doesn’t notice, thankfully, but the Child’s peering eyes stare straight past the visor as though he could sense the disgrace radiating off his guardian, his eyes squinting. He tenses his shoulders in embarrassment and joins the Girl as she slows to a halt on the village’s border outskirts.

“This it?” she asks, shifting the satchel to the opposite hip between herself and Mando, shielding the kid from potential threats.

“It is,” he confirms.

Their heads twist in unison, observing the environment laid out before them; high-spirited and brimming with energy. In the distance children run through riskless fields playing a game of tag, adults conversing and labouring the krill ponds, the croaking of frogs echoing around their feet. Subdued and isolated from all the destruction—preserved from everything they are down to their cores.

The Girl hums and fiddles with the strap slung across her chest. “I don’t want to intrude. They look…”

“Happy.”

She’s concerned for the villager’s safety, as is he—jeopardy seemingly overhanging them like an aura; tethered and indestructible. Returning without a notice felt deplorable to the Mandalorian’s morals as though he was trespassing on their sanctuary and sabotaging their chance at true tranquillity.

Shuffling beside him reminds him why he’s here, why he chose Sorgan rather than any other planet in the Outer Rim with a half-decent field. Mando wags a gloved digit ahead of the Child and anticipates his claws to latch onto the leather, tug and whine until he’s content in his beskar, but not even a grunt of acknowledgement slips through his lips.

Mando huffs a deep exhale and returns his hand to his belt, hooking his thumb in the centre and taking the lead. “Let’s go,” he directs.

The Girl adheres to his side, elbows brushing with each swing of their arm, their footwork synchronised as they cross a narrow mound of land between two krill ponds—the vibrant blue critters easily perceptible with his visor’s enhanced vision. She shrinks her shoulders inwards as the path withers to his wingspan—too binary to admit defeat against Sorgan’s elements and saunter behind—her feet sliding against the bank, but Mando’s reflexes are sharp and he snakes a hand around her waist before she tumbles off the edge.

She straightens herself out, checks on the baby, and exudes an embarrassed smile. “Thank you.”

Mando grins and shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. “Couldn’t let the kid fall in.”

“Oh, that’s how it is, is it?” Her eyebrow cocks and eyes squint. “What about me, huh?”

“Wouldn’t want him stirring up a disturbance, would we? We need to make a good impression,” he teases. “Besides, you’re a big girl, you’d be fine.”

“Sleemo,” she insults lightheartedly, placing a firm palm against his pauldron and shoves—not so lightheartedly. Mando’s smile falters as his boots lose their traction in the slippery, squelching mud. Descent incoming, he reaches out for the Girl’s arm but stops himself at the reminder of the baby attached to her hip; her own personal lifeboat.

If he wasn’t so cautious for the Child’s current state he’d clasp her wrist and force her to take the brunt of her actions, instead, he accepts his fate and collapses into the krill pond—the water soars higher than the village’s roofings with the added weight of beskar, the sloshing reverberating and drawing the inhabitants attention their way.

Mando finds his footing in the waist-deep waters, hands on his hips as droplets streak down his armour, the over-absorbed fabric of his flight suit clinging to his muscles. There’s dark brown coagulated mud muting his shiny beskar, plastering the warring steel with Sorgan’s serene elements.

“Think you’re so funny, don’t you?” he questions, head tilting.

She bellows just as loud as the initial crash, her gasped amusement echoing among the hushed quiet; the villagers watching from afar. “You’re a big boy, you’ll be fine,” she mocks. “Funny. I don’t hear much commentary coming from you now.”

“I could’ve drowned.”

She jabs an eyebrow upwards and gestures to the water level. “That’d be very embarrassing.”

He grumbles with feigned anger, splashing her lower-half with a mischievous thrust of his hand.

“Oi, watch the kid!”

The Child’s ears perk down at his guardian submerged in the filthy waters, a soft tight-lipped grin donning his face in replacement of the frown he’d been suiting prior—Mando’s muscles lax, his stoic demeanour withering away.

This was good. Right. Both the kid and the Girl deserve to reside in a haven like this, somewhere they don’t need to look over their shoulders—somewhere blasters can retire from holsters.

Miniscule cobalt crustaceans summon up the courage to investigate the intrusive limbs in their occupancy, grasping against the fabric of his flight suit and scrambling underneath the rim of his beskar cuisses. Mando attempts to shake off the meddlesome critters but they’re persistent in driving him away; the Girl steps forwards to aid him out of the waters—after she’d finished laughing so hard tears were brewing in the corners of her eyes—but stammers in her footing as a shadow casts over him from beside her.

She instinctively reaches for her blaster’s hilt and shields the Child, but a delicate hand outstretches for Mando below and she carefully drops her hand, clenches it beside her in doubt. Mando inclines his helmet to follow the hand, travelling up the grey fabric of their tunic and settling on the familiar kind hearted brown eyes welcoming him to the village without needing to speak the words.

He nods as thanks and slips his leather into her hand, hoisting himself to the ground with a boot in the bank for stability. Mando humorously nudges the Girl enough for her to panic and seize his elbow for safety—his vocoders unable to catch the light chuckle in his throat but she feels the tremors in his limb and playfully slaps his bicep.

“It’s good to see you again,” Omera says, a bright smile as she eyes him up and down. “I see you’ve made yourself a friend.”

“Yes.” Mando glances at the Girl beside him, tucked into his side plenty that she looked tiny. “I hope we’re not intruding, we-”

She interrupts him, shaking her head and gesturing behind her to the gathering inhabitants. “The community will forever be grateful for your endeavours. Stay as long as you like—we’ve established additional lodges since you were here. Take your pick.”

“That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.” Mando follows after Omera, irrigating the grass in his wake, and the Girl stealths behind him so she’s unseen from the watching eyes; his beskar performing as her protection. She engrosses herself with the ball of abrupt energy fighting against the confines of his satchel, his claws eagerly tearing at the fabric to rid himself.

The villagers have queued themselves along the banks of the krill ponds, distanced enough for their visitors to pass through without bumping shoulders but close to exchange friendly greetings—welcome back’s and thank you’s—their proximity allowing them the opportunity to examine the Mandalorian’s new partner on the heels of his boots, her eyes cast down in an attempt to stave off unwanted attention though it does very little.

Omera stops short of the newly-installed structures, three identical huts to match with the theme of the others strewn throughout their lands and Mando, not being one to concern himself with impractical decisions, chooses the first one his eyes lay on; his hand vaguely gesturing to the open door of the middle hut.

Omera nods her head and orders a flock of children to prepare their quarters. “We can organise your friend next door.” She flicks her attention past his shoulder and he follows, acknowledging how stiff the Girl looked as though she could be blown over with a docile breeze; her eyes silently pleading to him through his visor.

It���s unusual looking at her this way, as though he’s violating her with just his eyes. She’s typically so snarky and talkative, but her lips are bonded together and her eyes bounce from his visor to the speculative crowd; nervous and uncomfortable.

She assures, “You’ll only be a few metres away from each other.”

Mando has no intentions of letting her occupy a separate hut, not after he’s been so distanced from her all this time. “That’s okay. We don’t want to take up more space than necessary.” The Girl relaxes somewhat, shoulders flaccid, and her hands return to fight against the Child’s tantrum.

He notes how the villagers share some questioning glances towards each other, their prying prompting an unsettling weight on his shoulders—Omera shares a hasty gander between the two of her visitors as if assembling a deconstructed blaster from scratch, gears turning in her head.

It’s too much attention for him—too much visibility for a Mandalorian clad in ancient shiny Beskar steel.

His shoulders tense, his fingers flex into fists; they know, they have to know.

His throat bobs underneath his cowl, mouth dry and cheeks warm, though he’s learnt to conceal it through his mannerisms—the constant tension between him and the Girl training him over time—he remains stoic, statuelike, displaying no visible signs of confirmation to their silent queries.

It’s none of their business; nobody’s other than him and the Girl’s.

“If that’s what you wish,” Omera breaks the silence. “I’ll leave you to situate yourselves.”

Mando inhales sharply and nods his head, walking past her to their new residency. The cluster of children straighten upon his arrival, organising themselves in a single file to allow their guest to investigate their work. It’s a small cabin, less spacious than the barn he occupied last time but more secluded—the windows sturdy and the door possessing a lock—with a bed fit for three in the far-end of the walls; it’s been too long since he’s slept on a mattress, too long since he’s been allowed the privilege of stretching his limbs rather than compact them.

Alongside a comfortable mattress comes the Girl’s warmth as they’ll indeed be sharing a bed. Mando will make certain of that.

There’s hushed whispers behind him, helm capturing some of their words—baby, ask, play—and he redirects his vision to the rucksack resting among the Girl’s hip, the children bursting with excitement at the sight of their playmate. He’s just as psyched as they are, his little claws outstretching for Winta in the middle of the group.

“It’s okay.” Mando nods his head towards the children. “He can play.”

The Girl nods and transfers the kid to the floorboards carefully, stepping out of the stampede of children excitedly taking themselves outside.

Tarrying presences now gone, the Girl joins him in the examination of their cabin. “Good thing the Crest isn’t far,” she jokes.

“It’s not that bad.” Mando twists his body to follow her, pauldrons clashing into her harshly. “I suppose it could be a little bigger.”

“Or you could be a little smaller, tin-man.”

He cocks his head to the side, visor leering. “You’re looking for trouble today.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yes,” he grumbles in his throat, sweeping his vambraces around her to hug her arms against her sides. “You are.”

She struggles against his grip, well aware of her impending justice, but he’s too sturdy—too determined to seek revenge. “Don’t,” she warns.

Mando simply smiles, a large toothy grin that makes his eyes crinkle.

What little gap remained between them abruptly narrows as Mando compresses his build into her, squeezing out the krill water from his flight suit and into her garments. Beskar wipes itself clean on her shirt, caking the textile with heavy mounds of sludge.

“Mando!” she gasps and rolls her shoulders back in false hope it’ll aid her escape. “I don’t have a change of clothes!”

He chuckles, deep and throaty that makes his shoulders bounce. “Neither do I, but you didn’t think of that when you pushed me in,” he growls, the vocoder filtering the sound as a crackle that reverberates in the structure and through her bones; she shudders, her shoulders and chest twitching against him—his blood pumps hot.

“I was doing you a favour. When was the last time you hit the ‘fresher?”

“Need I remind you I have you trapped, mesh’la?” Mando presses the curvature of his helmet against her cheek and rubs the excess droplets onto any surface area he can manage, her cheeks, forehead, jaw, staining the pretty skin she’d been blessed with.

She tries to disguise her laughter with anger, but it comes out through her voice—light and airy; Mando hums at the delightful sound, like a lullaby to his ears. “Okay, okay. You win!”

Unwilling to wrench his grip from around her, he continues pressing himself against her and inches forwards until her back is flat against a pillar—his vambraces slipping around sandwich her between two sturdy foundations, one of splintered log and the other a living, breathing tower of a man coated head to toe in steel.

He’s breathing hard, filters whistling with each exhale.

“Mando--” she purrs, teeth nibbling at the soft insides of her lips.

Eyes bore into the cushiony flesh, his tongue swiping across his own in the thought of them against him. Soft and warm—he knew that much when they were around him—but that’s as far as his understanding reached; were they gentle and sweet or rough and hungry?

Would they be addicting, like every other part of her, or simply satisfying; something to pluck as a treat here-and-there?

He grunts and squeezes his vambraces against the wood, his chest following suit against her. “We’re alone,” he murmurs, head tilting to the side as if to silently voice his thoughts.

She’s not as convinced, searching the cabin for eyes infused into the walls, the floors.

“Mesh’la, it’s safe.”

Her head twists to the entrance, a rush of heat tagging her cheeks in soft hues of pinks. She quietly squeaks, “The doors open.”

“Nobody is looking.”

He’s pushing boundaries he put in place decades ago; parading around a relationship—or whatever this is—like some big achievement, which, to be frank, was pretty extraordinary for the Mandalorian. Flings and casual partners—sure—they weren’t feats but this...He’s never encountered someone so remarkable, so special, so necessary; she’s squirmed herself into his life and now she won’t ever be able to leave without causing a disturbance in his lifestyle. He needs her.

She composes herself at his odd comment and brashly collects a batch of his cowl between her teeth to tug him closer—arms still inoperable against her—and uses the newfound angle to assault his neck with a tauntingly hot breath.

“Clean yourself up first,” she tempts. “You’re grimy.”

“To be fair,” he grumbles, “I don’t recall you having a chance at the refresher in a while.”

She pulls away, eyes squinting at him. “Tread on your words very carefully here, Mando.”

He chuckles and loosens his grip moderately. “I mean—you could join me.”

Mando’s growing confident—too confident, it’s the first signs he’s setting himself up for disappointment—and he slides his hands from the pillar to the curves of her hips, his leathers slipping underneath the oversized shirt to explore the bare flesh; her torso being the only place he hadn’t been given the pleasure of researching—all the chalky scar tissue, the slopes of her abdomen, the contours of her chest.

Pair that with the suds of soap cloaking her skin, her hair, it’s every man’s dream to be the one to apply it to a woman, to feel and pull on slippery skin in such a personal way—to scrub her spic-and-span only to ruin her until she needs another.

“Join you,” she repeats mulling for a moment but she shakes her head with rejection. “That’s too conspicuous.”

She doesn’t voice her concerns regarding his helmet—how in the hell do you clean yourself with me there?—and he himself is uncertain, he just knows he wants to be the one to wash the grime off her. He’ll fix himself up after he’s tended to her, if need be.

“Everybody already has their suspicions.”

She sighs. “Guess I wasn’t very discreet earlier, huh?”

“No,” he confirms, his digits stroking leisurely lines to-and-fro. “you weren’t. What happened? I’ve never seen you look so uncomfortable.”

“I...don’t do well with crowds.” She casts her eyes between their feet, examining the size difference of their boots. Mando removes himself from her to allow her to breathe, to continue without feeling pressured. “That face mask I wore… It was a layer of me. It helped me deal with spying eyes. When Tika destroyed it, I dunno, I guess a piece of myself died with it. It-it doesn’t make sense.”

You’re talking to the expert of masks, he thinks.

“I understand.” he says. “It mustn’t be easy having to deal with the lack of something so integral.”

Mando has yet to experience that fear—that overwhelming sensation of uneasiness; people’s eyes so effortlessly studying him without the disguise of his armour to protect him—it’s something he’s appreciative of everyday.

She sighs, hot and heavy and laced with exhaustion. “Well, life continues either way and I can’t exactly hide away here forever.” She initiates a stare-down with the ajar door, scanning the wilderness that reached her vision; a couple of women standing among the pond waters scooping for krill, a pair of children on the banks assisting with their catch. “I’m not one for fishing but I guess I should help out a little, as thanks.”

He grunts as a reply, lacking the confidence to trust his voice—stay here, stay with me—and lamely takes a few steps back, assigning his amban rifle to a nearby flat surface, some storage units, and sinks to a rustic chair.

She considers him, eyes bouncing from his helmet to his lap where his cloak is pulled between his hands. Mando rings out the sopped material, murky water seeking refuge in the crevices of floorboards.

“You’re making a mess.”

“I need to dry,” he retorts.

“Take it off,” she says.

Mando’s shoulders stiffen, his back straightens. “I can’t.”

“I won’t look.” The Girl turns on the heels of her feet and shuts the door ahead of her, casting the room into darkness except for the timid rays of sunlight shining through the narrow gaps of the window—not enough for somebody outside to see, but plenty for him to undress himself without a hassle. “Just put in my hand when you’re done. I’ll find somewhere sunny to hang it up - shouldn’t take too long to dry in this heat.”

There’s no movement on either of their sides, their hut as though it was in suspended animation or the Crest on one it’s many malfunctions just idling in the vastness. She shifts on her feet restlessly in wait for the sodden garments to weigh her hand down.

“What, so I just sit here until it’s dry?”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Unless you want to walk around the village naked with a helmet on, yeah.”

Mando grumbles under his breath. It’s not really a choice. It’s not as though he can just remain drenched all day until the air inevitably dries him off. Still, it’s not easy to remove himself from his armour somewhere other than the Crest; it provided security, a reassurance that nobody will see him so exposed.

Both boots are dismissed from their positions and come to lay rest beside the chair while he works on the beskar platings riddling his body—the steel branded to protect him now nothing more than a nuisance as it resists against his efforts and continues to cling to the suit against his wishes. They’re slippery and contain no traction on behalf of the clumpy muck, his leathers sliding out from underneath each time. It’s like a suction seal against his chest, inconceivable of success, but he’s just as stubborn and lures the rim underneath a stitch of his glove and plucks the guard off harshly.

One down, too many more to go.

The other platings put up just as much of a fight as the first but, with a few tugs, they withdraw from his body and reside on the ground alongside his boots. He’s practically naked without his beskar—the air light and crisp as he breathes without the weight—practically naked in front of the Girl. It’s the most he’s been so revealing and, even though she’s not looking at him, his cheeks grow warm, his stomach pulled taut.

He dabbles in intolerable concepts—thoughts he shouldn’t act on for the sake of his Honour, his Creed—the overwhelming suggestion of standing behind her and letting her feel his bare heat radiate off in potent waves; like a strong glass of spotchka, irresistible but ultimately an unhealthy decision.

There’s a deep shudder that runs through the base of his neck down to his coccyx, goosebumps brandishing him and refrigerating him far greater than the krill waters could. Underneath his helmet, he casts his eyes low to devour the curves and slopes of the Girl’s body, his teeth grinding against each other until there’s an ache in his temples.

His Beskar is gone, solely a clump of shiny steel that serves as a warning of what he could be throwing away—everything he’s risked his life for, everything he’s spent decades consuming, altering his physical attributes to suit that of a stoic, emotionless pillar of flesh and bone fortified with not just his armour but his code. His faith.

The Girl precariously shifts between either foot and cocks her hip out, sighing dramatically that pulls his thoughts back into the present.

“Patience,” he instructs.

The air is thick, hot, or maybe it was just him—his filters rendering inoperable when confronted with the foreign bashfulness; it’s not often he encounters such a outlandish emotion, so unknown and disorienting, and it’s quite possibly the worst fucking issue he’s faced with. There’s no shooting or piloting his way out of it and his brain only works in a handful of matters at a time—none of which included addressing the electricity in his chest, the bubbling in his stomach, the clenched muscles throughout his anatomy.

The Mandalorian—if he could still be considered a Mandalorian without his armour, his essence—stands, prompting a squelch from the pool of water he formed underneath, and reaches around his neck to unclasp the heap of his cloak; it’s nothing new, she’s seen him without it before. The shirt is a different story. That’s new. That’s untouched boundaries. His build is infrequently subjected to the perched star in the clouds let alone another lifeform.

Fingers dip underneath the hem of his shirt and bundles the material, his second knuckles sweeping against his abdomen that leaves his jaw tight. That famished growling in his chest is utterly pathetic—his own touches manage to provoke such a humiliating reaction, he could only fathom what the Girl would do to him with those soft hands of hers, her gentleness as she nurses the bruises with her thumbs.

Mando hoists the shirt over his head and slips free from the sleeves and drops it to the floor with a displeasing schlup and neglects the choking in his throat, the rise of his heart rate. Are your eyes closed, he seeks answers to voiceless questions, or are you staring at wood, counting the twigs? Why aren’t you looking at me? There’s another sigh that fills the quiet, whether it’s from her or himself is uncertain; his heart is pleading for a moment’s break.

It doesn’t come.

Next is his trousers—something she had seen before, but under different circumstances, totally contrasting. Perhaps it was all that Tatooine heat that got to them or the severity of the events catching up—Mando nearly dying, nearly stranding her and the kid—that caused them to collide with desperation, their hands working at whatever little article of clothing they could eliminate from the equation to feel each others warmth; the indication they were both alive, safe.

Mando takes pity on her restlessness and forces his reflections to the dark recesses of his mind for later, stripping out of the trousers adhered to his thighs, his calves, noting how the temperate air licks his legs dry. It’s too exposing, too public for his comfort, and he swiftly bundles the cot’s blanket around his shoulders to conceal himself from eyes that weren’t even aimed at him. She wouldn’t go undermining the trust they’ve built, but it’s his Honour, his code—at least that’s what he tells himself.

The Mandalorian tells himself he’s weary because that’s how he was brought up, he was trained to be cautious. To prohibit connections that’d tie him down and crush what little valour remained within him.

He ignores the pestering inkling at the back of his brain telling him that’s not why he’s so high-strung.

There’s scars tainting his flesh, painting the tan skin in slithers of off-whites, bruises on his knees and shins, thick callus paddings on his fingertips. He can’t help but imagine what the Girl might say if she saw him so bruised, so broken. Would she still want to touch him, or is it the shiny beskar that allures her—a mere status symbol.

Securing the blanket around his frame, Mando shimmys a hand out between the folds and grabs the pile of drenched cloth, striding across the room in three steps and gingerly placing it in the Girl’s outstretched palm.

“Is that all?” she asks, her fingers tightening around the stack of black. “I won’t be able to come back for more.”

Mando swallows, his throat bobbing against the air rather than his cowl; it’s such a bizarre situation, being so bare before the woman he struggles to contain himself around, his thoughts jumbled in his head—turn around, please don’t turn around—and he finds the strength to back away from her. “That’s all.”

She won’t—turn, that is—it’s too overbearing, too unlike her. No matter how easy it could be for her to witness him so vulnerable, so human-like, she won’t fiddle with the bindings of their mutual loyalties. Won’t stick her hand in the wet duracrete because she knows it’ll leave a permanent mark, a stamp of her backstabbery.

“All right.” She inches backwards so she can open the door ahead of her. “You out of sight?”

“Yes.”

She nods, her fingers wrapping around the handle and twisting but it stays firmly against the frame. “Get some rest. I know you didn’t sleep on the way here. I’ll get these tended to and then you can hit the ‘fresher.” She opens the door and takes a step outside. “Don’t forget to lock it.”

He watches her leave, observes how the sun swallows her in a breathtaking glow, watches the room be cast into darkness once more—isolating him from the outside; if it’s not beskar or the Crest, there’s always something between him and the natural beauty of the planets he frequents.

The sonic detectors pick up her departing footsteps, light and reluctant, until her boots make contact with the grass, dulling their resonance until he’s left with the laughter of children and hushed gossip concerning himself. He sighs, clicks the lock into place and precariously removes his helmet—cold, dirty with mud and silence leering through him. It’s insides are comforting, a shelter he’s incomplete without, but it’s exterior is the polar opposite; sinister, an insignia for his kind to instill fear into their enemies—the Girl never displaying that trepidation he’s so accustomed to.

Mando is endowed with the sight of the Girl’s beauty, how her eyes crinkle when she smiles or how she chews on her lower lip when in thought, her hands never static for more than a minute at a time, there’s not a detail in his sight he hasn’t engraved into the forefront of his mind.

She’s not as fortunate as him, stranded in the cold surrounded by steel rather than warm skin, unable to pursue the comfort of another without the constant reminder that he can never provide her with anything more than a slab of metal servicing as her shield. And yet, despite those factors, she remains beside him—voluntarily puts herself between him and danger—looking past the visor, all the walls he put in place, and into his eyes.

The helmet expires atop of the chair he’d been seated on, positioned away from him as he sinks his weight onto the mattress—bouncy and cottony, feeding his aching muscles with some much needed attention. For the first time ever, the bed is too large, too empty—she should be here.

Mando’s head stoops against the bundle of organised pillows, cushioning the healing wound underneath the thick of his curls. Curls her fingers nursed. He groans, deep that resonates through his chest, and distorts his head towards the door in wait for her return, his eyelids heavy as they fall shut.

Sleep doesn’t come to him easily in territories he’s been deprived of conquering; the nooks and crannies of each aisle between the huts unaccounted for, the instability of wooden walls establishing minimal security. It’s not optimal in contrast to his Crest but it works enough to achieve a couple hours of sleep. When he wakes, the orange tint leaking through the cabin has evolved into a blend of soft pinks and purples that blush against his tan skin as he paces the room, the blanket wrapped around his build dragging along the flooring with each lengthy stride.

He’d discovered a small refresher deposit in the shack and decided to clean himself up best he could—despite his hormones advocating against the idea, begging for him to wait it out until the Girl returns and he can share the space with her—which now leaves him stranded with his thoughts. A dangerous game he’s not prepared to dabble in presently. Fortuitously enough, he doesn’t need to—a steady knock on the hut’s door pulls him from his thoughts.

“I’ve brought your clothes,” Omera says from the outside, Mando quietly hums to himself and slips his helmet on before speaking.

“Thank you,” the vocoder crackles to life.

“I’ll leave it at the door for you to recollect.”

Mando enables his thermal vision, outlining her body through the door as she bends down to place the garments at the foot of the entrance and turns away for him to steal them. He does so, swiftly and with such minimal sound she doesn’t hear the door open or close behind her.

She’s unmoving, her hands clasped behind her back in patience for him to dress himself.

Assuming she wishes to commune about their sudden arrival, Mando doesn’t leave her waiting long—the flight suit smelling of soap and hugging his muscles with a pleasant residual warmth from the sunshine, his beskar, boots, gloves, and cloak following suit; electing to disregard his bandolier and holsters.

He’s not as hesitant to make noise now that he’s back to donning his layers and widely swings the door open indicating his decency. Omera turns to face him, her eyes casting over his clean clothes and offering a smile. “I was wondering if you’d like to take a walk before nightfall,” she asks, gesturing to the stairs below. “It would be nice to catch up with you. It’s been a while.”

“Where’s-”

“She’s out in the ponds with our finest catchers and your boy is with Winta and the other children.”

Mando doesn’t object against her proposal. Perhaps it’ll do him some good to get some fresh air, to clear his thoughts of the Girl, the wavering uneasiness of his Creed.

They leisurely stroll beside each other following the gravel paths of the village, the sinking sun ricocheting off the front of his helmet as they draw nearer.

“The ponds, huh?” Mando thinks aloud.

She chuckles. “Quite talented at fishing at that. She’s made a name for herself. We can swing by on our way, if you’d like.”

He faintly nods, his helmet inclining to the path as he walks. “Has the village encountered any issues recently?”

“You mean the raiders? They’ve kept their distance and the villagers know how to fight if that changes.”

“And what of you?” Mando asks. “How have you been? Winta?”

“Better, because of you, thank you,” she says, her feet coming to a halt among a cluster of krill ponds. They’re all empty, the inhabitants packing up for the remainder of the night, though his eyes land on the Girl in the distance. She’s switched her tarnished trousers and shirt for a village dress, hitched up to her mid-thigh as she dries the limbs coated in krill water.

The Mandalorian’s stomach contracts, his throat narrowing as he rakes in the image—the fluidity of the material in the wind, her skin lambent from the sunrays, the unclothed legs tormenting his self control. She hasn’t detected his prying, too concentrated on communing with a flock of women thanking her for the assistance.

It’s almost...domestic; Mando can imagine them settling down in a place like this, rough hands that manipulate blasters and spacecraft dedicating themselves to lenient chores like a regular townsman. Gummy blood that sticks to his leathers washing away in a tranquil stream. Their nights spent witnessing the stars emerge from the vastness of the sky above.

The weight on his vambrace suffocates his daydreaming with grungy splotches of soil and he reluctantly returns his attention to Omera, who’s studying his inattentive stance.

“The offer still stands.”

“Offer?” he asks.

“To settle down here with your boy.” The bothersome weight snakes along his beskar and to the thick of his flight suit, her fingers working their way into the strained bicep. She lowers her voice to a dainty murmur, “There must be a reason for your return.”

The weight on his arm is unnatural, forced—so unlike the unfiltered gentleness of the Girl’s—he refrains from shrugging her off, not wanting to appear ungrateful for her hospitality, but it’s like venom seeping into his veins and numbing him from the inside.

Their little game of tooka-and-womp-rat from the last time he was here starting to catch up with him; this is what he was afraid of. She’s a kind woman, she’s great with kids and can handle her own, but she’s not the Girl. She’s not who he wants to see right now.

“You like it here, don’t you?”

“It’s-it’s not an option. We can’t stay still for long.”

“It’s safe here.” Fingers dig in, feet inch closer, eyes dusky.

Mando finally pulls away, unsettled, and shakes his head. “The Child is still being hunted by the Guild. We may only last a few days here before needing to move on. They need a break, is all.” He shies from mentioning he requires a break as much as them; the Girl’s initial idea stimulating the selfish desires that influenced his return. “We’ll be out of your hair before you know it.”

Omera’s eyes stall downwards, her hands clasping together ahead of her. “I understand,” she says. “Since you’re on a break, how about I take in your boy for the night? It’ll allow you some rest and I’m not sure if I can separate Winta from him.”

“I don’t think-”

“We’re only a few huts down from you,” she reassures.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust Omera, she’s demonstrated her loyalties before, but they’ve spent so much time apart since Tatooine. What happens if the kid latches onto someone and Mando can’t stomach meddling with their bonding? What happens if he no longer wishes to journey with him? The Mandalorian is responsible for him—he can’t just abandon him, but who’s he to insert himself in places he doesn’t belong?

Then again, devoting time to other children his age—well, about as close they’ll reach to his age—could be beneficial; it’s one of the reasons why he had chosen Sorgan.

Mando exhales and seats his hands on his hips. “Okay, but if he’s too much to handle let me know.”

“Of course,” she whispers, clasping a hand on his tricep as she passes him, the burden slinking down his elbow until he’s too far from her reach and it falls away. He cranes his head to look behind as she strides back towards the village, his eyebrows crinkling as he studies her.

“You two are real chummy,” the Girl says from ahead of him, brushing her shoulder against his pauldron as she continues towards their shared hut. He releases a grunt as he’s pushed out of her way, the confusion inscribed into his brows only multiplying—what the fuck is happening?

“Hey.” Mando stalks her, towering and threatening that induces the locals to pitiful onlookers, silently wishing the Girl her best as she enters the hut with him not far behind, the door slapping closed. “What’s gotten into you?”

The Girl scoffs and shakes her head with disbelief, her hands working at the fastenings of her dress to loosen it from around her thighs, framing her legs in wrinkled tapestry. “Me? You’re the one changing around all your little rules you put in place. Should’ve seen the two of you out there. What happened to privacy?”

His legs don’t operate with his wishes, the boots cemented in a debating stance with his arms crossed against his chest. “What are you talking about?” the vocoders buzz.

Baring her teeth like a tooka, she hisses, “She likes you.”

She likes you—he mulls it over, sifting through the dust for the underlying meaning—do you like her?

Mando’s muscles sag and his feet bound across the room to near her, needing her warmth; needing her. He can’t believe she’s skeptical of their connection. He can’t believe she’s doubting how he feels. It burns him. Leaves a searing scar where his heart belongs.

He wants to reach out for her, feel her pliable tissue underneath his gloves, but there’s a meek hesitance; a miniscule drops-worth of concern he’ll incur further stings that eat at his flesh.

“I--”

“Turn around.”

He tilts his head. “Why?”

“Need to get out of this stupid dress.”

Does she not realise what it’s doing to him?

How his fingers are clenched into fists against his sides. How his breathing is heavier. How his shoulders are hunched and his head is preoccupied with images of that blasted skirt hitched up to her thighs with him between them. Does she not see that?

“Keep it on.”

It’s almost an order. Almost.

“It’s hers,” she spits.

Oh. That makes sense.

“I get it, all right. I don’t...have you, Mando. I’m not allowed to-to be jealous when another woman touches you, but—” She unzips the top unconcerned of his peeping, furious and desperate to rid herself of the confining garment. “I won’t wear her clothes. I won’t dress up as another one of your flings. That’s - that’s…”

Mando’s features soften, his fists unclenching, shoulders slacking, and—wait. Back up. Is she that clueless?

He carries his feet towards her, heavy and laden with purpose.

“You’re wrong.”

“What?”

“You’re wrong, mesh’la,” he repeats. Another step.

She’s no longer concerned with the dress, the fabric that once felt like acid against her skin now nothing more than the means of coverage. The Mandalorian isn’t radiating any expressions that she’s learnt to pick up on—he’s completely unreadable.

“About what?”

“I don’t have you,” he recites. “That’s what you said.”

The Girl’s quiet, too quiet, as she stares him down. There’s a falter in her movements as she recedes from her own nerves reflecting off beskar. Finally, ever so slowly, she breathes out another, “What?”

His modulator thrums, his boots clink, his flight suit rustles. Their radius is shortened, Mando’s beskar brushing against the material of her dress as he closes her in like he did before. His leathers stroke against her cheek, bulky and unsatisfying; preventing him from the intimacy he seeks. It’s not fair. He can’t remain like this—so quarantined from her, so fucking removed.

There’s no thinking, no self-interrogating, as his hands fumble against the beskar plate strapped to his chest in haste—concerned that if he slows down even a second he’ll lose the confidence building up inside him—his fingers curl underneath the boundary and tears the steel off his build, clanking to the flooring beside them. The impact causes her to jump, her eyes widen as she inspects the vacant space of his torso.

“Your Creed,” she whispers.

Seizing her hand in his, he compresses it against his pectoral and breathes in deep—lungs inflating against the appendage, his heart stammering at the unacquainted sensations of her nails digging into the flesh underneath. Inconsistent palpitating of his organ travels from the surface of his chest, through her fingertips and to her core, tightening and coiling as her own beating soars to unhealthy speeds.

It’s an adrenaline rush in itself, her fingers so temperate and alive abutting his dense suit—he conceptualises them slithering underneath to nurse the ache of his organ.

He’s not afraid of being burned. He told her that back on Tatooine and he fucking meant it.

Mando is durable; he can take a few burns if need be.

“You make me do foolish things, mesh’la.” The beskar slides across the room with a kick of his boot and he takes another step closer, her back forced against the walls of their dinky cabin. A gloved forefinger hooks the thread perched among her neck and lifts, the steel pendant revealing itself from beneath the top of her dress and he rubs a comforting stroke on the face of the skull. “This is the only part of me I never removed.”

Her face is hot, her lungs heavy. She’s listening, though she makes no effort in concealing how her fingers insistently grasp at his shirt to develop an understanding of the unfamiliar territory.There’s a gentle squeeze across the back of her hand and she tears her eyes away to glance at the visor, tilted and lenient. “This-” He absentmindedly fidgets with the necklace. “-means more to me than my beskar. It was a...beacon of light, hope. It was my compass when I lost myself in my commissions—reminded me of why I chose this life, why I chose to isolate myself—I’m not sure if I need it anymore.” He hopes he’s exhibiting the connotation inside his head as successfully as he believes—I don’t need it when I have you and you have me.

“Mando…” she exhales.

He chews on the gums of his cheeks, his lips, until they’re sore and tender.

“Not -- not good with words,” he confesses, his thumb massaging circles into her cheekbones. “Let me show you.”

Her head angles to the side in consideration. “Show me?”

It’s not an exact approval of his request but it’s enough for him to act—enough for him to demonstrate his devotion to the Girl—and he sinks his hands behind her thighs and hoists them around his waist, pressing his chest into her for stability against the wall. Her hands find their place on his pauldrons, quizzing eyes searching his visor for assurance. Baffling, how she’s so precarious for his Honour’s sake despite him being the initiator; his toes absorb his weight as he lifts himself to insert the face of his helmet into the crook of her neck, his modulator eliciting a grunt as his arousal awakens and rubs against the bottom of her thighs.

“Tell me to stop and I will.”

She doesn’t—Thank the Force, as Peli would say—and he transitions them to the cot, her legs tightening around him with each step he takes. He deposits her onto the mattress on her back with his body hunched over hers, though his feet refuse to tear from the floor, either hand on the cushions beside her head.

“Take it off.”

She doesn’t need a stupid dress for him to look at her that way.

The Girl whirs melodically like a comforting warble from his Crest welcoming him home and she carefully slips her limbs from his shoulders down his chest and out from their sleeves, the dress supported by nothing but gravity and her fingers bundle the skirt, impishly stripping the garment inch by slow inch.

Mando rids himself of his gloves, hell-bent on pursuing the pillowy flesh and engraving his fingerprints. Her stripping wavers at her abdomen and he takes the opportunity to slip the rough pads of his hands along the tops of her thighs to beneath the cloth, fingers blindly studying the miniscule scars puncturing the smooth skin. They find the most recent one, still tender but glossed over with rough tissue, and he circles it like a tooka with its prey.

She’s otherworldly, all soft curves and smooth skin in contrast to the dead of steel.

The weight on his chest, or lack of, evokes shameful thoughts.

“Come here,” he whispers, catching her hands and placing them on either of his pauldrons, her fingertips hooking underneath the rim. “Drag it down and then up.”

“I can’t.”

“You can, pretty girl.”

The nickname pulls a shudder out of her bones and her fingers tighten around the steel, heeding his instructions until the layers unclasp from their fastenings—protection he’s bonded with now nothing more than inanimate alloy in her hands. It’s a physical weight off his shoulders but it reaches so much deeper than that, as though he could finally breathe for the first time in years even with the blockade of a helmet.

He repositions her hands to his vambraces. “Curl your finger underneath-” She follows, either forefinger arching beneath the rim and finding a small shrouded dial, the plates slackening around his wrists and she carefully peels either off. “That’s it.”

That ugly trepidation from before isn’t even a consideration—his eyes glowing and fingers stiff as she shucks him from his beskar piece by piece, her own garb partially removed and covering the last portion of her body he’s yet to see bare. He won’t undress her further, not until they’re equal and she’s more comfortable.

Mando slips free of his boots, nudging them to the side, and ascends to the surface of the cot to sit on his knees between her legs. Their hands shift to his tassets resting among his hips and he aids in her attempt to dislodge them from their joints, tossing them to join the growing pile of steel below the bed. She stops with her hands sprawled across his cuisses, the last of his armour; the last physical manifestations of his essence.

“Is this what you want, Mando?” she asks, the tips of her fingers caressing small strokes into his thighs above the steel.

“Say my name,” he pleads. “No one will hear.”

She repeats, “Is this what you want, Din?”

Dank Farrik. He’s no longer The Mandalorian, Mando, but instead reclaiming a long lost name and wearing it with pride, ingraining the sound of it slipping through her lips into his bones. Din. A name he’ll only ever hear come from her. His name.

And the Girl was no longer just the Girl—she’s His Girl; all his and he’ll brand her body to prove it, label her skin with his crescent nails if he has to. They deliberately dig into the meat of her thighs, skin raking underneath his fingernails, and he nods his head in response to her question - this is all he wants. To be suspended in time right here and now; triumphing buried insecurities with her unwavering support.

Her fingers progress independently, hitching underneath the borders and tugging the final two pieces of pesky beskar from his body, sans helmet of course, and languidly drops them to the flooring with a clank.

She stifles her breathing, reducing it to a slow wisp that flees her mouth and circles around them dragging them against each other. “You-you can touch me, mesh’la.” He expresses his covet for her touch by depressing his hips into hers, rocking once and twice rhythmically until she wads a fistful of flight suit to draw him in—her breath fogging the visor as she analyses his build with her hands; trailing along the front of his chest and around his sides, the featherweight touches tickling the body parts scarcely disturbed.

“Smell so good,” she moans and tucks her face into his cowl. “Much better than before.”

Din chortles. “Should’ve joined me.”

“Next time.”

He’ll take her up on that.

There’s a hand on either hip and he observes from the clouds as she aligns their pelvises together, her heat bucking against the emerging bulge.

“Show me,” she alludes to his previous proposal, eyes swallowed with inky lust.

Din fucking growls—the modulator contributing very little to the deep crackle—and his hands return to soft flesh, shoving the galling dress up, up, up and over.

“S’pretty.”

The garment is discarded across the hut, finding its home somewhere among the clutter of beskar trailings. She’s faultless, something he already had an impression on but seeing her so bare, so unguarded and trusting beneath him, is record-breaking.

Trauma lesions encompass her skin, little choppy lines of faded tones splotched across her abdomen, her chest, shoulders, waist—mimicking his own—and he returns to the healing wound on her abdomen to brush a tender stroke along the surface; an injury he was there to witness, the blade tucked into her flesh still so fresh in his mind.

“Din.”

The vermillion slipping through his gloves as she faded out of consciousness. Those dreadful cries of pain each time he touched her. The unyielding environment of Tatooine attacking his muscles and composure as she bled out in the arms of a stranger.

A prodding at his back plucks him from reliving the memory, crumbling it into miniscule debris fragments upon the revelation that she’s here with him, breathing and safe and alive. She’s poking at the wound he garnered all those days ago, when she took the first step to progressing this little thing they have going—all of their intimate milestones triggered by one or the other inflicting a wound of sorts; Din seemingly the culprit in both instances.

But not this time.

This time is different. Spurred on by passion and a necessary need to show each other themselves defenceless.

“Sorry,” he whispers and compensates for lost time with a gentle grind of his bulge into her sex, her feet digging into the matress behind him and holding him stationary against her.

She raises to her elbows, seizing a clump of his cowl in one hand to stabilise herself and uses the newfound leverage to rut against his lap. “Shit, Din,” she moans.

It’s so fucking lewd; she’s just using him to get herself off and fuck if he doesn’t like it—the pressure around his neck with each tug, the warmth against his lap, how light and freeing each movement is compared to last time.

“Supposed-” He’s cut off with a tumbling grunt, fleeing out of his throat and into the silent cabin as she quickens her pace; stroking the underside of his length raw. “I’m-I’m supposed to...fuck.”

“Taking-” she breathes, “-too long. Fucking--taking off your beskar, what’re you thinking? I need you, Din.”

She’s forced back onto her back beneath him with a hand flat against her abdomen, his figure looming over her exuding lust and desire and pure dusky thoughts he’d be ashamed of admitting. “Wasn’t done,” he declares, a hand grasping at the hem of his shirt to eradicate the article from the equation. Din needs to feel his skin against hers, more than just roughened hands, he wants her nails in the muscles lining his back, her teeth retreating to the skin above his collarbone, lips and tongue labouring at his neck.

The weight around his neck and shoulders commands him to cease his stripping—fuck. Why’s he got so many fucking layers for? Din rips the cloak from around his neck, bundling it into a tattered ball and tossing it across the room impatiently.

His hands return to his shirt’s hem, elevating the fabric until a sliver of his abdomen is assaulted by frigid air. The downwards dragging is unexpected, quaint, and he stops to heed her interruption, “Only if you want to, Din. Don’t - don’t force yourself for me.”

“Sweet girl,” he muses and removes his hands so she’s left clutching the fabric alone. “Take it off for me.”

It’s too intimate, too liberating; so much more than just sex and a means to receive relief from each other’s bodies. This is something they’ve both been denied for far too long—the meek touches of another to lull each other, reassure themselves events that have yet to unfold will be okay so long as they’re together.

She discards the shirt beside them and runs her nails along his spine gingerly, recording the bumps of bone buried underneath the flesh and muscles. His front is in her face, on direct display for her eyes to collect the slithers of off-whites; her lips brushing his pectorals.

“Been through so much,” she whispers against his skin, her breath prompting a layer of goosebumps in its radius. “Too much.”

“As have you, mesh’la.” His fingers trail a slash across her shoulder.

The time she contributes to identifying each scar, memorising the feeling and positions, is staggering—as though she’d be content with just studying his body for the next week alone—those impressions of her only wanting him for his armour and protection, not for what else he can bring to the table, are lit in unforgiving flames.

She’s not in it for the reputation he withholds, but simply for him.

There’s a tightness in his chest, an ache, something new and terrifying—a word to an emotion he’s not acquainted with circling his mind, bouncing along his tongue in jest towards his confusion and uncertainty.

He doesn’t entertain the thought; the thought that maybe, possibly Din is having his initial encounter with something bigger and more dangerous than any commission he’s dealt with before. It’s not possible. He’s not that fortunate. He can’t process those emotions—he’s not built for that.

Din needs a distraction, pronto, otherwise his head will be so clouded with the thought that—

She banks a wet stripe across the front of his throat, the groan oscillating through his flesh and onto her tongue and she rewards him with a benign kiss—his throat bobs and he ruts against her pelvis unquestionably eager.

Yeah, that’ll do.

Din’s hands surrender behind her back and blindly unclasp the hooks of her undergarment and yanks the blasted barrier off, his hands working the soft mounts before his eyes gain a chance to rake in their appearance.

“So soft,” he murmurs, palming the tissue vigorously. “How’re you so soft?”

The Girl opens her mouth to utter something snarky—he’s beginning to sense her incoming sass—and he devilishly clips a nipple between two fingers to disrupt her train of thought, her fingernails raking against his shoulder blades in an attempt to stifle the rising noises in her throat. It’s hypnotic, like watching electricity react against metal, her back arching as he flicks a thumb over the hardening peak sparking her nails to bare down into the meat of his slackened deltoids.

A hand trails down to his abdomen, digits soaking through the hairs of his happy trail but she doesn’t stop in her endeavours and sinks lower, past his bulge and buries her hand underneath her undergarments so that he can only see the outline of her hand working away at her crotch.

Din exhales, one of his hands fleeing from her breasts to remove the garment so he can watch her. She plunges three fingers inside of herself, stiffly pumping her hand in and out—preparing herself for him; it’s so fucking vulgar.

“Gods,” he groans. His final piece of clothing retires to his ankles, too overzealous to put in that extra effort to be completely free, and instructs her hand to his cock, using the slick on her fingers to lubricate himself. “Flip over for me, pretty girl. Let me take care of you.”

She enthusiastically obliges and squirms underneath his weight to lay on her stomach, he uses the pillows to prop her ass up to avoid her overstraining herself and reserves a moment to consider the view—far greater than his mind would conjure up. There’s additional scar tissue across her back, lengthy slashes and the remnants of blaster bolts, but those only highlight her features; the dip between her shoulder blades, the arch of her lower back joining the curves of her ass perfectly.

“Beautiful.” He adjusts himself between her folds, rubbing the tip to amass more of her slick, and eases inside her gradually; his hands never leaving her waist, eyes refusing to tear from the scenic sight.

“Shit--”

“So beautiful.”

“--Din, please-”

Din hums and thrusts inside her, pulling moans and gasps from her lips like music to his ears. “Beautiful...mesh’la.” It doesn’t require further explanation, the connotation straightforward with two simple words.

She asks, nonetheless, words muffled with bedspread and moaning, “That’s what you’ve been calling me all this time?”

“Do you like it?”

“Do I like it—you’re… you -- Maker. Shut up and fuck me.”

Fucking her, that he can do. Shutting up, on the other hand, was a little more difficult. It’s worthy of a comedic performance, how contrasting Din is in bed to in his armour; usually so stoic, a Mandalorian-of-few-words, now so whiny and talkative underneath the Girl’s charm.

Even if he wanted to stop murmuring dulcet words—and he really fucking doesn’t want to; the pent-up statements flowing from his throat so smoothly compared to earlier, like a tender creek current—he can’t stop.

Din applies his weight onto her back, uses his knees to continue his thrusts, and dips his helmet to mutter filth into her ear, “Gar jatnese be te jatnese-” He grunts, a hand squirming it’s way underneath her body to snatch a breast - just to have his hands against parts of her reserved for him. “Gar ani ni, vaabir gar suvarir?”

Of course she doesn’t understand—-Mando’a isn’t a well-known language, with few aruetii capable of articulating the speech. It’s no surprise when she doesn’t respond to his comments but the quiver reaching her shoulders and toes is a clear indication she’s savouring the sound of his voice manipulating a foreign language—whispering endearments only he can understand.

He’s touching her everywhere, running along her sides and across her shoulders, fingers dipping to draw lines across her cheeks and forehead where sweat is beginning to accumulate. Din’s inquisitive, it goes against his nature—habitually so cautious and attentive—and he sweeps two fingers across the cushioning of her lips, tapping against the flesh until she parts and immerses the digits within the pocket of her mouth.

There’s no sense of direction, no suggestion for what she should do cause he’s fucking splintered like a log; he’s had her fingers in his mouth before but he’s never felt the warmth of her saliva without a leather barrier. The helmet tucks into the crevice of her neck and shoulder as she bobs her head on the fingers, performing identically to how she had at Tatooine on his cock—sultry and slow, simply exploring the body he’s honoured her with sharing.

It’s an overload of sensations. Being rooted so deeply within her it’d be best to pitch his residence to refrain from laborious movement, their lungs synchronised against each other, his bareness, his withering Honour, so apparent and she’s focused on serving him with anything he desires; fingers in her mouth, weight crushing her, a hand grabbing at her chest, she doesn’t care so long as he’s satisfied and touching her.

Din can’t handle it. He’s a fucking Mandalorian. A warrior. He’s killed thousands of lifeforms in his lifetime. He’s survived wars. None of those even came close to shattering him like she does—a pretty girl is the cause of his skeptical questioning of his Code. A pretty girl is the sole motivation for his fingers to dip underneath the beskar rim, floundering for the feel of a fastener -- click!

There’s a hiss that interrupts her pace, the gears in her head turning, and she pulls away from his fingers to stare off into oblivion. Her body’s tense, the cushiony flesh abruptly hard and taut underneath him. “What’s the matter, Cyar’ika?” he mulls, stopping his movements to console the change of attitude.

“Din—you can’t.”

She doesn’t need to explain herself. Doesn’t need to clarify she understands that sound, having heard it twice before now. She understands the reality of the situation he’s pushing themselves into; quite possibly more than Din himself.

She inhales and inclines her head, sealing off any possibility of catching a glimpse of something unforgivable. She murmurs, “You’ve shown me, I get it -- I understand. The pendant, the beskar, the flight suit... It’s too much—I can’t reciprocate. You can’t give all of this to me, Din.”

The beskar is slack, mobile, as he shifts so he’s directly behind her. “Oh, Cyar’ika, you’ve given me plenty.” he hums, the vocoder continuing to operate. It modulates his vocals into staticy droid-like sounds; it provokes a rise in his chest, a tightness in his abdomen, and he rips the steel from his face—as though he’s submerged in krill water, drowning and in dire need of the Girl—and his mouth latches onto the back of her shoulder in one foul swoop. There’s no time to consider it, his actions overcoming his rationality and faith to his Creed.

It’s all teeth and tongue. Biting and tugging, licking and lapping.

The Girl springs at the sensation, the contact so heavenly she’s uncertain whether it’s real.

“Din, you...fuck, shouldn’t-shouldn’t…” She struggles for a deep inhale with the weight on her back, her face swallowed by blankets for his Honour’s sake.

The enamel works out the knots in her muscles, his warm tongue lulling the skin to relaxation after he’s finished abusing it. It’s fucking surreal. Dreamlike. Who knew something so small could elicit such a primal feeling inside of him. She’s even softer in his mouth than his hands—how is she so fucking soft—all warm and salty from sweat that attacks his tastebuds, leaves him thirsty for more.

He marvels whether the beating in her chest is as fast as his, whether he’s spurring on some deepened arousal like she’s doing to him; his cock hardens like that of his beskar, tight and sturdy to the point of ache and he’s compelled to grind his pelvis against her ass to relieve some of the pressure.

“Pretty girl,” he coos, voice rounded and deep and alive; goosebumps rise to the surface of her skin, which he nurses with delicate pecks. “Should take a look at yourself.”

She bites back, “Should listen to yourself.”

It encourages him, welcomes the husky tone from the depths of his throat as he nears her ear and deliberately exudes a hot sigh to assault the cartlidge, “Kaab jate, Cyar’ika? Is that what you like? My voice?” He pokes his tongue at the base of the side of her neck and slides upwards to the bottom of her ear. “Or—ner uram—my mouth?”

It’s not a question needed to answer; she makes it apparent that yes, his mouth, his voice, his vulnerability, his sacrifice, is what she likes—she likes him.

“Ke-ep talking like that and I’m gonna-”

“We’re not done,” he rumbles. “I wanna-wanna taste.”

“Ta-st-e…” she stumbles. He can’t see her face from this angle but he imagines a tint of pink across her cheeks, her teeth chomping away at the bottom lip.

Din buzzes against her ear in confirmation. “Want you in my mouth. Is that okay?”

“Oh fuck. Yes. Where - how do you want me?”

So fucking eager—he swallows the opportunity to assuage her appetite for his tongue by flattening the organ against her spine unloading a thick stripe of saliva in substitute for the sweat that nestles its way down his throat. “Not yet, sweet thing, let me take care of you first.”

Din lacks experience utilising his mouth to get someone off, isolating yourself in a layer of steel tends to do that to a man, and he’d be unable to reveal himself from his beskar again if he humiliates himself like that—he’ll just exploit what he can and swoop in to lap up the remnants between her thighs.

It’s greedy wanting to experience the flavour not for her pleasure but his own. That aftertaste that’s so highly spoken about so unidentifiable on his taste buds; he can’t continue living not knowing what that’s like.

But first; he’ll make her scream his name and come on his cock until she’s leaking down her thighs.

His helmet idles beside them, lopsided visor leering at him from it’s position—he scowls at the heinous thought jostling around his mind and repositions it ahead of the Girl, the steel weighing down the blankets. He verifies it’s perspective and slithers a hand around her throat to pry her face from the depths of the blankets and mattress.

She’s rigid as she finds herself in the reflection of the visor, sweaty and flushed and practically drooling with thirst for his thrusts. “Fucking——look at yourself,” Din moans.

“Shit, your face-”

“S’okay,” he slurs, “can’t see me from your position.”

The Girl relaxes somewhat, her shoulders still taut but her neck melting into his hand and moulding her flesh around his digits as he continues to incline her head—look how gorgeous you are—and his teeth latches onto the skin of her throat, twisting and pulling to leave a mark for later.

His hair is thick and unkempt, subsequently flat and jungly from the helmet, and his wild curls wash against the bays of her jaw; strands peering into her field of view even though her eyes are almost at the back of her head. She obliges with her eyelids requests, respecting his Creed, and seals themselves together to submerge her vision with black—it’s all sensory, all touches and gentle kisses against her neck to counterbalance the unforgiving thrusts he’s gifting.

Din labels her with his teeth indentations, breaking the blood vessels in splotches across her throat, painting crescents into her shoulders with his nails. He mouths her name but the word refuses to vocalise, latching onto the tonsils and taking residence there; in his mouth, where it belongs.

“Din--”

His response is nothing short of filth; muffled moaning pressed against the back of her ear as his hand captures the swelling nub of her clit to draw eager circles.

“--Din, fuck. Din, Din, Din...”

“That’s it,” Din croons, his lips curling at the over abundance of his name spewing from her gullet. “Let go.”

There’s a quaint delay, her body working overtime to comprehend all the sensations without overloading her brain, then she’s writhing and twitching underneath him; his hand and thrusts never-ending as he pulls every single quake out of her involuntarily. Her walls tighten around his cock, that unmistakable warmth engulfing his length to attract his own undoing like a magnet—he could keep going for hours if not for that fucking warmth.

“Din! Di-”

“Shh,” he advises, setting his palm against her mouth to blunt the ecstasy cascading from her vocals like a waterfall—a downside to being so close-quartered to others; he wants to hear those whines, the unstoppable call of his name at her peak, but he’ll settle for rewarding muffles.

Din works her down from her orgasm, pecking soft kisses against her healing slashes and softening the fingers against her clit until she’s no longer twitching underneath his weight. She lays there for a moment, simply memorising the tingling between her thighs and how his pelvis compresses against her ass with every delicate thrust.

Energy recovering, rather quickly, she meets with his lunges, sloppy and trembling on her knees but he appreciates the effort—not that he needs it. She doesn’t need to do anything special to aid his high; Din could just come if she asked him to.

He’s reaching deep, the tip of his cock nudging against her cervix, and they stagger in unison. “Fuck. Vaii, Cyar’ika. Where-where do you want-”

“In,” she mewls between his fingers. “Don’t stop.”

“In.” Din fights his conscious for a breath, his windpipes narrow and clogged. “Dank Farrik. You’re sure?”

“Definitely.”

In, it is.

Din’s cock anchors in her warmth, his pelvis rocking back-and-forth lightly, and he savours how her walls contract with each flick of her sensitive nub—edging on his orgasm by the inch starting from the tip and sliding down to the base like vine tendrils wrapping around him and encouraging him to just fucking let go.

He heeds his own advice and relaxes, allowing the overwhelming pulsations to pump strings of softening whites inside of her, her name falling out his mouth in broken moans. Their warmths mix together within her walls and stick to his length with vengeance as he numbly extracts himself until only the tip is concealed. Cock still semi-hard, Din irresistibly thrusts into her one final time—pathetic ego reaching new heights when she mutters a final bleat.

Din runs rough fingers up the backs of her thighs and to her shoulders, palming the flesh tenderly until she’s nothing but a pool of lax muscles beneath him. His mouth delivers delicate kisses across the back of her neck to provide a break for her to regain her breathing.

“Can you continue?”

She nods her head, a simple response he holds close to his heart as he carefully readjusts himself behind her.

She’s poetic from this view, a body crafted with wise hands the greatest bards would struggle to write about, but there’s nothing that comes within range of outstanding like her face does.

He needs to see her.

“Think you can hold your eyes shut while I go down on you?” Din groans in desperation while she mulls the question over. “Please, Cyar’ika, I need a taste.”

It’s a big ask and if she can’t ultimately gather up that courage to comply he won’t pressure her, no matter how much his mouth salivates from the thought of finally consuming a piece of her.

It’s the greatest test of trust; she’d easily be able to slip open those pretty eyes and pulverise his Creed to molecules—he wouldn’t trust himself if he was in her position.

It should terrify him; should render him into a solid beam of sturdy beskar.

It doesn’t. Din’s paralleled to that of the Girl, soft and warm, not an inch of him cold and solid.

His Mandalorian helmet contains a blackout setting and, if it comes to it, he can slip it over her head so he can sate his cravings without the paranoia in either of their heads—no.That picturesque face of hers shouldn’t ever be covered up again; that stupid face mask stole too many moments from his vision.

There’s enough concealment behind beskar to provide for both of them. Too much concealment.

The Girl gasps, “Okay. Okay.”

The stretched lips across his face is disgraceful; finding pleasure in something so filthy. Din couldn’t give a fuck. Who wouldn’t be smiling in his position?

They silently reorganise themselves with her on her back, eyes firmly shut, and Din planted between her thighs, quite possibly his favourite place in all of the galaxy.

Din doesn’t rush things; he’s not that kind of man. He works her up with ribbing kisses across her sternum and tooka-licks on either nipple simply to hear her breathing hitch and her hands fist the blankets underneath them. She white-knuckles the fabric when his teeth collect the sensitive skin and brutally sucks his markings into her, red and blemished that’ll welt nicely by morning—the only form of bruisings her body should be subjected to.

The hand assaulting the blankets transfers into the thick lock atop of his head with his guide, the digits snaking through the curls for leverage and tugging as he makes sloppy open-mouthed kisses around the pendant resting between her breasts.

“Cyar’ika.” The newly-adopted nickname floats through the air and into her core. “What’d I do to deserve all this?”

There’s no sarcastic comeback this time, not even an attempt, though he knows what she would say—destroyed my rifle—and he makes route lower and lower and fucking lower.

She’s straining to keep her hand in the mess of hair, his head lowered between her thighs where she can feel his breathing against her heat.

There’s a trail of translucent along the insides of her thighs and he follows the streak with his lips, digits digging into the meat while he collects it onto the cushiony brims. His tongue doesn’t delve out for a taste—not yet—until he’s made a path directly to her sex to place a final kiss against the peak of her clit triggering a miniscule buck that nudges against his nose.

“Tell me to stop,” Din pleads; fucking pleads because he knows if she doesn’t he won’t be able to stop himself.

His scalp burns as she stiffens her grip. “Please.”

There’s an experimental lick at first, nothing short of the tip of his tongue running through her folds, but once he’s obtained a taste of her there’s no end in sight—the finish line sprinting so far away from him he doesn’t even want to make an attempt to reach a conclusion. He’s happy to sit there and lap up everything until she’s dried out.

The Girl was spot-on. They’re a combination of sweet and salty—sweet on the account of her, salty because of him—and its so fucking addictive. His tongue flattens against her to collect as much slick onto the muscle and retracts, swallows, and repeats.

The bump of his nose stimulates her oversensitive clit for a second round, his fingers deviously slipping inside her canals to accumulate what his tongue can’t reach, his eyes spying on her face for every reaction he plucks.

Din can’t prevent the famished growl that slips out of him when his fingers plop into his mouth, shiny whites blending with his salvia to slide down his throat and lay rest in his stomach.

“Sweet girl, you really are sweet.”

For someone so inexperienced, Din sure knows what he’s doing. His tongue is in hyperdrive, working at her clit and suctioning every last drop of her out from within.

“O-o-h,” she moans and writhes on the mattress. “Gods, Din... Right there. Sh-it.”

The mewling words of encouragement boost his ego, as though he’d been replaced with his younger self; overly-enthusiastic and mindless, but possessing far more maturity—nurturing quirks that go against his amour propre youth.

Din heeds her commands, unrelenting licks jerking against her clit while his fingers get to work pumping in and out of her.

He’s not trying to make her come again, he didn’t think he had it in him, but fuck she’s right on the edge—he can feel it. Maybe it’s the over-sensitive nub collapsing into her core prompting her to tremble and twitch, or maybe he’s not giving himself enough credit; regardless, he’s working overtime to quench her needs.

When her thighs pinch the sides of his head, he really loses the plot—a heavy grunt expelling from his throat as he angles his head to the side and quickens his pace, poking and prodding at the spot she likes best.

“Din, Din-fuck.”

Thrumming journeys through his mouth and onto her clit, stimulating it just that extra mile to cross the finishing line. Her thighs stabilise his head in place while she violently bucks into his mouth, her second orgasm much stronger than her first.

There’s a surge of slick coating his fingers and he sinks to hoard it in his mouth, tongue-fucking her up till she’s a whimpering mess beneath him. It’s all her—his saltiness long gone—and he revels in the warmth; focusing on it slipping down his throat and sheeting his taste buds with a sweet syrup that immediately destroys the memory of those pitiful pancakes.

“So fucking delicious, Cyar’ika. You deserve a taste. You want some?”

Her head nods faintly, the exhaustion catching up to her; thighs trembling and fingertips taut in his curls.

Din accumulates a mass of her slick on his fingers and reroutes himself for her mouth, but stops himself. It’s glistening at him, taunting and just begging to slip into his mouth—he fulfills it’s wishes and plunges his digits inside for his tongue to lap up the remnants before hastily ramming his lips against hers.

It’s too authentic, too nerve wracking, as though he’s being initiated into the Creed for a second time; all butterflies in his stomach and outpaced blood flow through his veins. His hands quiver as they find her face, cupping her jaw as he deepens the kiss with a flick of his tongue across her gums.

The Girl’s eyes nearly slip open from the initial shock but she’s mastered her self-control, slinking into the mattress and pulling him with her.

It’s not like the kisses you’d see in holoplays, where it’s all soft and delicate but rather hungry and needy, a lot of teeth clashing against each other as they attempt to find themselves.

They exchange flavours, Din offering up her slick on his tongue in return for her saliva; tasteless in itself but it’s hers—his favourite flavour.

It’s all over him. In his mouth, on his chin, his fingers, his cock. It’s where it belongs.

Breathing is essential to life: they’re reminded as they reluctantly pull from each other's seals. Din’s not done just yet, then again, he’ll never truly be quenched of her. There’s just not enough of her. His lips disturb every speck of visible skin on her face, pecking her chin and across her cheeks all the way up to her eyes and back around the opposite side.

He’s much more gentle now, having gorged himself on her lips and taste, and is mindful of the scratchiness of the scruff along his jaw as he runs the pillows down her throat to come to rest in the cavern between her shoulder and neck.

She’s so bouncy, so padded, Din could rest his head on the bare tissue and sleep for centuries; recuperate for all the decades of blood and sweat he’s put his body through, replenish the colour underneath his eyes, permit his muscles and bones to be reborn.

His eyelashes brush against his cheekbones as he rests his eyes and evens out his breathing.

“Din,” she breathes, hands sketching idle lines across his back. “Hate to ruin the mood but your helm-”

“Don’t worry about it. Just rest,” he mumbles against her flesh, a hand blindly reaching out for the blanket to cover themselves; he doesn’t plan on moving from this position. She’ll have to pry him off herself. The beskar pendant is wedged between their chests, the skull's tusks digging into his muscles but it’s somehow fitting, comforting.

She is worried, though. There’s a crinkle between her eyebrows that he heals with the padding of his thumb. “What if I wake up-”

“I’ll be awake before you.”

“But--”

“I promise.” It’s not a pledge Din should initiate. She’s too comforting and he might never wake if he remains in her arms. His stubble pricks against her collarbone as he finds an abode among her chest, the beat of her heart against his eardrum.

“Please, Cyar’ika, don’t make me put it back on.”

How can she oppose that?

“Oh——okay.”

This is bliss.

This is his Manda, his paradise.

Her, not the location, though Sorgan will always sit somewhere special within his heart.

His Girl is all he needs.

If Din didn’t have a mission, a green mischievous baby, to tend to he would spend the rest of his days nestled into her body, pampering precious skin made of the elements themselves with sentimental kisses and delightful touches.

If she was to ask him to retire his blasters to their weapons unit, he would do it in an instant.

“Din?” He placidly drones in feedback. “Thank you.”

“Hmm? For what?”

A hand lazes on his head, tufts of ungroomed curls separating through the gaps of her fingers considerably slow as to not lug a knot. “Believing in me. I don’t ask much about Mandalorian culture ‘cause I figured you get asked a lot; I only know of that from Legends, but I can see it’s a part of you. Trusting me with your Creed...after everything I’ve done… Thank you.”

She’s still beating herself up about previous events. He could just wedge open her eyelids so she can look into his eyes; maybe then she’ll realise he’s already forgiven her. Instead, Din exhales a low-toned sigh and pecks what skin his lips can reach from his position.

“We agreed to a cin vhetin, remember?”

“Yes, but-”

“Sweet girl,” he shushes her. “In Mandalorian culture we use that term in initiation; it’s to clear all previous debts. Everything that occurred before is erased. Only what will happen in the future will be considered.”

Their cabin falls silent as she mulls the significance over. Din can hear a fire crackling somewhere nearby, children laughing, and adults toasting each other to another successful day; lively and euphoric-sounding but he’s content laying atop of his euphoria, to feel each expansion of her lungs, each tardy investigative stroke on his bare form.

“Does that mean I’m not getting your rifle?” she jests.

Din laughs, a full-on throaty bellow that resonates through her. It’s so humanlike it shocks him, leaves him wiping at the corners of his eyes from the onslaught of tears he’s producing.

The Girl’s hand runs from his head to the back of his neck, her thumb and forefinger massaging out the taut stone into flexible cloth. She quietly murmurs, “Wasn’t that funny.”

Laughing gradually subsiding, he basks in the comfortable silence between them. The Girl was never overbearing, even before all the tension arised, never stepped her foot out of line purely out of respect for his wishes and now she’s breached obstacles that’d make him hang his head in shame in the presence of his elders.

“Didn’t you propose a challenge or have you already forgotten?”

She smirks with cocky confidence. “Gambling with your weapons, huh? That’s so unlike you.”

“As I said; foolish, foolish things, Cyar’ika.”

___________________

"atin" - stubborn "sleemo" - slimeball "mesh'la" - beautiful "gar jatnese be te jatnese" - you're the best of the best "gar ani ni, vaabir gar suvarir?" - you complete me, do you understand? "auretii" - outsider "cyar'ika" - sweetheart/darling "kaab jate?" - sound good? "ner uram" - my mouth "vaii" - where

A/N: Sorry this one took longer than the others, it lowkey beat my ass up. In other news, I am currently planning my next series that'll be a Mandalorian!Reader if any of you are interested in that. If you wish to be added to either the LUNAR taglist or the upcoming series tags, please send an ask or a message!

tags: @ohhersheybars, @greatcircle79, @northernpunk, @tanzthompson, @djarrex

[space-helen]

Where Have You Been? - Chapter 7

Words: 1472

Pairing: Jack Thompson x Reader

A/N: Not sure how I feel about this chapter but oh well.

PART 1 - CH1   CH2   CH3   CH4   CH5 PART 2 - CH6   CH7   CH8   CH9   CH10 PART 3 - CH11  CH12   CH13 _______________________________

You placed your bag next to your desk before quickly making up two hot drinks and taking them into Jack's office. Swinging the door open you placed the drink on his desk before taking a seat.

“Sleep well?” he asked, picking up the drink and taking a sip.

“Extremely, you?”

“Slept like a baby for the first time in forever.” 

Agent Miller walked into the office and placed some files down on Jack’s desk ignoring you as he did so. “We had a call last night about some suspicious activity in one of the banks. They said some guy came in and demanded the safety deposit boxes of a Mr Cook and Mr Martin. Y’know Martin, the one that was making that weapon. The place was ransacked last night and they want us to take a look. I pulled their files.”

“Thank you Miller.” the man nodded before exiting the office and closing the door behind him.

Jack brought his coffee to his lips and took a sip, you placed your mug on the table and observed the file with a keen eye as he flipped it open. Your interest instantly peaked as soon as you laid eyes on the photo paperclipped to the inside of the file.

You took the picture between your fingers “This is the first man I interrogated with the SSR, involved with Mr Martin.” you said in disbelief.

“Yeah I remember.” he leant in towards you “You were terrifying.”

“I thought he was nothing more than disposable at the time, but he’s clearly something more.”

“As much as I hate to leave a coffee I think we should probably get to the bank as soon as possible.” The man was closing the file and standing before he could even finish his sentence. 

A short bald man was soon escorting the two of you through the bank to the vault “Just give me a shout if you need anything.” his tone was unimpressed and he grumbled under his breath as he walked away.

You walked into the vault and assessed the situation. Most of the room seemed to be untouched except a select few items. Mr Cook and Mr Martin’s boxes had almost been completely cleaned out, it looked as if some money had been stolen from the vault too.

“Jack look.” the man stepped inside the vault to join you and looked over your shoulder as you pulled out a notebook from Mr Martin’s box. You flipped it open to find all of the page blank with a letter addressed to the SSR slid between the centre pages.

You looked at Jack for permission to open the letter and he nodded. You tore open the envelope and Jack leant in to read the letter with you.

SSR,

We know Mr Martin wasn’t arrested by the police or the FBI at first. After a little digging and help from friends we came across your agency. Our work is not over. You may have taken the blueprints but you didn’t catch us all.

We have a gift for you at the address listed below. Come alone or there’ll be hell to pay. But first you’ll need to get over the first hurdle we throw your way. We hope to see you soon.

You placed the letter back in the envelope and turned to Jack just in time to see the vault door inching closed. Rushing past the man you went to catch the door from closing but it was too late. Jack came to your side and tried to force the door open but there was no luck, the two of you had been sealed inside.

You and Jack banged on the door with your fists hoping to get someone’s attention. Shouting at the top of your lungs but it was pointless.

Jack took some steps back from the door. “Y/N stand back.” you looked puzzled but obliged.

You watched as Jack reached for his gun and freaked out as he went to point it at the door. “Jack Stop!” you took some steps towards him and quickly pushed his gun down to aim at the floor “Do you really want to risk that bullet bouncing back on you?”

He nodded and re-holstered the weapon. “You have a point. How do you plan on getting out of here then?”

“We should just wait. Someone will realise we’re gone.”

“I like your optimism.” he moved to sit on the table in the centre of the room. “Do you think this is the first hurdle?”

You approached the table and sat next to the man “Possibly. It is inconvenient afterall.”

“Tell me about it.”

The two of you discussed possibilities about the letter and ‘surprise’ they had waiting. Jack took off his jacket, folded it and placed it on the table before rolling his shirt’s sleeves up. The temperature in the vault seemed to be rising. 

You stood up and began to pace, some sweat collecting on your own brow. You unbuttoned the collar on your outfit a little to help cool down slightly. “I really hope someone turns up soon I don’t think I can stand this heat much longer.” you commented.

“I think LA was even better than this.”

“Well it’s been over an hour maybe even two so I’m convinced that the banker is involved otherwise we’d be out by now.” You slumped down next to a meal cabinet and relished at the cool material on your back.

“Agreed.” Jack looked up from his sleeves at you. “Care to share?”

You smiled and patted the floor next to you “It’s honestly heaven.”

He stood with ease and came to the ground next to you with a small thump. He let out a long breath as he felt the coolness on his own back, he leant his head backwards and brought one of his hands to your thigh comfortingly and traced patterns with his thumb.

The two of you stayed in silence and waited trying to cool down and hoping someone would turn up soon. The silence soon had you falling asleep.

You peeled your eyes open to be greeted by the return of the stifling heat. You sat up straight and realised you’d been resting against Jack. “Morning.”

“Morning.” you said groggily “I’m guessing no one’s come to rescue us yet?”

“No. I have no idea how long it’s been either, you fell asleep and so did I. I’ve only been awake for a couple of minutes.”

“Sorry for sleeping on you.” 

“Don’t worry about it.” he stood up and held out a hand to help you up, you happily accepted it and got to your own feet.

Jack pushed the hair out of his face as you stretched your legs by walking around the room. “We’re going to go to the address as soon as we get out of here right?”

“I will be yeah. The letter did say to go alone.”

“As if I’m letting you go alone.” you scoffed.

“Think I can’t handle myself?” he teased.

You smirked at the man “You have to admit we work a lot better as a team.”

He considered it for a second. “I disagree. Your abilities are exceptional no matter who you work with Y/N.”

“But working with you makes it so much better.” the two of you were either side of the table when you heard a commotion outside of the vault.

Jack turned on his heels swiftly as the door began to swing open. Agent Sanchez stood alert with his gun slightly raised on the outside of the door along with some other Agents.

“Chief. Sorry we didn’t get to you sooner.” Sanchez announced as Jack picked up his jacket from the table. You picked up the notebook from the table with the letter inside and stood in the cooler air of the corridor. “Agent Miller has the bank owner cuffed in the car.”

“Nice work Sanchez, you could have been quicker though, Y/L/N and I have been boiling alive in there. How long did it take you to even start looking for us?”

The man looked at the floor in embarrassment “three hours sir. We should have been quicker.”

“Well let this be a lesson to everyone.” Jack announced “Never go anywhere without a colleague or someone to back you up and let another member in the office know where you are and a time frame.” Everyone was silent. “Let’s get back to the office. C’mon.” Jack ushered.

You leant in close to the man “As if you’re going to listen to your own rules.” 

It didn’t take long for you and Jack to drive to the address. It had taken a lot of persuasion to let Jack take you but after guilt-tripping him into following his own rules he obliged.

Next Chapter

Tag List: (open)

Jack Thompson: @fandomsandxfiles @itsmissdahliahayward​ @vintagelavenderskies @britishcorporal @ravennaofasgard @spunky-89​ @darkusangelus​ @marinettepotterandplagg @fandomsandxfiles-writes​ @okkulta​ @gavemesomuchtoremember​ @herstory-study​

Marvel: @marvelsangels

[themostcleverandwittyname]

Curiosity Saved the Cat

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7 CH8 CH9 CH10 CH11 CH12 CH13 CH14 CH15 CH16 CH17 CH18 CH19 CH20 CH21 CH22 CH23 CH24 CH25 CH26

(Jumin x MC)(Saeran x MC)

Summary:

MC is fairly happy after Jumin proposes to her, however, her curiosity leads her to contact the hacker that started it all.

Chapter 3: Coffee and Cookies

Chapter 3 on AO3

Multitasking was a skill that Myung had considered one of her best. She was currently holding two cups of coffee and a bag of treats, balancing her phone between her ear and shoulder, and attempting to punch in the key code for the apartment door. Nearly letting her phone slip, she used her elbow to open and push the door open. Everything was so perfectly balanced and held secure in her arms that she was certain she wouldn’t drop anything. She had gotten there early so that she wouldn’t be taken by surprise and perhaps organize her thoughts before she began to hire the hacker.

Of course, nothing ever goes as planned and the brunette leaped from her skin when she turned to see something sitting at the dining room table. A squeak escaped her throat and her phone and the take out bag hit the floor.

“Fuckin’...ass” She muttered to herself, truly the pinnacle of her eloquent speech. The best first impression she could have hoped for. She bent down to pick up her device and the bag, painfully aware that the figure was staring at her. She held her phone in her hand and set everything down onto the mahogany table, trying to avoid looking at the person who sat silently.

“Oh, I just left the cafe. I’ll let you go now. Have a good day at work and I’ll see you later.” Myung stated quickly to her fiance, now freely holding the phone to her ear, “ Love ya, bye” She hung up quickly hoping to avoid arousing Jumin’s suspicions that she was hiding something from him. It probably wasn’t the best idea to abruptly hang up like that.

She now allowed herself to fully take in the appearance of the mysterious hacker. Dyed curly pink and white hair framed the man’s face. Misty green eyes peeked from behind a black mask that concealed the lower half of his face. His attire gave off a dangerous vibe, leather jacket falling off one shoulder to reveal a tattoo with a simplistic design. It reminded her of tribal tattoos that she had researched in art school. He had a bold red tank top and a humorously large spiked leather cuff on his arm. She would have been amused if the situation was different and if she wasn’t really frightened and nervous. He had a threatening aura that made her feel extremely vulnerable. His eyes never left her and he waited patiently for her to begin talking to him. He seemed to be rather relaxed as his slouched posture indicated.

Myung eased down into the chair never taking her eyes off of the man before her, anticipating some kind of malicious action if she looked away. After taking a seat and staring at him like a deer caught in headlights, she cleared her throat trying to organize herself.

“I brought you coffee.” she spoke finally, breaking the silence and attempting to alleviate the tension, “The one that has a blue marker on the top is yours and the one with the red marker is mine.” she tried not to let her voice show that she was terrified. She had to act bold and confident to show him that she could handle the situation. She couldn’t allow him to think she was vulnerable.

His gaze shifted down and he studied the two cups of coffee on the table, small wafts of steam steadily rising up and dissipating into the air. The scent of the coffee only slightly overpowered the musty smell of the unused apartment.

“What if I want the one with the red lid? Would you give it to me?” Instant goosebumps. The voice modulator that she assumed he was wearing in his mask caught her off guard. She tried to register what he had said through the altered voice. It resembled nails on a chalkboard and the screams of a hundred burning orphans. Maybe it wasn’t that bad, but Myung did not like it. The man asked this, she realized, because he thought that she was trying to trick him into drinking something harmful. She, in fact, was doing this to prevent any slight of hand drugs being put into her drink.

“Um...It doesn’t matter what color really. They’re just there for cautionary measures. I’ve watched too many movies to be unwise about drinks.” She nervously laughed to herself. He reached his arm out to grab the coffee. He pulled it to him and studied the red lid before as if he had never had coffee.

“Oh, and if you don’t mind me asking,” she began, “...could you maybe take that mask off? I would rather see my new client’s face.” the brunette made herself smile. “Before I forget, I also have cookies here to eat with your coffee.” Myung gestured to the take-out bag. The man laughed through the mask, the sound not doing anything to help her nerves. What was funny? The hacker leaned forward out of his relaxed position and he now felt twice as threatening. His long fingers reached up to remove the fabric from his face, pulling it down around his neck. His lips were curled into a grin creating small dimples on his cheeks. He was familiar in a strange way. Like deja vu, she felt as though she had seen him before.

“Does the mask really scare you? Or were you really excited to see my face?” He asked in his natural voice, punctuating his sentence in a chuckle. Was he flirting or just further trying to make her uncomfortable. She went with the latter.

“Ha, um, you just can’t drink coffee with that mask on.” she noticed the untouched coffee and tried to mess with him just as he was with her. She wasn’t going to let him make her even more nervous. “God, don’t let it get cold. I nearly fell trying not to drop that in the hallway.” The man hesitantly took a sip of the coffee. She hoped he liked the caramel in the bottom of the cup because it cost her extra.

“I have to give it to you, you’re a clever girl for color coding the lids. You don’t trust me, do you?” Myung shrugged in response to this. He raised his eyebrows and then asked, “Why did you think you can hire me if you don’t trust me?” Fair point. She may as well have just told him that she was desperate and he was the only other chance she had, but her response was not very specific. She wanted to see how he responded in order to gauge how much to offer him and if he would help her like she hoped.

“Ya know, people will do anything for money.” she said nonchalantly. He took another sip of the coffee and eyed the cookie bag.

“What exactly are you wanting to hire me for? Are you done with the lies of the RFA?” His dull eyes pierced hers, bitterness seeping into his tone. He had guessed it.

“Yes… well, not exactly the RFA as a whole. I want to know what two of the members are hiding from the rest and I thought that you would be perfect for helping me uncover it.” she slid him the bag of cookies and gave a sarcastic smile “What do ya say? I can offer you any amount.” Again, he burst out into a fit of laughs. Bitter, knowing laughs as if he knew something she didn’t. As if he was expecting this.

“Let me guess the members? Luciel and that dreaded V?” Bingo! She was surprised that he knew who she was talking about. She slowly nodded and he gave her a proud smile. “What if I told you that I don’t want money to help you?” he drew out his words, adding emphasis. What did he mean? So all of this is over a grudge?

“If you don’t want money, then what do you want?” she asked cautiously, fearing the answer. She took a sip of her coffee to calm her nerves. He leaned forward over the table, lifting from his seat slightly and balancing on his arms. His serious expression and his focus had trained on her and it made her want to shrink back.

“What I want is way more precious than money. I want enlightenment for everyone, for you. You’re too nice and clever a girl to be among liars like the RFA. If you come with me, I’ll tell you all that you need to know and you’ll be free of the RFA and finally be happy.” He gave a toothy grin and tilted his head slightly. This was wrong. Did he think she was completely against the RFA?

“I...I actually don’t want to leave the RFA. I want to know these things to make the RFA better. Besides, Jumin is in the RFA and I don’t want to disappoint him with leaving. It’ll be kinda hard to do that anyways.” she stated, trying to get the facts straight before he started getting the wrong idea. He narrowed his eyes and his grin vanished sending chills up her back.

“What I want to give you is better than the RFA. I want to take you to the Magenta. Don’t you get it?” He almost growled, obviously angry with her previous answer. The Magenta? Was it some sort of amusement park?

“Why not just tell me what you know? That would be better for me.” she offered, smiling awkwardly. “I’m not going with you anywhere. I don’t trust you.” She was honest and noticed a flash of anger in his misty eyes.

“It’s sad to hear that. I want you to trust me, I really do. What choice do I have?” he asked a mock question, standing up. He offered his hand over the table and his other hand was in his jacket pocket.

“I’ll tell you what I know anyways. Deal?” He smiled, his eyes crinkling up. Finally, he gets it. This may not be so bad after all. She stood and moved the chair back slightly.

“Ah, I’m glad you’re helping me anyways. Thank you,” She beamed, happy for the agreement. She shook his hand firmly, however, his grip was way more tight than her own.

Before she had realized the mistake she had made, he yanked her arm forcefully. The force of the pull lurched her over the small table and closer to him. In the chaos, she had not even felt the needle pierce her skin and she only registered what had occurred when she saw the hand that had been in his jacket pocket holding an empty syringe. She was completely appalled and was at a loss on how to react to what had unfolded.

He released the grip on her hand and she stumbled back speechless, her hand finding its way to her neck. They both focused on each other, waiting for the other to act. They both stayed like that until a familiar ringtone sounded in the breathy silence. She felt her heart start to beat again and her muscles began to grow numb. Stay calm, this was her chance. Don’t pass out. She quickly grabbed the phone and had milliseconds to read the caller ID before the deranged man snatched phone away. He threw it across the living room and it landed with a thud but wasn’t silenced. With her only means of contact gone and her time running out before whatever was in that syringe began to work, Myung panicked.

She froze. She froze in shock, fright, anger; she didn’t really know or understand. All she could understand was that her breathing became labored and she felt as if she was falling.

She was falling.

The man caught her in her fall, jerking her wrist painfully to keep her from hitting the ground. Her mind slowed and her thoughts blurred. She felt as though the world around her was fizzing as if the air was static on a radio station. Her senses faded as the last thing she felt was arms lifting her.

“Rest well. You’ll be in paradise when you wake up.”

The last thing that she felt before everything went away was regret. Regret that she will have left Jumin to wonder what happened. To wonder if she had left him and why...

Why she had not answered his phone call.

CH1 CH2 CH3 CH4 CH5 CH6 CH7 CH8 CH9 CH10 CH11 CH12 CH13 CH14 CH15 CH16 CH17 CH18 CH19 CH20 CH21 CH22 CH23 CH24 CH25 CH26

[pcyheartgirlx]

In The Bleak Midwinter [CH23]

Genre ;; Angst/Smut/Fluff/Romance

Pairing ;; Chanyeol x Reader x Seokjin

Word Count ;; 5.9k

Summary ;; We’re all whores, we just sell different parts of ourselves.

You own a multi-billion dollar company, servicing the biggest names in kpop, in more ways than one. Under the name “Starlight Catering”, you, your best friends, Damon and Maya, and your hundreds of workers provide stress relief for idols.

You have partially retired, not because you didn’t want to, but because Chanyeol was your muse. He was all that you had time for and all you needed. Until Jin came along.

So what happens when you mix fire and ice?

You get smoke and all the lines are blurred.

A/N ;; Last one for now! Currently working on the next one right after I post this!

[PLAYLIST] [BACKSTORY] [PROLOGUE] [CH1] [CH2] [CH3] [CH4] [CH5] [CH6] [CH7] [CH8] [CH9] [CH10] [CH11] [CH12] [CH13] [CH14] [CH15] [CH16] [CH17] [CH18] [CH19] [CH20] [CH21] [CH22] [CH23]

Everything was crashing down now. Your empire, your relationships, your business. They say when bad things happen, say death, it comes in three. The death of a close friend, the death of your business...all you were waiting for was your own death. But right now you had to deal with the 4 people that stared at you while your trembling hands held Maya’s phone up.

Jiyong’s words were at your throat. You couldn’t say anything. All you did was look at Jin, Chanyeol, Damon and Maya with soulless eyes before Damon said something to break the silence.

“(Y/N)...wha--” You pushed through him like you were pushing through his words. You dropped the phone into Maya’s hands and walked passed them all, heading toward the front door and toward Damon’s car.

“Jagi! Where are you going?” Jin’s question remained unanswered as he called out to you from the front door. It was like clockwork actually, Chanyeol and Jin’s phone started to go off simultaneously. But as you opened the trunk, you grabbed the rifle that was hidden under some rubbish in the back and ran back inside, passing through Jin who was trying to call your attention. The ringing of everyone’s phone now was muffled just as Chanyeol and Jin’s voice were. They were calling out to you and trying to take you out of the haze you were in but it was over. Impossible even. Instead, you grabbed the bag off the floor that kept all your ammunition , along with some basketball shorts that laid there thrown messily, put them on and ran out the back door.

“(Y/N)! Put that rifle down and talk to us!” Jin tried again as he followed you through the patio doors and toward the back yard. Still ignoring them, you dragged a garbage can full of Damon’s empty beer cans and bottled and started to line them up on the table that was placed conveniently in the middle of the back yard.

“So you’re just going to--”

“Jin...she’s gone,” Chanyeol muttered to the other man as he leaned against the doorway. Jin, who was standing at the top of the patio stairs, turned around and drilled holes into Chanyeol with his gaze.

“Just because you don’t want to try too--YAH! AHH! SHIBAL!” a loud shot rang out causing Jin to shake and tremble. “Is she insane?! Chanyeol remained unbothered as he watched Jin trying to regain himself. As another shot rang out, Jin shook again. Chanyeol just motioned for him to come toward him but Jin just rubbed his arms and shook his head. “You need to stop her.” Chanyeol raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

“Yea…” Chanyeol bit his lip and cocked his head to the side while he watched you. “Her world is falling apart. She needs to blow off steam. I know too well what the price is if you stop her,” Chanyeol chuckled as he watched Jin cling onto the patio door with terror in his eyes.

“The price? You act like she would actually shoot at someone intentionally,” Jin scoffed as he straightened himself up, noting that Chanyeol was unfazed by your antics, he tried to mirror the taller man’s actions.

“Pft...you have a lot to learn about her then,” Chanyeol scoffed, giving Jin a side glance. “And you claim that you love her...watch this,” Chanyeol took a single step in your direction and cleared his throat. “Princess!!!” You turned around, still aiming your rifle at him and shot right above his head hitting the bird house that hung above him. Your aim was spot on and Chanyeol barely flinched while Jin fell to the floor yet again. “That was pretty fucking intentional if you ask me,” He looked down at the man who was scrambling to get up, shaking himself off as he regained his balance.

“How the fuck are you so calm right now?” Jin furrowed his eyebrows and crossed his arms on his chest. “She nearly fucking blew your head off!”

“She’s got good aim,” Chanyeol shrugged leaned up against the wall, looking at the bird house that was shattered to pieces on the floor. Jin sputtered and ran his fingers through his hair. “You backing out of this life yet? Can’t handle being with such a powerful woman?” Chanyeol condescended. Jin shook his head and scrunched his nose at him in frustration.

“Absolutely not! I’m not worried about her…” he paused as he watched you lining up more cans and bottles to shoot at. “Her wild side…” Chanyeol rolled his eyes at Jin’s words. “I’m just...our careers...they’re over.”

“Hardly,” Chanyeol remarked swiftly. “We’ll be fine. This is just another ‘end of year gossip’ to cause a stir. Plus, if Army is anything like EXO-Ls...they won’t believe him. They treasure us too much to believe something so negative about us.” Jin smiled a bit, not because he had a point but because of the word he used. Treasure...The sound of your voice calling him tesoro rang in his ear, giving him peace of mind.

“I suppose you’re right...but I wouldn’t call it negative.”

“Oh really?” Chanyeol furrowed his eyebrows at him.

“Nah...I met someone who I truly love...someone worth giving it all up for.”

“Hmph….” As much as Chanyeol hated the words that came out of Jin’s mouth, he couldn’t help but smile because it resonated with him. All the times he showed up at your house, blew up your phone during photoshoots and inbetween shows, taking you out to dinner under the guise of a “business meeting”. If only, he though, if only I would have told you then…Chanyeol’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Jin clearing his throat.

“Besides, I trust (Y/N)...” Chanyeol continued. “She’ll get herself and us out of this mess.”

“She always does,” Jin commented, scratching the back of his head. “Funny...I never thought I’d be standing here having a conversation with you like this to be honest.”

“Yea well, I can’t say I’m enjoying,” Chanyeol added with a tone full of snark. He glanced to the side and saw Jin’s hand out stretched in his direction with a bitter look plastered on his face. “What’s this?”

“At this point, the last thing she needs is both of us fighting. Temporary truce,” Jin pushed his lips into a thin line and shot him a half smile while he shrugged. Chanyeol sighed with exasperation, rolling his head back for a second before facing Jin.

“Fine. Truce.”

They shook hands for only a second, pulling away from each other as if they both had their hands on a hot stove. Jin rubbed his arm and watched you continue your shooting.

“How long is she going to keep doing this?” he asked Chanyeol.

“Until she runs out of bullets.”

Both men jumped at the sound of Maya’s voice behind them. She stood there with a hand at her hip and Damon at her side.

“By the way, you left your phones on the coffee table...and they’re ringing off the hook,” Damon added. Chanyeol took the hand off his chest and sighed.

“We know,” He said.

“I can imagine,” Jin followed. Maya and Damon stared at them blankly then at each other.

“And you’re not going to pick it up?”

“Nope,” Jin answered.

“Had no intention to as of right now,” Chanyeol shrugged. Maya and Damon furrowed their eyebrows at the men and shook their heads.

“Alright well, we have damage control to do,” Maya commented as she slightly pushed passed the men to get closer to you before shrieking. “(Y/N)!!!! GET YOUR ASS IN THE HOUSE! ALFIE’S ON THE LINE!” The three men put their hands over their ears as the sound of Maya’s voice was shrill and high. You just dropped your rifle and made your way toward the house. Every movement was robotic and tense. Even though you emptied your barrel about 20 or so times, you still had so much you needed to get out.

“Since when did you two become best friends?”

“Shut up.”

“Fuck off, Damon.”

Part of you couldn’t even be bothered with that dialogue. Your mind was running a mile a minute and all you could think of was protecting them. All of them. Your friends, your workers, your boyfriend...s? Boyfriends? Whatever. It didn’t matter. Point is, everything is riding on your back like a backpack with 3 tons of rocks in it and you felt the weight of it...but it wasn’t going to stop you.

The 5 of you gathered in the dining room where Maya’s phone sat in the middle of the table. As soon as everyone took a seat, Maya took the initiative and put her uncle on speaker.

“Alright, we’re all here,” Maya said flatly as you all looked at the phone as if expecting your lawyer to pop out of the cell.

“A’right this is what you’re going to do, all three of you fucking idiots are going to leave everything untouched because I trust you used the pseudonym I provided you with for all your documents and I’m talking to (Y/N) at this point,” Alfie’s voice was stern and agitated, more than usual.

“That is correct,” you said with an equally stern voice even though Alfie definitely intimidated you.

“Right then. Your burner phones? Rubbish. Get rid of them. Get new ones. The NIS will come barging through your door and you 3 have to get back to Seoul as soon as possible. These right fuckers move quicker than a whore in a trucker’s pub.”

“What is he saying?” Jin whispered at Chanyeol, unable to translate everything due to the thickness in Alfie’s accent. Chanyeol just furrowed his eyebrows and shrugged as you turned around to hush them.

“Alfie, I can’t go back…” you uttered softly, fearful of his answer.

“What the fuck do you mean you can’t go back?”

“Well...Dominic is in Korea…”

“You think I didn’t know that. What’s your bloody point?”

“Her point is that we’re going to get shot on sight, Aflie. Are you daft?” Maya interrupted. There was a silence in the room and on the phone. Somehow when the words spilled out her mouth, it tainted the aura in the atmosphere. It started sinking it. This was realer than you though. Jin didn’t understand what was being said, but he understood that last line. He placed a hand on your shoulder and gripped it tightly, gaining a sharp look from Chanyeol who watched with disdain.

“Fucking hell…” Alfie sighed. “There’s only one thing we can do at this point innit?.”

“And that is?” Damon asked, annoyance masked in his tone at Alfie’s vagueness.

“Maya, wire me enough money for 6 plane tickets. I’ll be out there as soon as possible.”

“Six? Why the fuck for?” Maya questioned.

“For the Shelby’s and the Lee’s.”

Fuck, not the Shelby’s.

“Absolutely not!” you cried, startling the two men behind you as you got up swiftly. “I want no Shelby business here.”

“Alright let’s hear your plan then…Well go on….” You had nothing. Literally nothing. The Shelby’s were the most powerful gang family in Europe. Hell, the whole world you thought. They were one of your family’s allies at one point, until the leader, Thomas decided he was too good to continue a “business relationship” with your father. His intention now was to rob your family’s empire...and he could very well do it. “I thought so,” Alfie continued. “I mean really (Y/N), think about what you’re saying, and what the fuck is going on right now. The Shelby’s have coppers on their payroll. Big name coppers. With international pull--”

“You know their history, Alfie. Plus, he’s going to want something in return and--”

“We don’t have a choice, Damon,” Maya interjected, cutting him off just as he cut Alfie off. “We’ll be there first thing in the morning”

“You get your asses back to your apartment and give me a ring when the money is transferred.”

The three of you said your goodbyes and watched the screen fade to black. The aura in the room didn’t change. It was still heavy and full of pure anxiety. Damon stood up and sighed.

“Well, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Can you fill us non English speakers in on what the fuck just happened?” Chanyeol asked frustratedly, putting a hand up as if to stop all of you from continuing. You just looked at him with a hint of sadness in your eyes and bit your lip as you glimpse at Jin as well. Both of them mirrored the same look of fear and concern, taking the natural beauty of serenity away from them. It broke you, more than the fact that you were possibly going to be killed did. As Damon and Maya ignored him and started packing things up, you motioned for both of them to follow you.

“I’ll explain later. We have to get to Seoul.”

“(Y/N)...isn’t it dangerous?” Chanyeol pointed out nervously.

“Look, Maya’s uncle is going to bring people here that can help us. If I’m not worried, then you shouldn’t be either. Everything is going to be fine,” you lied. You started to gather a few things up, ignoring Jin’s silent questions to Maya and Damon before speaking up again.

“Ride with us, jagi. Maya said she missed you tons,” Jin said softly.

“I did?” Maya piped up as she started gathering the remaining ammunition from the living room. When Jin narrowed his eyes at her, she shrugged and agreed under her breath. Chanyeol wasn’t buying it.

“You could ride with him, princess. But who would Maya ride with? You wouldn’t let her ride alone now would you, Jin?” Chanyeol hissed as he looked over at Jin. You rolled your eyes and pushed passed them so you could get your things together for your departure. That didn’t stop the two from following you. Something was different about their bickering now. It was like they were trying to be...nice? Cordial? You weren’t sure. It was a small observation and all you were focused on was trying to get all your shit together and get the fuck out of there.

“Chanyeol, really, I don’t think Maya minds riding alone.”

“Oh no, I think she does. You see I get anxiety riding alone so I might need some company.”

“Damon can ride with you. You want me to ask him for you?”

“Oh no, that’s fine, Jin. Sehun gets possesive so--”

“Hey if you get anxiety riding alone how did you come here?”

“Listen you little--”

“Guys shut up!” you barked at them. They both looked at you wide eyed as you strained to listen to the faint sound coming from outside.It was the sound of moving tires against the gravel and the sound was getting farther away.

“No…” you muttered to yourself. “No, no no noooo!” You cried as you ran out of the room and out the front door.

“You fucking BITCHES!” you screamed as you watched Maya and Damon drive away together in Damon’s car.

“Have fun with your boyfriends!” Damon cackled out the window as they rode away, picking their speed up as you ran after them. After a while, you stopped running and admitted defeat. You were stuck with Jin and Chanyeol in the middle of nowhere and as much as you loved that idea, it would be much better if they weren’t bickering.

“Where did they go?” Chanyeol asked confused, standing on the porch with Jin as you approached them.

“They went back to Seoul,” you replied flatly. Jin and Chanyeol’s eyes widened as they looked at each other.

“Wait so how are we getting back?”

“Well, Jin, the three of us are going to have to pool with Chanyeol,” you seethed through your teeth as you stormed back into the house.

“W-wait, what?” Chanyeol barked back and you heard both their footsteps follow behind you as you walked up the stairs. “Why can’t he just take the rental? They left it here!”

“Because Maya has the key and driving around with a bullet hole in the windshield? Not so smart. So unfortunately we have no choice, Chanyeol,” you picked up the bag on the floor in the master bedroom and handed it to him.

“Can’t we just leave him here?”

“Oh fuck you!” Jin snapped.

“We had a truce!”

“Some fucking truce. You’re talking about leaving me here by myself!”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You dug in your back for your revolver.

“Well, did you really expect me to carpool with my girlfriend and her lover?”

“Your girlfriend? Here we go again. I’m so ove--”

BANG!

Both men flinched and shot their hands up in defense, cowering as you stood there with the barrel of your gun aiming at the roof.

“What the fuck, babe!?” Chanyeol shrieked.

“I’m tired, okay guys? I’m really fucking tired. So the three of us are going to pool, I’m going to take a nap in the backseat and the two of you are going to shut the fuck up. When this is all over, we’re going to sit down and talk about this. As adults.”

You couldn’t make out what they were feeling. It was something in between frustration and fear. Any other time, you would be beating yourself up over this. But there was just too much going on in this instance to give it too much thought. So much that you didn’t even know what you were promising them, you just needed some quiet.

“I’m sorry, jagi…” Jin breathed.

“No…” you sighed and hugged Jin tightly. “I’m sorry. I really am...but we have to go.” When you pulled away, you turned to Chanyeol and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Let’s get going, boys,” you whispered as you started to walk back out for what seemed like the millionth time.

“Her hugs are so sweet…”

“But her kisses are sweeter…”

“She hugged me first.”

“But she kissed me last. A whole kiss.”

“BOYS!”

“We’re coming!” they called in unison, hurrying behind you as you left the cabin for good.

X-x-x

You woke up to the sound of hushed voices laced with anger and conflict. It was like they were trying to be quiet but it was to no avail. Your memory was foggy and you almost didn’t remember how you fell asleep. It was somewhere in between explaining to them the plan and what Aflie had communicated with you and listening to the car radio. Either way, you sat slumped in the backseat trying to make out what they were saying.

“Chanyeol we had a deal. A truce,” Jin whisper screamed. Chanyeol tsked at him and shook his head.

“This has nothing to do with the truce. Plus she’s sleeping. So which way is the dorm?”

“That’s not fair! You expect me to be okay with you being with her alone?! I know you guys fucked right before I got there--”

“Made love, actually.”

“Oh Please.”

“At this point, I’m going to drop you off at any bus stop and you can get home on your own, Jin.”

“Lower your voice, you’re going to wake her up.”

“Too late,” you replied groggily as you stretched your arms out. “You guys suck at whispering by the way.”

“I’m sorry, jagi...did...did you sleep well?” Jin asked, almost as if he was scared of your answer. You cocked your head at him for a second and then it came flooding back all at once. In a matter of a week, you’ve almost shot him at least 3 times. The guilt you suppressed before? It was hitting you in one shot.

“Yes, tesoro...I did. Thank you,” you lied sweetly and reassuringly. He shot you a half smiled before Chanyeol cleared his throat.

“Princess, where is the BigHit dorm so we can drop Jin off before I drop you off,” His voice was stern and unwavering, as if he had already made his mind up. Jin pouted at you and then him slightly.

“Actually, I think it would be better if you drop me off first. There’s so much damage control I have to fix and--”

“A-are you sure?” Chanyeol stuttered. You could sense more than just protest in his voice. He was pissed but he knew that you were right and he didn’t want to put his selfish desires of spending alone time with you before the crisis at hand.

“Yes, darling. I’m sure. Plus the apartment is closer than the BigHit dorm,” you noted. Jin stared at you through the passenger mirror, biting his lip at the thought of being alone in the car with Chanyeol.

“(Y/N) is right. Her apartment is a lot closer,” Jin agreed, taking you off guard. He really didn’t want you to spend any time alone with the other man. Chanyeol gripped at the wheel and sighed.

“Fine,” he submitted and turned the corner, only a few blocks away from your apartment.

When the three of you approached the building and pulled into the parking garage, your stomach started churning and knotting. You didn’t say a word the rest of the time and when you pulled out, you only exchanged a few words with them as you grabbed your bags.

“I love you both. Please be careful and call me if you need me. Whenever and no matter how small you may think it is. I need to keep the both of you safe,” you said to them through the passenger window. They both looked at you with worry.

“I love you too,” they said in unison. They both quickly looked and glared at each other as soon as they said it. You giggled a bit and blew them both a kiss. As you walked away you heard them from a distance.

“God damn that ass,” Chanyeol mumbled.

“Yah, that’s sweet ass,” Jin replied.

“Don’t talk about my girlfriend like that,” Chanyeol snapped as he started driving away.

“Now that she’s not here--”

The last thing you heard was Jin’s loud, angry voice before you started for your hallway.

It was pandemonium when you walked into the apartment. Your cells that you left behind, the phone in your home office, all the laptops, everything was going off. Following the sound of Damon’s voice, you walked through the hallway and into your kitchen.

“Yes I understand...I can assure you we’re taking care of it…alright well listen no need to use that language with me...You know what?!” With that Damon hung his phone up and slammed it against the marble.

“We have a funny way of treating our phones in this household,” you commented, taking the man off guard.

“Fuck, (Y/N). I’m so glad you’re here. We--oh for fuck’s sake. It’s JYP again.”

“Where’s Maya?”

“In your home office, figuring life out. Listen, we have to do something. Everyone keeps calling,” Damon scrambled in his back pocket and threw your old phone at you, which was turned off. “I didn’t dare turn it on.”

“Good call,” you sighed as you sat next to him, turning the phone on. “Moment of truth.”

The minute your phone was fully functional, you didn’t get a chance to even unlock it. It was Lee Sooman calling, the last person you wanted to speak to. You couldn’t hide though. That was your gimmick your whole life. No. You were going to take this, take responsibility for once. Stand up to that piece of shit...even though you had nothing to stand up for.

“Starlight Catering this is--”

“What the fuck is this?! I’ve been calling you, my PR team is going nuts. What are you going to do about this?!” You pulled the phone away from your ear as he screamed into it from the other side of the the line.

“Mr. Sooman, I can assure you this is going to be resolve--”

“You better resolve this! Does your syphilis infested mind know what this will do to us? All of us?” That fucking piece of--

“Yes sir. I understand. We are in the process of filing a lawsuit and making a statement--”

“Make a statement?” He laughed sarcastically, not masking the escalating anger. “You don’t even have an office.Your bullshit will not be the downfall of my business. I will be fine, but your precious Yeol and your friends in EXO. Their image is RUINED. So you better fucking fix this, you hear me?” You wanted to just run over to his office right then and there and put a bullet in between his eyes or break every single bone in his body. But instead, you swallowed your pride and through clenched teeth you responded.

“Understood.”

“Good.”

Click

“I don’t want to do that again, for the love of fucking all that is holy,” you vented as you stuffed the phone back in your pocket, only for it to ring again.

“Welp, it’s not going to stop anytime soon,” Damon pointed out as he ran his fingers through his hair, ignoring his own cell phone as well. Before the both of you could get another word in, a frazzled Maya walked into the kitchen, looking paler than usual.

“Guys...I just got off the phone with my buddy at the NIS,” she said shakily.

“Fuck,” you breathed.

“I’m guessing he didn’t call just to say hello, huh?” Damon added. Maya sighed and slumped in her seat.

“They’re going to be here any minute...take all of our files, electronics, everything. We’re fucked,” she slouched forward and rested her upper body on the marble.

“(Y/N)...wha-what do we do?” Damon pleaded.

You were backed into a corner. Any fucking minute the NIS would be walking through the door, taking statements and reviewing these claims. They didn’t have enough to take you to the station but they had enough to look over your records. Which is fine, you weren’t really worried about it but...your friends, all of them, Sooman was right. You ruined all their careers and the only thing left to do was to make it right.

“I have to make a statement. Quick. Damon get me a tripod and Maya, get your phone connected to VLive. In the living room, asap. Before the feds get here,” You ran into your room and fixed yourself up as best as you could, putting mascara and a decent top at least. As you examined yourself in the mirror, you realized that for the first time you were getting what you deserved. The makeup brush swept over your skin, painting a familiar mask of false perfection. This is who you were used to. The CEO (Y/N), the woman could give two shits about anything except her business. Nothing ever mattered to you except what you could gain out of people. These are the types of people that succeeded. But somewhere along the line, you lost sight of who you were. This fake persona was not who you were. It was what you were trying to get away from. Instead of improving yourself when you left and enjoying the freedom you had, you let it catch up to you. There’s no one you can blame anymore. Not your father, not your brother, not Jiyong. This was all on you and it was time to finally accept responsibility.

“You ready?” Maya asked softly as she poked her head in through the door. You bit your lip and discarded all thoughts from your mental.

“Yea, let’s get this over with.”

The two of you made your way to the living room where Damon was setting up Maya’s phone on the tripod. You sat on the couch and fixed your hair one more time before nodding at Damon. He motioned a countdown at you and on the final count, he pointed at you signalling that you were live.

“Good afternoon, my name is Y/N. I own a party planning company called Starlight Catering. There have been some accusations made against my company that are not only appalling, but completely one hundred percent false. My company is based on a foundation of providing our beloved idols a night of socializing and fine dining. We at Starlight Catering, strongly believe in keeping moral values and respecting our clients as if they were family. Although, I hold no ill will toward the party that made these accusations, I will however, be filing a lawsuit against them for slander and defamation. It is extremely clear that was their intention. The relationship I have with my clients, I hope will remain in good standing. My sincerest apologies to the companies and idols that may have experienced any unnecessary backlash or inconvenience because of this incident. I vow to work diligently with the National Intelligence Service to rectify this situation. Thank you.”

You nodded subtly and with that, Damon ended the VLive.

“How was that?” you asked worriedly.

“It was good,” Damon said softly.

“I think it was said perfectly,” Maya added.

“I hope so because--”

BANG BANG BANG BANG

“You know I’m getting really tired of people banging on my door,” you sighed in exasperation as you got up.

“That’s probably the NIS,” Maya called out after you. You just shrugged and made your way for the door. And she was right.

“Good afternoon Ms. (Y/N). I’m Agent Park and we have a warrant to confiscate your files and--”

“Yea yea yea, you don’t need to do this song and dance with me. Come in take my shit,” you grumbled at the Agent and the many officers he brought with him. Instantly, you felt Maya come up behind you and laugh nervously.

“Agent Park! What my boss means to say is come in and take what you need!” She said in a sweet voice, moving aside for the officers. “Can we get you anything to drink?” Your face contorted at her obviously fake kindness, just as much as Agent Park’s did when you gave him that sassy attitude.

“No, Maya. I think we’re good. Look, (Y/N). Maya already explained everything to me. I highly recommend you file charges against him and...make it look convincing…” he said lowering his voice. You cocked an eyebrow at him with a confused face.

“Convincing? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said as sternly as possible. He just chuckled and put a hand on your shoulder.

“You didn’t change any of the files correct? Just like Alfie told you to?”

“Uh, what?  I--uhm…”

“On behalf of the whole Seoul PD, thank you so much for keeping our aliases. Maya has done a wonderful job with uh...distribution…”

“D-d-distribution?”

“Well yes of course!” Agent Park smiled, leaning in closer to whisper even lower than before. “Please tell Ivanna I miss her dearly.”

Ivanna?! He knows...my workers? Oh fuck…

“Look, I don’t know what game you’re playing at--”

“Right,” Agent Park nodded and smiled. “Probably not best to talk about this at the crime scene.” You weren’t even paying attention to him anymore, you were just watching the men behind him take all of your computers and files. Your heart was at your throat.

“When will I get them back?” you asked sternly. Agent Park turned around and sighed.

“Can’t say for sure yet. Also, you may not want to leave town. Not only because your accounts are frozen bu--”

“MY WHAT IS WHAT?!” you shrieked, causing everyone to look in your direction. Maya ran over to you before an armed officer could.

“What’s going o--”

“Maya! Agent Park just told us our ACCOUNTS are FROZEN!”

“These are just the standard precautions that we have to take, Ms. (Y/N).”

“Standards precautions!? How the fuck am I supposed to live?!” The anger started boiling and your voice raised an octave with every syllable. Instead of lunging forward, you felt Maya hold you back a bit and the look of calmness on the Agent’s face contorted.

“Ms. (Y/N). I am losing my patience here and I am the person, you don’t want to piss off...trust me,” he said in a low and warning voice as he narrowed his gaze at you.

“Is that a threat?” you asked just as low and just as menacing, crossing your arms over your chest.

“The both of you, enough. Look Agent Park, let me talk to you alone please? Come...this way…” Maya guided the agent down the hall not before turning around to you and giving you one of the deadliest glares she could muster up. You sighed in frustration and watched them take the rest of your files as Damon crept up at your side.

“Good job yelling at the agent.”

“Fuck off, Damon. I’m so stressed out right now,” you hushed him while putting your arm in the air. Damon scoffed and pushed it back down to your side.

“Listen, I get that. I do. But we have extra cash in the safe they they haven’t touched and I already used that to wire money to Alfie for the tickets. You don’t have to worry but you’re aiming your anger at the wrong people. You know who you need to save it for…” Damon reassured you. You just stood there and glanced over at Maya. It wasn’t clear what she was saying to the Agent but they shook hands and he walked off, nodding at you before coaching the last of the men down the hall. As they all finally poured out, taking all the contents in your home office, Maya shut the door behind them and started making a bee line toward you.

“Are you fucking insane, (Y/N)?!” She barked with her fist balled.

“Me!?” You screeched back. “He’s the one talking about Starlight around everyone and saying nonsense like Thank you on behalf of the police department! Then he named drop YOU as the one who put it all together! Are you going to explain that?!” You got closer to her face as you started to raise your voice just as you had with Agent Park. Her face flushed and her mouth hung open a bit as if she was trying to find the words to say.

“So what!? You let Chanyeol stop paying! We needed income from another place! So...I did what was best for our company!” She defended. You could feel your stomach knotting.

“Best...for our COMPANY!? We are for IDOLS! Now we’re mixed up for law enforcement? Feds?” Your voice boomed throughout the house. You were a hair away from blowing up on Maya and Damon could sense it. Just like he always does, he put you back in your place and reminded you of what he had said earlier.

“Listen y’all. We could stand here and shoot the fade with each other over shit that well...doesn’t matter right now but the clock is tick tocking. We can’t leave town. Dominic is in town. We know nothing about who’s here with him and we aren’t going to know anything until tomorrow when Tommy and Alfie arrive so how about we change our fucking attitudes and do something constructive with our motherfucking time.”

It was like you and Maya both took a step back and evaluated each other. Damon was right. No amount of arguing and yelling was going to fix what had conspired here. You were still extremely angry with her but it wasn’t going to do you any good if the both of you are dead.

“Right…” she whispered. “So...new plan…”

“New plan, good. (Y/N)...any ideas?” Damon said encouragingly as they both looked at you. You placed a finger on your lips and tapped them lightly as you went through all the possible ways you could zero in on Dominic’s location without all of you technology. Then...the most appalling idea came to mien.

“Well...I have an idea,” you sighed, pulling out a your phone from your pocket. “And...I think it’s our only option.” They both watched you as you dialed a number into the dial pad.

“Who are you calling?” Damon asked as you brought the cell up to your face. You paused for a second when you heard the voice on the other ends.

“Jiyong...we need to fucking talk.”

A/N;; 2 more chapters guys...and this story will conclude itself. We are almost there :)

[clown-bait]

29 Neibolt ST (Monster Roommate AU) CH12

Ok so bear with me this chapter is the GOOFIEST. But you had been warned and you’re all still here. So prepare for dancing, Abba, new characters, fluffy Penny trying hard to do human dating, sad Babadooks, fantastic choreography, and general deadite fuckery.

Chapter 12

Date Night

—————

The entire nightclub was packed with monsters for the occasion. It was a monster owned place ran by the Cenobites one of the few places they could all gather without interference from humans. Leatherface had yet to show up it was going to be a huge surprise for him to see half the monster population there just to say happy birthday to the lovable behemoth.

Pennywise had gone early and was busy setting up the balloons for the occasion since that was his speciality and because the girls (plus Drac) kicked him out of the Neibolt house while they got ready.

He was weary leaving them there with The Evil still floating around but he figured with at least Freddy and Drac there they'd be somewhat well armed. Leech wasn't completely defenseless either, she had come a great long way in her lessons. The young vampire was more than capable of hunting for herself now but she seemed to be putting it off due to her fear of dying and taking that important final step. The clown was still proud of her though, with his and Dracula’s help she’d be a force to be reckoned with someday.

Penny was lost in thought when he bumped into a large dark figure in a top hat. It turned and grinned widely at him.

“Peeeeennnyyywiiiiissseeeeee.”

“Oh! My apologies Baba! Wasn't looking!”

The Babadook reached out its hand almost tenderly to the clowns injured eye.

“Huuuuurrrttt?”

“ah yes that, uh incident with some um pipes.” he was embarrassed to reveal that he had let Deadites infest his house. If people found out that the clown had been slacking off he'd be a laughing stock. He was the untouchable Pennywise after all, the apex predator of this realm and feared by all! Pennywise nervously chatted with the Babadook about his wound trying everything he could to hide the fact that a lesser demon was able to get the best of him. He was also pretty sure the grief monster had a giant crush on him as well, seeing how he kept reaching out to look at the clowns injury with great concern. It was not a great situation for Penny to be in all around.

Just as Pennywise was in serious need of rescue the nightclubs front door opened and the girls (plus Drac) began to walk in. Tiff turned around to tell Leech some last minute thing and Drac adjusted her jacket. They stepped away dramatically in some sort of big reveal much to Leech’s embarrassment. The clown had smelled her sweet scent almost instantly and turned around from the Babadook a big goofy grin lighting his face when he realized his favorite vampire was here. And boy she was perfect. He pushed the Babadook aside with a quick “excuse me” leaving the tall grief monster slightly sad looking when he saw Pennywise smile at the vampire.

He crossed the room making a beeline for her and Leech attempted to meet him wobbling on her heels like a newborn baby deer. She failed spectacularly nearly falling down the steps. Pennywise had brought his hand out to steady her and she gripped the fabric of his costume for support.

“Careful there firecracker” he chuckled “wouldn't want to ruin that dress.” he plucked the tag off the back of it and Leech grew red in embarrassment. Penny chuckled somewhat relieved she was just as nervous as he was “Is it new?”

“You said wear something nice.”

“I like it” the clown whispered so only she could hear causing the vampire to blush. He rarely complimented her like this and she had to admit it was nice.

“Thanks Pen~” she pulled him down and kissed his nose causing the clown to scrunch his face but he still smiled in annoyance. The two stood there awkwardly for a minute until an ear piece in Penny’s ear buzzed to life.

“OFFER HER YOUR ARM JACKASS” it hissed

“Oh!… right!” he held out his elbow which Leech took with a questioning smile. They were still standing there the clown unsure what to do next.

“Um are you going to eat it? Or should I take it back?”

“What?”

“My arm.”

“Why would I eat your arm Pen?”

“Chucky told me to give you my arm, its no big deal I can grow it back”

Leech snorted and laughed hard. “You’ve never done this before have you?”

“I- um no”

“You offer your arm to me so I can hold onto you Pen. In Drac’s time the men would lead the women to the party but now its more just a sign of affection or respect…” she smiled mischievously at him “……and to let all these bitches know you're all mine” the clown felt a twinge of excitement from that. Chucky whispered something in the radio from around the corner where he was posted up for the night with Dracula. They were both on a mission to make sure the clown and his lady love had a successful first date. Pennywise took the advice and grinned at his date.

“Why would they be staring at me my dear with you looking like that” the clown cooed using the dolls line.

“Pfft you should change your name to Pennywise the smooth talking clown. You big flirt” she punched him in the arm.

Pennywise gave her a big bucktoothed grin. “Shall we kitten?” he purred as he began to walk with her to a table. Unfortunately for Penny, all the ones with regular chairs were full so he improvised leading her to a couple of couches. The clown stopped for a second, processed something, then pulled the entire couch back and gestured to his date to sit. Leech was trying her hardest not to break into laughter. He was trying his best after all.

She decided to humor him and sit down “thanks” she smiled, the clown beamed “nailed it” he whispered. Chucky and Drac peered out from behind the corner groaning. “He doesn't have a clue” the doll smacked his own face

“This is a nightmare” the vampire despaired.

Pennywise sat down next to Leech looking at her awkwardly a drop of drool falling from his lips. He was completely unsure of what to do next. Desperate for help he looked over his shoulder mouthing the words “what do I do?”

“TALK TO HER YOU IDIOT” Chucky hissed from the headphone

“ok ok right……” he whispered

“Um soooo what’d you end up getting Leatherface?” the clown began almost nervously.

“You're not going to like it” came her reply.

“Why not…” Penny narrowed his eyes

“Weeeeell, we kinda got him a drum set. I know, I know loud noises, BUT you saw how much fun he was having playing that game he's going to love it! A little creativity for the big guy will be good for him”

“And just how did you afford that? I know you don't have much you've been late on rent for 2 months now”

“Good thing I'm banging the landlord right!?” She elbowed him hard with a theatrical smile.

“I knew it! You've been using me for free rent” Pennywise teased in mock offense.

“Free rent and my apparently extreme coulrophilia” Leech placed her hand on his leg to lean up and kiss/nip his jaw. Before Pennywise could comment his ear buzzed again this time Freddy had stolen the radio and was giving terrible advice.

“Tell her you have a balloon animal in your pants and you want her to help you blow it up!!!”

“FREDDY GIVE THAT BACK YOURE GONNA BLOW IT”

“HAHA BLOW!”

“GOD DAMMNIT KRUGER”

Pennywise turned to glare at them eyes flashing dangerous yellow until Leech grabbed his face turning it back to her.

“Why do you keep looking back there?”

“It-its nothing. Tell me how you were able to get the gift.”

She sighed. He REALLY wasn't going to like this.

“Ok first you have to promise you're not going to get jealous”

“Leeeech what did you do” he growled

“Promise me Penny.”

“We’ll see.”  

She took a deep breath  “Ok well you know how Drac has Renfield as his familiar right?”

“….go on”

“Weeell… I kinda picked up one of my own today, his name is Jim he's scrawny metalhead kid that works at the music shop”

“Hiiiisss name?” the clown sneered he was clearly getting jealous anyway.

“Look he's not like my close friend or anything he looks like barely out of high school. I told him I’d make him a vampire if he got me the drum set thats it.”

Pennywise growled. “ and why am I not your familiar? Shouldn't I be the one you're most familiar with? You're my mate after all.”

She rubbed her temples he clearly didn't get the definition of a familiar.

“So you want to be my servant? Because thats basically what this is.” Pennywise was still glaring at her. “Pen I know you're excited but save that talk for later when were alone and you can be my little slave all night” she gave the clown a wink and wicked grin in an attempt to deflect his anger with humor.

Somewhere in the building Pinhead’s eyes went wide.

“Don't get sassy with me dear” Pennywise warned. Leech rolled her eyes at him for how ridiculous he was being over this.

“Lighten up Pen its a party. You really have nothing to worry about anyway I don't even think regular humans can satisfy me anymore beyond being food.”

He growled putting his arm around her possessively “Good.” Leech leaned her head back against him. “We’ve got to work on your jealousy issues.”

“I don't have issues.”

“Sure Penny.”

“You're such a brat”

“Yeah but I'm your brat” she nuzzled against his ear earning her a semi-annoyed grumble. He hated when she did cute things like this to him in public.

“CLOWN”

Pennywise looked behind him to find the leader of the Cenobites approaching him.

“What is it Pinhead I'm busy right now”

“I hope you will take me up on my offer this year and join the after party this all hallow’s eve.”

“The answer is still no.”

“Do not deny yourself my gifts. I heard your pain….your…pleasure… your suffering is most welcome in my establishment.”

Pennywise groaned in embarrassment. “Great of all the people to know about that, it had to be this guy.”

“Oh shit an afterparty! We sh-” Leech began excitedly

“Not a good idea” the clown replied putting a gloved finger to her lips.  

“We shall be expecting you.” Pinhead sunk away.

“Why is it a bad idea?” Leech asked when Penny pulled his hand away.

“You can ask Freddy about it later, he still has the nipple piercing from the eleven minutes he was there” Pennywise said holding his head in his hands

————-

The night continued on Leatherface was terrified at first when everyone in town jumped out to say surprise. Turns out monsters don't really know how to surprise in a friendly way.  He quickly grew excited when he saw that everyone was there to say happy birthday to him. Leech made sure to stop by and give the giant a huge hug before running outside to grab his gift.

Jim pulled up outside the night club nervously. He was a scrawny looking guy with shaggy hair, a denim battle jacket, and piercings. Typical music store metalhead.

“Jimbo!” Leech called out to him waving.

“Oh hey um….. master? Mistress? What do I call you?”

“Huh good question. Stick to master till I come up with something better. You got my drums?”

“I wrapped them like you said”

“Excellent, be a doll and bring them in for me will ya”

“When will I get to be a vampire?”

“Soon enough you gotta work for me a bit first Jimmy boy.”

Pennywise had suddenly appeared behind Leech and grabbed her waist causing her to yelp in surprise. Jim looked at the demonic clown in shock and fear screaming “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT” Pennywise flashed him a fang filled grin.

“Oh right introductions, Jimbo this is Pennywise my uh-“

“I'm her mate.” he sneered gripping Leech tighter

“Was going to say eldritch horror boyfriend but that works too.”

“Wait you're dating this thing?”

“Thats right Jimboree, its actually our first official date! Isn't he just adorable?” she flicked one of Pennywise’s bells while he growled and drooled behind her.

“You got some weird kinks master.”

Leech frowned and Pennywise began giving off a low hiss.

“Just deliver the drum-set Jim-jam I’ll call you if I need anything else.”

“I dont like him” The clown sneered

“Wow um thanks man I'm standing right here” said Jim who was unloading the truck. He was still terrified of the snarling monster who was eyeing him in a way one would eye a cheeseburger before taking a bite.

“Pen you don't like most people,”

“I eat most people.”

“You eat Jim and I’ll stop making you red velvet cupcakes.”

The clown panicked a bit before grumbling something to himself “Fine. He can live”

“Go inside you big idiot and I’ll come dance with you. And I'm serious leave the human alone.”

The clown snarled one more warning at Jim and vanished. Leech sighed and adjusted her wig “If he gives you any trouble at all come find me, Pen’s got a bit of a possessiveness issue we’re working on. He seems to respond well to positive reinforcement though.”

“um o-ok….”

She left the terrified human to go back inside, deciding to grab a drink first before finding her date who was sulking in a corner Chucky and Tiff were chiding him for something and the clown was not having it.

“You're gonna blow it man!” Chucky hissed

“I am not I was just showing that Jim guy she's mine”

“Possessiveness isn't attractive sweetie” Tiffany added.

“You need to lighten up. I got an idea go take her to the dance floor and wait for my signal.” Chucky said looking up at the DJ booth.

“Ugh fine.”

He walked over to Leech who was casually chatting with Freddy and sipping a bloody marry he had two girls on his arm from the werewolf sorority a few neighborhoods over from Neibolt.

“Dance floor.” The clown growled  taking her hand.

“Can I finish my drink?”

“Later.” he pulled her away

“Whats his problem?” Freddy asked

Pennywise led Leech to the dance floor she began huffing and complaining wondering why Penny was in such a sour mood all of the sudden. “What the hell’s gotten into you Pen?” she asked. She knew he was prone to mood swings but his attitude was all over the place tonight.

“I-I’ll tell you later.”

“You fucking better you're acting really weird right now.”

“Just dance.”

Pennywise got the DJs attention and motioned for everyone to clear he moved Leech to the edge of the circle while smirking. He was clearly up to something.

He grinned as Get Lucky started to play. As soon as he started to move people cheered Pennywise the dancing clown definitely lived up to the name. Leech stood at the edge of the circle in awe. Without a doubt the clown was definitely getting lucky tonight. Part way thought he grabbed Leech and danced with her, this time she was actually able to keep up with him a bit. Her annoyance at him melted away into laughter. The two finally began having an amazing time.

His dance finished and the party swarmed him as he bowed. Say what you will about him but Pennywise was legendary on the dance floor. Leech shoved her way through the mob of people to pounce on him kissing him hard. “You, me. Nearest storm drain. Right fucking now.” was all she said before grabbing him Freddy gave the clown the thumbs up as she dragged him to the exit.  

The couple passed a table. There was a man sitting alone in the booth a book in front of him his face hidden by the darkness of the club. Leech’s primal instinct told her to get out of there as quickly as possible that this man was pure danger. She gripped her clowns hand tightly, flirty steps turned to panic and she led him away from the exit.

“Leech what the fuck was that” Pennywise grabbed her when she finally stopped in a less populated area of the club.

“Huh?”

“You reek of fear you're practically drenched in it actually….it smells delicious by the way…. but thats not my point.”

“That guy at the table by the exit. Somethings-somethings not right.”

“What do you mean that guy Leech.”

“I- I felt something calling me to him, h-had to get out before…” she trailed off

“Am I allowed to be jealous now? Because the only person allowed to make you this terrified is me.” Pennywise growled in the direction of the table “Stay here. I’ll take care of it” he leaned down and kissed the top of her head wile deeply inhaling the scent of her fear before walking off. Jim came over to her now nervously.

“M-master?”

“You're still here Jimbo?

“I-I cant seem to leave every time I do someone else grabs me. That guy with the nails in his head keeps asking me to go to a party with him I don't wanna go man I'm gettin’ bad vibes here. Baaaaad vibes”

“Jimmy, buddy just stick with me and Pen I got a feeling some shits about to go down anyway.”

As if on cue demonic screeching erupted from the direction of Pennywise as the man with the book vanished in a shadowy mist, only to reappear by the exit. He turned to wave at Leech before walking out the door clearly having just created some kind of distraction. The clown found himself walking to the dance floor somehow losing control of his current form. In fact the entire Neibolt residence plus the Freddy Drac Party Shack (as Freddy refers to it) were all making their way to the center of the dance floor.

“PEN PLEASE EXPLAIN WHAT JUST HAPPENED” Leech called out to him unable to control her own body

“S-something… the book…” was all the clown was able to say he was fighting what ever was manipulating them as was Freddy, the demons were having a way easier time with it than the others. The club all stood back as if possessed, creating a circle around the group on the floor.

“Does this have something to do with your friends from the bathroom Kruger” Chucky hissed

“Ok first off not friends, second probably.”

“How do we stop it?” Tiff asked.

“I got a guy but you aren't going to like it.”

Music began to play and they all began to dance.

“Is this fucking Abba?” Leech turned her head to the group.

“Oh dear they turned this into a…a..…a musical….” Drac said in horror.

They were in formation now singing together unable to control their mouths “YOU CAN DAAANCE YOU CAN JIVE HAVING THE TIME OF YOUR LIIVVEES”

Penny and Leech broke forward from the group to point at each other “OOOH SEE THAT GRIL WATCH THAT SCENE DIG IN THE DANCING QUEEN”

“what the fuck” they hissed at each other while grooving back. Penny’s face had begun to split open from the struggle.

Tiff and Leech then spun around and began to sing and dance “FRIDAY NIGHT AND THE LIGHTS ARE LOW” they grabbed their mouths in shock.

“LOOKING OUT FOR A PLACE TO GOOO” the boys returned faces filled with pure embarrassment.

They continued the number. Everyone shooting looks of panic to each other trying hard to regain control of the situation while sporting killer dance moves and choreography. At one point Penny even caught Leech in the air dirty dancing style. Dracula looked like a dancing grandpa with a tambourine. Chucky and Tiff spun each other around during the chorus while Freddy and Leatherface (who was the only one somewhat enjoying this) danced together behind them. The group came back together ending with Pennywise doing and epic death drop before pulling himself back up. The song ended people laughed and cheered thinking it was planned. They regained control of themselves and the entire group bolted to leave.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT SOMEONE START TALKING RIGHT NOW” screamed Tiffany.

“It was that fucking guy!! Pen what did you say to him” Leech turned to the clown who was in a state of shock and confusion.

“What fucking guy?” asked Chucky

“This guy in the corner freaked me out Penny went to go take care of him and suddenly we were dancing and the guy was gone”

“R-read s-something.” Pennywise was obviously not able to handle what had just happened. The clown seemed to have a real problem being rational when his ego is wounded.

“Those Kandarian fuckers are stronger than I remember.” Freddy cracked his back.

“Ok lets just go home call that guy and wait this shit out” Chucky suggested

“They got in…. not supposed to get in…. be-become prey now…. lesser… l-loser.” Pennywise was on the ground knees against his chest.

“Jiinnngles, you ok?” Chucky waved a hand in front of the clowns face

“L-loser…..I’m a…a..l-loser”

“Oh boy he's gone” Leech groaned going over to check on her clown.

“Great he's like the only thing we could use to stand a chance against these assholes too. Theres probably something wrong with him to let a lesser demon get to him like this.” added Freddy.

“Then we need to snap him out of it” Tiffany shouted

“He hasn't been feeding as much could that be it?” Leech was trying to get a hold of the clowns face to hold him still.

“Possibly, someone get him to eat something. Leech he's your boyfriend go get him some food.” Freddy said getting his phone out to scroll through his contacts.

“Wait what?”

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

IM SO SORRY! I had to do it I had to do the Beetlejuice esque dance number to an Abba song. BUT I finally got to introduce Jim who’s a neurotic, tired music store clerk that just wants cool vampire powers so girls will like him. And dont worry about Baba guys, he’s finds someone to love him eventually. Next chapter is Leech heavy so I apologize ahead of time. Its about to get fucked up friends! Also I’ll be posting some side drabbles sometime today as well now that Jim’s been introduced. So yay for more content!

[7deadlycinderellas]

There Once was a Town in Maine, ch12

Ao3 link

Lacey sits cross legged on the floor, facing the open elevator.

The camera on her old phone had been easy enough to rig. She’s still not sure what’s below her, but she wants proof whatever it is. The electric lantern too, was easy enough.

She places them in the elevator, sets the trigger to start recording, and slowly pulls the cord to close the doors and start its descent.

She counts carefully. And five minutes later, she pulls it back up.

The lantern has been knocked over, but thankfully her camera is fine. She picks it up, and slowly rewinds, not sure what she expects to see.

The light is barely a speck in the darkness, until the darkness moves, and an eye the size of a hubcap appeared, surrounded by dark purple scales.

Lacey puts the phone down, and buries her face in her hands. If she can make even herself believe what she’s saw, she’ll find them tomorrow.

**

Emma stays over that night. Mary Margaret is borderline inconsolable, and while Emma promises that she’ll help in any way she can, her knowledge of medical law is very small.

She drags over her laptop and sleeps fitfully on the couch, doing what research she can. Nothing she can find says anything about how anyone could possibly take power of attorney from a legally competent spouse.

The file she has on Lily’s kidnapping is sitting on her desk back at the apartment. Emma feels like she should have pulled the trigger on it a long time ago. But here, alone, she admits to herself that she was scared. Nothing in this town followed the laws or logic she knew. None of it played by the rules.

Well now, may she shouldn’t either.

She wakes up early to leave, but not before checking on Mary Margaret. The apartment bedroom is small, but despite the delicate and attractive furnishings, it bears the fruit of the loneliness she must have felt since her husband’s illness. His things still sit in the bathroom untouched, his shoes sit by the coat rack, and when Emma peeks in on her, she can’t help but notice one side of the bed is almost pristine.

She makes a pot of tea and leaves it on the counter with a note.

“If what I want to do works, Regina won’t be a problem anymore”.

She returns home quickly, needing to catch Neal and Henry before they leave for the school.

“Henry, I need a favor today”.

“What?”

“At lunch today, use your phone to get a video of Lily. Have her say her name, her birthday, and her parents names. Then send it to me, and come straight home after school.”

“Okay,” he replies, and goes down to get in the car.

Emma turns to Neal. “I’m going to go see your father again.”

When he sighs, she puts both hands on his shoulders,

“I might need his help, and he knows the people in this town better than anyone.”

After a long moment, Neal says,

“I can’t help remembering what he told you before. That we’re going about this the wrong way. Going after Regina about Lily feels...real world”.

“I know,” Emma responds, eyes downcast, “But it’s all I know to do, and I feel like if I can’t fix this than someone’s going to get really hurt because of my actions.”

Neal takes both her hands in his and pulls her close.

Once Emma’s calmed down a bit, she says.

“I couldn’t even hug her. The book says she’s my mother, and I couldn’t even bring myself to hug her. It’s like something inside of me is broken.”

“Whether she is or not- and let’s be real, put on wigs and you two could pass for sisters- there’s nothing wrong with you. She may be your mother, but you didn’t grow up with her. Just because she gave birth to you doesn't mean you're going to have this amazing relationship overnight. You’re friends, good friends, and that’s what you should concentrate on being for her”.

Emma lets her muscles go slack, and allows Neal to hold her upright for just a moment.

***

Lacey stares at the video on the phone again. She thought maybe that if she slept on it, it would have changed somehow, or that she would have a better idea of what to do.

But there’s a dragon living underneath her library. And she can’t just send someone that video and expect anything good to come of it.

She’ll show them in person, as soon as she can get up the courage to leave the front door of the library.

**

Emma enters the shop without really any idea what’s going to come of it.

Mr. Gold is behind his counter again, examining something. Emma sees what he is- a small town shopkeeper with a very odd set of skills and more influence than he ought be able to have. His other identities- a man of dark magic, friggin Rumpelstiltskin, her own father in law….they all flit around in the background.

He looks up, and Emma’s not quite sure if he was expecting her or not.

“I’ve been told you do a bit of law work, Mr Gold,” she starts off, straight to the point.

“Find yourself in a bit of a pickle, Miss Swan?”

“Please cut the crap Mr. Gold. What I’m saying is, if I made certain accusations against Mayor Mills, would you be able to back me up?”

He sits on his stool, resting his hands on the counter in front of him.

“What might I ask, are you accusing her of?”

“You’ve met Lily right? The girl she adopted, well she didn’t. I knew her when we were younger, and her parents still have her reported missing. There’s nothing legal about Mayor Mills keeping her here.”

Mr. Gold sighs a bit.

“When we first came to this town, Regina asked me to find her a child. She had some kind of maternal urge that this place wasn’t satisfying. I never directly refused her of course, but even I had my doubts about the possibility of her caring for a child. “

“So it’s not just me who thinks she treats the girl badly?”

“Dig into her past, and you might find out dear mayor a bit deficient in role models. But nonetheless, I have no reason to impede your charges. I could even be convinced to testify that she didn’t seek out any proper legal channels for her adoption if you do me a favor today”.

“I thought I already owed you a favor?”

“Might be better to call this more of a solid. I have a few things which I didn’t feel comfortable storing in the shop. I gave them to one of my tenants a long time ago- they should still be somewhere in the basement of the Storybrooke library.”

“Really all you want me to do is go the library and get something?”

“It’s a small bottle, labelled with parchment, ‘essence of true love’”

“I’m not even going to ask what that means”.

He chuckles. “It may be more necessary than you could understand in the coming days.”

“Why did you keep it there? Is the librarian that trustworthy?”

“More than you could understand,” he replied solemnly.

He then reaches under the counter and hands Emma a sword.

“You may find this necessary.”

Emma looks the old man up and down.

“Uhh, thanks?”

And she leaves the store for the library, entirely unsure of what she’s getting herself into.

**

The librarian, as it was, had just managed to take her first steps outside the street for the first time in twenty-eight years.

**

Neal hated hospitals. Modern medicine was entirely alien to him when he came to this world, and his experiences since had not improved his first impression. The cold, sterile air, the clean, bleached and starched linens and uniforms made his skin crawl.

But still, he pushed himself through the green and white painted hallways, bouquet in hand,

He finds Mary-Margaret in the bedside chair, head in her hands.

“Hey,” he says, softly. “Henry told me you didn’t make it to school today, I thought you might not want to be alone”.

He places the flowers in their plastic vase on the side table.

“Thank you,” she manages to sniff. “The doctors have already been by. They’re all so damn sorry,” the curse sounds foreign in Mary-Margaret’s mouth, but she owns it. “Emma’s right, there’s no reason the mayor should be able to do this. Everyone in this whole damn town is so scared of her, and no one seems willing to do anything about it.”

“Hopefully, Emma’s plans will distract her long enough that she’ll forget what she planned to do.”

“Is that where she is right now?”

Neal nods.

“Good- I know it’s not fair, we haven’t been neighbors that long but I couldn’t shake the feeling that Emma was avoiding me after last night”.

“Don’t take any offense at it. Emma’s not really good with feelings. She prefers try to make the problem go away to dealing with the emotions they cause. Plus, you’ve always been really motherly to all of us, and I don’t think she really knows how to deal with that.”

“Oh,” Mary-Margaret says quietly. “I know she’s mentioned that she had a really tough childhood, but I never would have thought-”

“It’s not your fault. Neither of us had good childhoods. It’s part of the reason I think why we worked so well together- we both wanted to give the other something they didn’t have. It’s why we’re both so intent on being good to Henry. But I think Emma sort of resents people caring about her sometimes, because she never had it growing up and part of her still doesn’t think she deserves it.”

Neal isn’t quite sure why he’s telling her all of this. He’s avoided speaking about his own childhood for so long that he barely recognizes the words coming out of his mouth. And the thing about Emma- he’s never told her that he recognized what she did. Why she sometimes tried to push people away. But talking to Mary-Margaret is easy to talk to, comforting and understanding. She seems like she would have been a great mom, and it sucks to know that Emma’s never going to get to have that.

Mary-Margaret gazes down at the prone figure on the bed, machines beeping steadily for the moment.

“I wish every day that he will just wake up, like nothing ever happened, and this will all go away. It all came on so suddenly, it almost feels like it’s possible”.

“I guess there’s always hope,” Neal tells her.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s a message from Ruby, which reads ‘Lacey left the library, she’s at the diner now and wants to show you something.”

Confused, Neal puts it back in his pocket. It’s about time to pick up Henry from school anyway.

“I’ve gotta go,” Neal says, standing up, “We’ll come back to check on you later if you don’t come home.”

“Thank you, “ she says, wiping her nose again, “But I think I’ll come home for dinner and try and get some more sleep.”

Neal reaches out and puts one hand on her shoulder and squeezes.

When he reaches the car, Neal’s phone buzzes again. It’s from Emma, this time a single line.

“Yeah, there’s a fucking dragon under the library.”

Neal sighs. This is the beginning of the end, he can tell. Nothing in their lives is going to be normal for a long time.