#(hes going to barter with the booth man)

[jjoshlynaround]

making a part two to the gay moment comic i made. making it clear my favorite wolfwood is 98 wolfwood

[fanaticsnail]

Something Like That

Masterlist here, Request link and mood board here.

Word Count: 4,048

Hi everyone! This is the last x-mas fic I can push out before my time away over the holiday period interstate. I hope you enjoy reading for our boy Zoro. Thank you @sordidmusings for keeping me motivated! Merry Christmas, Anon! Just in case it peaks your interest @gingernut1314

Warnings: Fluff, Christmas, talks of battle scars, kissing, dancing

Just like all of the times you had ventured to Baratie, this time had every intention of being no more than passing time with delicious food. The floating restaurant atop a mighty ship was your favorite stop-off on your way home to Lougetown to visit with your extended family; the food’s glowing reputation almost did justice to the divine quality and the accompanying drinks were what dreams were made of. The fact that the staff was comprised of reformed pirates also held an appeal, considering your ties to that lifestyle as a skilled archer.

Bidding farewell to the vessel you had bartered onto for voyage, you heard a strange amount of merriment floating melodically from the wide fish-mouth at the bar lounge of the grand restaurant. You furrowed your brows, arching one up as curiosity held you captivated by the songs seeping to the surface with a wide array of demonstrated skill. Some vocals were sung blissfully, others shouted with no skill depicted within their throats. 

Taking deliberate steps with your bow in hand, quiver strapped firmly against your waistbelt and traveling satchel thrown over your shoulder, you sauntered to the grand doors and lobby of the restaurant to meet the matradee. He welcomed you with a broad smile, which rose to sit comfortably and warmly, peaking at the apples of his cheeks. His regular white formal garb was replaced with a deep emerald green dinner jacket, a small bushel of pointed leaves with red shimmery berries strung together by twine.

“Welcome back to Baratie!” He exclaimed with glee, “I have your usual table awaiting you.” He gestured a guiding hand to the right and indicated for you to follow his direction to the bottom of the twirled staircase.

Your confusion seemed to set in further as you took in your surroundings. The usual bare bars of the railing were ornately decorated with vines of sharpened, needle-like sprigs and small warm lights shining amongst the shrubbery akin to starlight. Your gaze was drawn upwards, noticing a small and sporadic assortment of floral clusters clinging to the roof and down the pillars of the supporting canopy. The bunches were of pale sage green, floating romantically down and arching their spindles out to grasp the pearled white flowers amongst the greenery.

As your gaze fell to rest upon the circular room, you noticed individuals joining against each other in embraces of romantic twirling and swaying. Their voices would raise to join with the tune regardless of how skilled they were to carry the tune, prompting you to raise an apprehensive smile to your lips.

“What is going on, sir?” you asked the fishman matradee as he chaperoned you to your regular table, “this all seems rather strange and unusual for a Monday afternoon, don’t you think?” Your tone of playful jest prompted him to chuckle in response, pulling out your chair for you to sit within your corner booth. Wordlessly, he took your bow and satchel while you unstrapped your quiver to disarm yourself to place your valuable items to be placed in the cloakroom.

“One of our kitchen-hands has returned to us, settling his dining debt from his time with us,” the matradee informed you, a playful twinkle drawn up to his eye, “and in celebration, we’re attempting to showcase a custom he had picked up on his travels.”

You hummed in response with a polite nod, brows raising with interest as you pulled your gaze over to view the diners amongst the crowd. Noticing jovial laughter and an uproar of cheers, you pulled your gaze to seek out its source. A young man with a straw hat atop dark loose curls immediately captured your attention, his eyes upturned and jaw hanging wide as he allowed another heartily laugh escape from his chest. His arms were hooked around the necks of two of his companions, drawing them in closer to his chest; a woman with short orange hair clutched within his right arm, while a bandana-clad man with a similar cheery expression lay gathered within his left.

Scanning over the remainder of the party members surrounding him, your eyes first drew to examine the tall, blonde companion. His hair skewed the view of his left eye, but what you could make of his right; he was a delight to look at. After holding your eyes against the blonde for longer than you truly thought appropriate, your eyes met with the final stranger of the party. His dark hazelnut orbs immediately locked on your probing gaze, bearing a protective intensity, his moss-coloured locks raised without much care as to which direction the strands fell.

As his eyes continued to hold your attention, you stared him down to reciprocate his wordless challenge. His brows furrowed briefly before a wolf-like grin rose to his lips, smirking up to the right-hand side of his face with an air of arrogance. Training as a skilled archer had drilled the practice of continual focus on a multitude of targets. This small challenge set your heart alight with a similar thrill to hunting a foe, the green-haired man not shying away from your attention and focus.

He was captivating. His air of protection and loyalty to his companions transferred without question of translation. You watched as he drew his dominant hand to fall to rest against a white blade hilt at his side, his wrist hanging limply against the handle atop the scabbard. He arched his left brow up at you and gestured with his chin, indicating to you that he would not shy away from a fight if one was to be offered to him. You arched up your brow with your own smirk, gesturing lightly with your hands over your torso and falling down to your waist; indicating you were currently unarmed.

Without breaking your gaze from his challenge, you reached your hand below the white tablecloth, shielding your hand from retrieving an item from your handbag beside you. You let out an audible laugh as you watched him fix his posture more upright, his smirk falling from his lips as his frown deepened in partial alarm. After feeling the hard object you were searching for, you raised it to no longer be obscured from view and rotated it within your hands to demonstrate how non-threatening the item was.

His face immediately dropped at his idiocy as his eyes took in the novel you were holding within your hands, closing his eyes and having a small smile rise to his lips. As soon as his eyes closed and soft chuckle fell from his lips, you relished in the knowledge that he was the first to back away from the intense wordless challenge he initiated with his eyes, indicating that you had won the small victory. 

While his eyes were closed, you fully examined his face. Eyes first shamelessly raking over his hair, trailing down and over his closed eyes and settling on his parted lips. His coy smile now completely risen against his lips held a foreign beauty, the creases of his cheeks indicating such softness was not a common occurrence. He was intriguing, someone you would have considered pursuing should you have had more time between your usual meal at Baratie and the upcoming ferry you had booked to shepherd the remainder of your journey. 

You shook your head, uncaring whether he would meet his intense gaze against yours again as you opened the pages of the novel you had begun reading on your journey out to sea, picking up where you last left off. The words whittled within the pages were of a variety of archery techniques and forms, a gift bestowed upon you by your favorite uncle - the one you held the most joy in rejoining with in Lougetown. 

A gentle cough interrupts the passage you were skimming, drawing your attention up to the waiter beside you. He placed down in front of you a seasonal beverage, the steam rising from the rim wafting towards your nose to envelop your senses with its rich, velvety and creamy scent. You thanked the waiter as he placed an accompanying biscotti beside the treat, the crumbled texture littering the small side dish with pebbles of its buttery substance. 

Reaching towards the handle, you raised the drink to your face, gently parting your lips and circling them to blow on the scorching liquid. After relinquishing your gentle blows to your particular satisfaction, you drew up the mug and took a quick sip of the contents. Immediately flooded by the indulgent flavor of the caramelized chocolate mixing with the creamy and decadent texture of the frothed milk. You sighed, breathing out your pleasure at being once again welcomed by the perfect combination of flavors offered to you at Baratie. Placing down again onto the circular, ceramic dish, you lifted your novel to continue reading from the last page you left of; blissfully ignorant or willfully ignoring the intense pair of eyes continuing to hold firm their locked gaze upon you.

“Something the matter, Zoro?” the Straw-Hat captain asked from beside the swordsman, clutching the bone of a perfectly prepared tomahawk steak within his right hand while chewing on the sinew, “you’ve been staring at that table for a long time now.” The swordsman remained quiet, not truly hearing the words spoken to him.

“”M’fine, Captain,” He mumbled. It was true, he had become entranced by the person he was currently inspecting. His bewitchment had only intensified as he witnessed your knowing and examining gaze falling to seek out the loud and joyous laughter falling in the air of the surroundings. You had to be a hunter, by the looks of you: whether it be seeking bounties, hunting animals or contesting mark-matching with the bow you allowed the fishman to leave with. 

“You sure there, Moss-Head?” Sanji taunted him, his signature smirk ruffling the temperament of the swordsman further, “you seem awfully focussed on the-... -Oh. Oh, they’re quite pretty, aren’t they?” Zoro snapped his gaze up to focus on the chef whose head was now shamelessly pointed directly at you, eyes searching your body and examining him the way Zoro was trying hard not to. 

“What of it, waiter?” he growled in a disinterested snarl. Sanji slowly dragged his gaze from your body over to face the swordsman once more, eyes darkening with a challenging intensity. 

“I think they’re very pretty, indeed,” Sanji’s exposed brow twitched in an upturned flirtatious suggestion. Usopp smirked, leaning in on his elbows to get a better view of the show Sanji was absolutely going to engage against the swordsman while Nami shook her head. Rolling her eyes, she sat back to rest her shoulders against the plush booth, tilting her head down to shield her smirk to remain hidden in her expression of amusement at their rivalry. 

“I think they’re so pretty, in fact,” Sanji snuck another glance at you, watching as you pursed your lips while turning another page of your novel, “I think I’m going to ask them to dance the next round.”

“What’d you say, waiter?” Zoro tilted his head, attempting to hold his composure and feign disinterest at the challenge. The subtle gruff anchor of his voice gave him away, Zoro winced at his own vocal tone. Sanji chuckled at the failed attempt, choosing to draw his elbows against the table and cradle his chin to rest atop his laced fingertips. 

“It’s not like you’re man enough to ask her to dance, anyway,” Sanji’s smirk rose into a broader grin, relishing in Zoro’s physical reaction of sharpening his posture to rise against the jab. The blonde chef chuckled darkly, drawing his lips to press against his fingertips before suggesting with another jab: “Someone like that looks like they’d prefer to be held in the arms of a real man, not something like you, Demon.”

“I’ll let the two of you know when I see one,” the orange-haired navigator murmured in a low tone, her voice immediately capturing the attention of the two bickering crewmates. Usopp feigned pain, clutching at his heart briefly before nodding in confirmation of her comments: both flinging their heads back in unbridled laughter at the motion. Luffy continued to remain blissfully ignorant, finally sucking at the large bone to rid the object from all edible elements of the dish while offering a small laugh of his own. Although he truly had no idea why they were laughing at that moment, he was happy his crew was getting along - to the best of his knowledge, anyway.

That was the occasion after all: merriment and joyfulness being the central point of the entire reason for this celebration. Sanji and Zoro turned back to face each other again, eyes bearing an electric intensity as they met their rival’s challenge. 

“No,” Zoro gruffly growled, his lips curling in a small snarl. Sanji arched his head to stretch out his neck, eyes closing as he felt a gentle ‘pop’ and sighing in reaction. 

“You gonna actually approach them and ask them to dance?” Sanji lazily taunted him, his smirk returning, “or am I going to get there first?”

At that final nudge, Zoro was away from the table and almost stomping his heavy boots against the polished floorboards like a chastised toddler. Sanji chuckled at the response, reaching forward to claim a portion of the confit potatoes to place on his plate. 

“I gotta know, man,” Usopp leant in towards Sanji, his broad smile rising to his cheeks, “were you that interested in them, or just wanted to get a rise from Zoro? I can never tell with you.”

“That’s my secret, Great Captain Usopp,” Sanji’s left corner of his lip curled up in a smirk with a playful glimmer in his eye returning, “I’m always interested in getting a rise out of him. Beautiful strangers are always a bonus. My favorite is when those two things are not mutually exclusive,” he chuckled, collecting an assortment of ingredients on his fork and raising the utensil up to his lips, “two birds with one stone, and all that.”

The thud of heavy boots alerted you to a figure closing the distance between themselves and your body. The thumps of the hard boots against the polished floor reverberated with a sense of danger. Patiently, with a sigh exiting your parted lips, you placed a small piece of parchment back into your novel to tab the chapter and slowly turned to look at the approaching figure. 

“Can I help you?” you asked, a bored tone with a subtle air of cautious warning befalling your cadence. As you drew your eyes up, you noticed the same intense gaze from earlier falling to meet your sat position on the table. His eyebrow seemed to twitch, indicating slight agitation as his jaw was clenched tightly shut. Cocking your head to the side, you allowed a partial softness to grace your features as you danced your eyes between focussing on each of his hazelnut orbs.

“I-, uh-,” the man was stumbling over his words, unable to string a sentence of cohesion together. He raised his hand to the scruff of his neck, pinching the flesh with his calloused hands and grimacing at his expression. 

“You?” you cooed up at him, a smirk rising once more to your lips. You shook your head, hair dancing at the small sway of movement. Your attention was once again captivated by him; the arrogant energy you had initially met your gaze with was dismantled under his apprehensive aura. 

Zoro had every intention of proving how much of a ‘real man’ he was to his crew, although not so much of a display in masculinity; but more of a need to not allow Sanji the pleasure or satisfaction of flirting with someone so enchanting as you. He was going to simply offer his hand to you, smirk in a gesture to ask you to join him on the dance floor and parade you in front of his crew. But alas, as soon as his eyes met with yours once again; he felt helpless and small under your huntress eyes.

“Well, are you going to stand there all rigid, swordsman?” you taunted, reclining in your seat and resting your elbow atop the backrest, “Or are you going to take a seat?”

Again, Zoro found himself taken aback by your direct approach. He followed your index and middle finger as you gestured to the empty seat in front of you. He shook his head a little to rid him of his prior bewilderment and then apprehensively moved to withdraw the chair to take a seat. You took him in, watching his deliberate movements in the way he sat atop the chair: every action intentional. As he sat, he offered no conversation other than broody silence. His eyes would flitter over to check-in on his prior dining companions and grimacing as his gaze was met with taunting gestures from his crew.

“Friends of yours?” you asked him, brow arched and reaching for the handle of your mug. 

“Something like that,” he uttered in a gruff tone, arms folding abrasively over his chest. You chuckled at his tone, taking a small sip from your mug and eyeing him deliberately. 

“Care to share further, or would you prefer having another wordless exchange?” you placed the empty cup back down on the dish and offered another challenging smile. He snapped his eyes back to yours and his smirk rose again to his lips. 

“They’re my crew,” his rumbly chuckle was withheld in his chest beneath his smirk, “I like half of them, but respect the lot of them.”

You hummed in response, index finger dancing atop the rim of your relinquished mug of hot chocolate. “Would you like to tell me more? I’m all ears about the ones you like and the ones you’re less fond of.”

Over the course of the next few hours, the swordsman and you would swap tales of travels throughout the East Blue and the Grand Line. Foes bested, beasts conquered and sorrows overcome: the tales of injuries you had both granted to opponents and received at the hands of them. He leant back against the back of his chair and slowly unbuttoned his shirt and hooked his fingers within the collar and hemline of his shirt to draw it back to showcase proudly to you. You felt your breath hitching in your throat at not only the physique of the swordsman, but in awe at the large healed mark slashed across his torso. You felt utterly ill-seasoned with your smaller indents of arrows and thrown dagger marks littering your shoulders. As you hooked your middle finger in your left shoulder strap and coyly revealed the small silver, healed markings, Zoro was held captivated by the marks to showcase your tales of battle. 

Enamored, awestruck and enchanted; you both held a small lilt of encaptured silence, leaning in on your forearms against the white tablecloth and gazing into the eyes of one another. Respecting your mutual combatant skill, both you and Zoro’s eyes fell half-lidded in adoration as you held each other’s undivided attention. 

The music and merriment fell into a slow tune, reflective of the seasonal tradition Baratie was attempting to celebrate with succession. Zoro was the first to break the silence between you, placing his left hand on the table with his palm up.

“Would you wanna dance?” he asked, his drawl gruff but attempting to remain polite in his request. You smiled, reaching your right hand to fall within his own, his hand immediately circling around your fingers firmly. His thumb circled over your four fingers, caressing his calloused and experienced hands over your skin.

“You don’t seem like much of a dancer, Zoro,” you commented, both rising to your feet. He drew you in close. Keeping his left hand extended upwards, and raking his right over the mid of your back to draw your torso flush with his, he uttered: “I’m not, but it seemed appropriate. Considering the holiday, and all.”

“Ah, yes. We never did quite get to discussing what all this,” you gestured with your chin, smiling at the decorations surrounding the room, “was all about.”

“I’m not really sure on the minor details,” he shrugged, awkwardly swaying you to the music, “Cap’n just said something about different traditions needing to be incorporated. Something about food, music, dancing, and decoration-...-oh. Oh, no-.”

You furrowed your brows, looking up at the roof to follow after his risen gaze. A small sprig of white, pearled flowers hung over your heads, accompanied by sage-coloured oblong leaves wrapped in ribbons of satin and twine. You cocked your head, left brow raising in curiosity at the flowers and their significance. Drawing your gaze back to the swordsman in front of you, you noticed he was stooping himself all the more closer to you.

“What are you doing, swordsman?” you questioned, halting him in his descention towards you. 

“This is one of those traditions,” he said, unlacing your right hand from his left and wordlessly asking with his eyes for permission to cradle your cheek within his palm. You looked at the hand first, then drew your eyes back up to meet his intense gaze. Smiling, you placed your cheek into his awaiting palm while holding his gaze firmly against your own. 

“Touching a stranger’s face beneath strange flowers is a strange tradition,” you furrowed your brows at him once more in curiosity.

“Kissing them beneath strange flowers,” he corrected you, leaning to join his lips immediately against your own. A small squeak fled from your lips, eyes widening as you felt the intensity falling from his chapped lips onto your own.

This was not how you pictured your return to Baratie to go at all. Sure, you had dreamed of meeting a handsome stranger and sharing an embrace with them. The stars just never aligned for you in any way that drew you close enough to share a kiss with them, only ever moments of story swapping or sharing a meal or two with many travelers accompanying you. 

You allowed yourself to become relaxed into the embrace, reaching your hands up to circle his neck below the assortment of flowers. His brows furrowed in concentration as he inhaled sharply through his nose in reaction to your reciprocation. You smiled, closing your eyes and tickling the scruff of his neck beneath your fingertips; lacing his untamed sea-sprayed locks within them. He expertly opened your mouth to taste more of your lips by angling his chin upwards against your own. A small groan rumbled within his chest, passing from his mouth to fall against your own as he continued to cradle you against himself.

Reluctantly, you pulled away from his embrace with your eyes remaining closed. You felt a small pause falling with his next actions, before you felt a warm forehead press against your own. You reopened your eyes, your half-lidded and lazy smile mirrored against the face of the swordsman you just shared a kiss with. 

Interrupting your embrace, an announcement was called over the speakers. The crackle of cables and wires sprung to life within the metal relay, alerting you with a vocal command: “The next vessel to Lougetown has arrived. All those traveling to Lougetown, report to the peer with your documents. Next vessel to Lougetown will depart in twenty minutes.”

“That’s me, unfortunately,” you sighed, eyes remaining closed but lips drawn up in a wide smile. 

“Business in Lougetown?” Zoro’s whisper rumbled within his chest. 

“Something like that,” you withdrew your forehead from its place resting against his own, “much akin to your crew, although I’m held attached by biological relation.”

“Anyone I’d know?” Zoro smirked, eyes remaining partly glazed over enamored by your small daliance. 

“I never ‘name drop’, swordsman,” you cooed up at him while unlacing your arms from his embrace, “but if you’re in the general area,” you retrieved your belongings from your table and laced your handbag and novel over your shoulder, “I’ll be at the G-5 Marine Base with my uncle for the next month for training.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” he smirked, eyes upturning to indicate his joy at the thought of meeting with you once again.

[kaihuntrr]

part three: birds of a feather

The main couple of the fic finally see each other again <3

here's the cover for this arc, i very much enjoyed working on it >:D

To read the tumblr version, check out the read more!

It was good to be back.

The feeling of solid ground underneath Martyn’s boots and the crowds greeting him gave him a warm feeling. These were the people he’d given his life to, the reason he was out on the wild seas to do what he does; to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. He’d live and die a hunter, he remembered promising to his parents, and he’d stick to it. 

Buildings wedged themselves around the port, many stalls and stores at the forefront to serve the returning ships. This left the entrance to the town narrow and filled to the brim with people walking and talking. Ships of all shapes and sizes docked by the entrance along the pier. The rhythmic hum of engines was one of the first things people could hear upon entering. 

Martyn ran through the streets, passing different buildings and people as he followed the familiar path.

Almost there.

It was never a dull moment in this town; children ran and played in the streets, older folk bartered with sellers, and hunters like the Canaries came by every so often to deliver their goods. But there was one place in particular Martyn frequented; the local tavern, The Golden Apple. He was very familiar with this tavern’s owner. He ran out of breath, panting as he stopped at the entrance. 

Steady breaths, Martyn. Breathe in. Breathe out.

The building had a sturdy stone base, cobblestone pillars for support with walls made of spruce with a roof partially covered in moss and overgrowth. Vines of flowers spiraled up the sides, neatly trimmed bushes lining the little courtyard, tables and benches sat neatly arranged outside. It was uncommon to see buildings with so much greenery, but that just made the place all the more special. People walked in and out of the place, and Martyn took in a deep breath and smiled before opening the door. 

Everything was the same, just as Martyn remembered it. Big barrels were mounted on the walls, holding all sorts of alcoholic beverages. Lanterns hung from the ceiling as jeers from the second floor rattled the interior balcony. Tables and chairs were scattered across the room, strewn with bottles and mugs and plates full of freshly cooked food. Wooden beams held up the inside, with people lying or sleeping against them as their hands gripped their drinks. People bustled around, carrying drinks and hot meals to tables and booths, sharing stories and toasting to whatever, some were dancing to the tunes the bards sang. Clinks of glass, coin, and utensils filled the air. The place was just as busy as usual.

The place was alive. 

The hunters who saw Martyn greeted him with a smile, patting his back as he bowed and waved back to each one. Socializing. He’d missed that. He loved the crew, but even he could go insane if spent his entire life with them alone. But they were off preparing for the king, all he needed to worry about was Scott.

The man he was hoping to see was across the room, talking to people Martyn would rather have him not talk to.

The two hunters had their backs turned, seated on bar stools, but he knew one of them, Mythical Sausage. Not him! Sausage was a piece of work; narcissistic, rude, and a braggart. He always found ways to annoy people and had such a smug grin while he did it. The long-haired blonde beside him was probably a lackey of his. The two wore contrasting clothes, Sausage in light blues while the blonde in red, but both had a long yellow cloth hanging from their waist. 

Kestrels.

Martyn didn’t want to think about it. They were loud, mischievous, and a bunch of spoiled rich brats. Sure, they were a decent faction, but this crew in particular grinded his gears. He grit his teeth.

Scott was seemingly happy in his conversation with those two, smiling and giggling, before his eyes locked with Martyn’s and his smile grew wider as he waved Martyn over. Oh boy, this was going to be something.

Scott tilted his head, Martyn was sure there was a slight tinge of red on his cheeks. “Martyn! I was wondering when you were going to return. How’s my favorite hunter doing out on the seas?” Scott always knew how to make a man blush. Heat rose in Martyn’s cheeks as he stammered, Scott resting his head on his hand as he leaned closer from the counter. 

Martyn scratched the back of his head, “I’m- I’m doing great! I missed you a lot–” Scott giggled, making Martyn more nervous as his eyes looked at everything else but Scott. “The- the normal amount of missing someone.” Oh, he was messing everything up already. So much for a decent entrance and welcome back.

Scott smiled, placing his hand out on the counter, inviting Martyn to put his hand on top. He did and Scott closed his hand around Martyn’s. Scott rubbed his thumb over the hunter’s knuckles, his eyes focused on their hands before looking up at Martyn. “I missed you too.” 

Sausage cleared his throat, much to Martyn’s annoyance, “Are we interrupting something, or is he cutting our conversation short?” There was clear venom in his voice, and the man’s eyes narrowed as he glared at Martyn. Martyn narrowed his eyes back and growled. He did not want to deal with them.

Scott glanced between the two Kestrels and Martyn before looking back at Sausage. “I think you are. We’ve been chatting for a while, and I’d like to entertain this one now,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow, “No hard feelings, yeah?”

The blonde Kestrel sighed, hunched over on his stool as he glared at Martyn, “Why even bother? This little songbird’s not going to fly forever, you know.” 

Martyn’s grip on Scott tightened unknowingly. His eyes narrowed and he snapped, “I’d keep my mouth shut if I were you, Kestrel.” Scott placed his other hand over Martyn’s, making him flinch and loosen his grip. 

Scott was here, looking at him. Martyn shouldn’t make any rash decisions. He didn’t want to cause a scene. He didn’t want Scott to have a bad opinion of him.

Just keep your mouth shut.

Sausage pushed himself off the stool, the metal screeching against the floor causing people to start staring at them. He placed his hands in his pockets, tilting his scarred face with a grin, “Fighting words for someone who used to be one, eh?”

 Stay quiet.

 Sausage raised his voice. “A songbird so cowardly he couldn’t fight with his crew, especially when they needed him.” If only a few people were watching earlier, Martyn was sure more had their eyes on him as Sausage spoke.

That was a long time ago. Martyn wanted to forget; thinking about the Kestrels made his head hurt. He didn’t want to live through all of that again. There were some good memories, but those final moments were… 

Martyn groaned, he stared at the floor. His hands trembled, fist clenched. His eyebrows furrowed. He did not want to deal with this. With them. Too many bad memories.

Scott seemed to notice his discomfort.

Scott gave Martyn’s hand a pat, causing the blonde to look at him. Scott smiled at him before turning to the Kestrels. His smile dropped and he raised his voice, “Enough. Sausage, Joey, get out of here. I don’t want to hear about this from either of you.” Scott pulled his hands away from Martyn’s and crossed his arms, raising his eyebrows at the two of them.

It seemed like he didn’t want to deal with them either.

Sausage’s confidence dropped. He faced Scott, his brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, “Scott–” Scott placed his hands on the counter, glaring at the two Kestrels. “I said, get out,” he grinned with insincerity, leaning up towards the taller man, “Or do I have to repeat myself?” 

There was an edge to Scott’s voice Martyn didn’t understand, as if the man was growling at Sausage.

The blonde, Joey, placed a hand on Sausage’s shoulder, shaking his head. Joey looked at Scott and narrowed his eyes with a sharp sigh, “Fine. We’re leaving.” Scott leaned back, his eyes still locked on the two as they retreated. The tavern was silent. 

If only people could mind their own business.

Martyn looked away from the two Kestrels as they left. Joey paused close to Martyn, but neither of them looked the other in the eye. “This isn’t over, songbird.” Joey hissed. Sausage huffed and shoved Martyn against the counter. Martyn grit his teeth as the two left the tavern. 

Hopefully they wouldn’t see those two again.

The tavern slowly filled back up with sound and jeers. Better than the silence from earlier. Why were they there? Talking to Scott out of everyone in here? Martyn glanced at where the two were seated, noting the lack of food or the intoxicating smell of alcohol. They were just there to talk. Maybe they knew Martyn came by this area, and this was all some scheme to guilt and taunt him back into the Kestrels. Maybe he was going crazy thinking about it. The Kestrels had left a sour taste in his mouth, and he wouldn’t want to go back to that. To them. To him. He wouldn’t go back to his ghost.

That was years ago.

Martyn flinched when Scott placed his hand over his clenched fist. Scott looked at him, his eyes narrowed in a look of worry, “Are you okay?” Martyn glanced at Scott, seeing his concern, but he turned his eyes back towards the empty stools. 

He hated how much his mind focused on them.

It was spilling out of his head too, he started thinking out loud, “Why did they even come here? They didn’t even drink anything.” 

Scott chuckled, rolling his eyes as a smile formed on his face. Martyn raised an eyebrow and Scott motioned to him, “You don’t drink, but you come here.”

Martyn hummed. He shrugged, giving Scott a little smirk, “Fair point. That could change though.”

Martyn was a lightweight drinker. A horrible lightweight. He never really drank, despite all the tragedies that enveloped in his life he never felt the urge to drink. The taste was awful. But Martyn could indulge himself. He was in a tavern, talking to its owner, and everyone around him drank. What’s the worst that could happen?

“It won’t change the fact that you’re a lightweight, hunter.” Scott winked at him, causing Martyn to blush. Scott raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. 

Martyn hesitated. A quick shot or two won’t be so bad, right? Something to ease all this tension should be fine enough. Martyn smiled and nodded. Scott pulled out a shot glass from the bottom rack and one of the many whiskey bottles from the shelf behind him. A small ‘pop’ sounded from the bottle as Scott poured the contents into the shot glass and offered it to the hunter. 

Yeah, just a couple would be fine.

Scott watched as Martyn took a sip out of his glass. A few might be fine, but drinking a shot all at once was a little too much for him. Scott closed the bottle, placing it on the lower counter as he faced Martyn. “You didn’t answer my question, though,” he leaned forward, “Are you okay?”

Martyn took another sip. Yuck. The burning sensation in the back of his throat was so weird. How are people able to drink all of this at once? 

Martyn sighed, mindlessly swirling the liquid in the glass. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine.” He took a third and final sip, chills running down his spine as he swallowed. “...I just don’t like them.”

That was simplifying. He wasn’t sure how he felt about them at all.

Scott hummed, glancing at the shot glass then back at Martyn, “Anything I should be concerned about?”

Martyn shook his head. He didn’t want Scott involved in all of that. That would probably confuse his mind even more. He stared at the ground, “No… not yet. I just…” 

What was he supposed to say? Talking about the Kestrels was weird. It was like a scab he desperately wanted to scratch off, but he knew scratching it off would make him bleed. But he had to talk about it eventually, it wasn’t something that would heal on its own.

Scott popped the bottle open again, filling the glass with the weird, burning liquid, “You don’t need to say anything you don’t want to, got that? We can talk about something else.” Something else. Something else was good. Scott handed Martyn the glass, smiling, “Like how you’ve come here without any bandages this time; I’m impressed.”

Martyn laughed. He couldn’t tell if his face was heating up from either Scott’s compliment or the alcohol invading his system. “Well, a certain someone kept telling me to look after myself, so I did.” 

He took a sip out of the drink. Scott snorted and giggled, and god, his smile was so pretty.

Scott rested his head on his hand, his mismatched orange and blue eyes focused on Martyn. “Do you need someone to tell you to take care of yourself?” 

Scott had such pretty eyes. Martyn had never seen anyone with such vibrant eyes, he hadn’t even known someone could have both of those eye colors at once. Scott’s eyes were really pretty.

Scott was really pretty.

Martyn paused, his reactions slow as he registered the question. Martyn took another sip from his drink, formulating an answer in his head. “Yes? No– maybe? Uh…” 

Wow, this alcohol was strong. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he was here with Scott. What was he so upset about earlier?

Scott laughed, a charming, adorable laugh, “Ah, it’s a bummer you don’t need anyone to do that,” he smirked, “Maybe if I tell you to take care of yourself more often, I can keep you all to myself.”

Scott moved in close to Martyn, their faces so close Martyn swore he could feel Scott’s warm breath against him, purring. He didn’t even notice Scott moving the shot glass from his hand to the lower counter. 

Scott had such kissable lips. His eyes glimmered and his expression was playful and cute, the only thing running through Martyn’s mind was how this beautiful man kept flirting with him. Martyn tried to flirt back but he’d always end up a blushing mess. He probably was one at that very moment.

Martyn smirked, chuckling, “Oh, I’d like that.” He reached his hand out, wanting to hold Scott’s hand. Scott glanced down and giggled, placing his hand on top of Martyn’s and holding it. Scott had such soft, fragile skin. It felt oddly comforting next to his own, rugged hand. “Give me some time,” Martyn smiled. “Then I’ll be all yours.”

Scott sighed, leaning away. He crossed his arms. Did Martyn upset him? Scott’s eyebrows furrowed, “How long would that be?” 

Martyn hadn’t thought of that. He wasn’t sure how long it’d be until he completed his goal, his purpose being a hunter. More than a protector. 

Scott shook his head, “You can’t keep me waiting forever, hunter. This could be the last time you see me.”

Martyn’s shoulders slumped, his voice low, “That’s… That’s a depressing thought, Scott.” 

It was a thought Martyn was familiar with. The feeling of uncertainty, being so far away that he couldn’t imagine how the other was feeling, what he was doing, or if he was even alive. It was a punch in the gut to remember how much time had passed between when they could see each other.

Scott shrugged, “I know, but these are just things you need to think about. Have you ever thought about it? Staying for a while?” 

The winter months were coming, so they could spend time together then. Though if he remembered it right, Scott would be busy with something during the winter months. What that something was, however, Martyn didn’t know.

He thought about the months after winter. There was no guarantee he’d stay on land longer than a few days. There were always beasts to kill, always something new to discover, and more people to protect. He couldn’t risk being out of service for too long, even if it killed him to admit that. He was still deep into his passion for hunting, but his heart always sang a different song.

A piece of him wanted to stay, but another called to the open seas.

Martyn’s eyes shifted away from Scott as forced a smile, “Yeah...” Not now. Later on, maybe. But now? It wasn’t possible. Martyn shook his head, a dizzying feeling beginning to twist his mind as he smiled at Scott, genuinely, “I promise. One day, I’ll have a final hunt. When I do, and I come home, I’ll stay with you.”

“And what does the legendary hunter, Martyn Woods, want for his final hunt?”

Martyn looked Scott dead in the eye, his eyes widening and his smile dropped, “...A sea prince.”

Scott’s head tilted, his eyes narrowed. He didn’t say a word. Martyn stared back, equally as puzzled, “What? I’m serious!” 

It was a dream of his since he was a young boy. The idea of finding and hunting such a mythical beast has been embedded in his head for a very long time. 

Sea princes were folktales Martyn heard as a kid; he’d been raised with the stories his whole life. Sea princes were larger than any beasts ever seen or documented, shaping the ocean however they desired. They commanded armies of beasts to do their bidding. They bleed in glittery silver and gold, and they guarded a treasure so legendary and powerful one glance could turn any human into a god. 

He wanted to prove they were real.

Scott giggled, waving his hand, “No, no, don’t worry about it.” He placed one of his hands on his hip, the other resting on the counter. “It’s just… very outlandish? Very fitting for you though.” 

Martyn grinned, smiling like a little kid telling his parents he accomplished an impossible task, “Trust me, I have a whole speech planned and everything.” 

Scott looked like he was about to laugh, but Martyn could tell it was because of his passion for things like this. It never ceased to amaze Scott just how much Martyn knew about the sea prince stories, the horrors they gave, and the promises of power under the waves.

Martyn puffed out his chest. “I’ll walk up to the prince and go all,” he placed a hand on his chest, his tone theatrical and playful, “The sea can finally be free of one of its biggest threats. Give up your life now, and we can start living in the new world.” 

The alcohol was definitely getting to him. 

Martyn paused, trying to remember the rest of his speech before Scott sat on the counter, a smirk forming as he raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and you’re sure you can kill me, a powerful beast of the ocean? I could crush you here and now,” Scott lifted Martyn’s chin, holding it in his hands as he moved closer, whispering, “Or I could eat you. You’d be like sweet candy to me, dear hunter.” He winked, sending shivers down Martyn’s spine. 

Oh. 

Oh he liked this.

Martyn laughed, holding Scott’s wrist, “You can’t kill me, I’ll kill you, and I’ll bring your body to shore to show all humankind that we can take down an ancient evil.” This sounded fun to play. Sea princes don’t talk though, but the thrill of it was something else.

Scott blinked and moved away from Martyn. He was back to looking confused, “...You’re serious?”

Martyn tilted his head, “Yeah? Did I say something wrong?” 

He was so stupid for drinking those shots. Was Martyn supposed to play as a helpless victim then? Maybe it was better to think of that later, if they were ever alone. He realizes doing this in public is definitely a bad idea, a blush appearing on his face.

Scott shook his head, sliding off the counter, “You’re fine. I just didn’t realize how handsome you’d look while saying all that. Charming.” He winked again, giggling. 

No hard feelings then. That was good. He hoped the next time they did something similar, Martyn would get it right.

Martyn nodded, internally breathing a sigh of relief. “I try to be,” Martyn hummed, thinking of what else to add. Oh, right! “Ah! I wanted to show you something, let me just get my–” He opened his satchel, only to find his sketchbook missing. He could have sworn he’d placed it in his bag. The Canaries teased him for drawing on it all the time. He knew he kept it on him. He shuffled around, checking his pockets if he placed it there instead. 

Where did he put it?

Scott looked on as Martyn started to dig more furiously through his bag. Scott called out to him several times before snapping Martyn out of his thoughts, “What’s wrong?” Martyn paused, looking around before turning to the door. He turned to the empty stools. 

The forceful push from Sausage. The push would’ve made him unable to notice the sketchbook being slipped out of his satchel! He should’ve really closed it. A lesson learned, but not one he wanted to learn from those Kestrels.

Martyn groaned, his face in his hands. “Those two,” Martyn huffed, Scott raised an eyebrow, tilting his head. Martyn sighed, “They took my sketchbook. I wanted to show you what I did...” 

Martyn loved to show Scott the little drawings he’d of the events that happened over the month, though he would skip all the pages he’d drawn Scott on. Martyn would sometimes sneak in some live drawings when Scott was busy working and not paying attention to him. He was really, really pretty to look at. Could he be blamed for wanting to draw a pretty figure over and over? 

Actually, it was a surprise Scott had been entertaining him for this long. He should’ve been called to do more work by now, but it didn’t look like a priority for him. His other workers seemed to have it covered.

Scott cooed, a blush rising to his face, “You’re sweet. I’ll get it back for you, promise.” Martyn shook his head. He could do it. Sure, he’d hate having to confront them, but it was his sketchbook. Scott shouldn’t be the one covering for him on that. The blame was on Martyn for forgetting to close his bag properly.

Scott didn’t budge. His eyes narrowed, “They make you uncomfortable, Martyn. Let me do this.” He raised an eyebrow, gently tapping Martyn’s shoulder, “Let’s just call this an ‘I owe you’ kind of deal. So you’ll owe me a favor.”

Martyn could sense something stirring in Scott’s head. A deal sounded interesting to say the least, especially from Scott, “What kind of deal would it be, then?”

“I don’t know, maybe something…” Scott glanced at the ceiling, his voice trailing off. Martyn leaned in and Scott smirked, “...special, for the two of us. What do you think?”

“Deal.”

Martyn had never agreed to anything faster than that.

Scott giggled, but his eyes landed on the door as it swung open. “Good– ah, just in time. Your hunter is right here, mostly in the right headspace.” Who was he talking to– oh. 

Martyn looked behind him to see Grian and Joel, glancing between him and Scott. Martyn gave them a small wave.

Joel’s eyes widened as he looked at Martyn, “Scott, did you give him alcohol?” Scott technically didn’t give Martyn alcohol, at least he thinks so. Martyn asked for it, Scott shouldn’t take the blame for it.

Scott shrugged, “Only a little. He needed to loosen up a bit.” He raised his hands up to his chest, “Entirely on me and free of charge, don’t worry about it.” 

If Martyn wasn’t such a lightweight, maybe he would’ve been able to drink a little more…. Didn’t he hate the taste of alcohol? The burning feeling sucked, but spending time with Scott made it oh so delicious and addicting.

Grian nudged Martyn’s shoulder, chuckling, “Don’t say anything stupid when we’re at the castle, Martyn.” Grian looked at Scott and smiled. Martyn didn’t know much of Grian and Scott’s relationship, but Grian would sometimes drink, if not for fun, then…. 

There are so many things not to think about.

Grian waved at the tavernkeep, “We’ll see you around, Scott. It was good to see you again.”

Scott nodded in response. Grian and Joel each held one of Martyn’s shoulders as they brought him out. “You two as well,” Scott called after them, “Safe travels!” Martyn looked back to see Scott waving at them, a grin forming over his face as he winked. Martyn blushed, smiling back. Oh, he had missed Scott. He had missed him a lot.

[theaspieasp]

Leek

(Crossposted on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1181065996-miscellaneous-helluva-boss-x-reader-shorts-leek)

You are a very busy imp.

Knowing everything about everyone worth knowing about means keeping countless tabs on just about everything that happens in Hell.  It requires having eyes everywhere—thousands of tiny, invisible cameras hidden in just the right spots, and it requires a secure, self-made network that you can be absolutely certain only you have access to.  It requires constant, careful maintenance, double and triple-checking the security of your system, occasionally needing to remotely destroy some of your own hardware and clean up after yourself to remain undetected while saving as much data as you can.  It means keeping up-to-date with every new advancement in technology, and requires always being a step ahead of certain powerful entities.  It requires you to make powerful allies without ever showing them your face.

Sometimes it means going out into the field and gathering information yourself.

Today is one of those days.  According to your sources, someone may know some vital information about one of your more interesting "subjects."  A subject that has so far evaded most of your digital techniques for information gathering.  A subject that is, unfortunately, too dangerous to get too close to yourself.  So you hope you'll be able to persuade this someone who was able to get close to this subject—as well as a few others—and survive to tell you everything they know regarding the subject.

The building is easy enough to find.  It's a dark grey office building with horns in a particularly destitute part of Imp City.  You look up at the building and see the person you wish to talk to through one of the buildings windows.

Briefly, you consider going in and talking to him face-to-face right away, but you quickly shove the thought away.  That would mean showing this man your face.  Something you'd rather not do if you don't have to.

Instead, you discreetly take a photo of him with your hellphone and retreat to a small, quiet café a block away, where you order some coffee and toast and sit down in a booth.

Adjusting your glasses, you begin to tap away at your phone, sending a message to the person you hope will become a new source of information.

Hello.

Wgho dhe fukc id thbis?

You elect to ignore his abhorrent spelling so long as it doesn't interfere with your communication.

You may call me Leek.  I believe we may each have information that would benefit the other.

He doesn't respond at first.  You decide to give him something to bite; you send him a blurry picture of a snakelike imp riding a flaming black hellhorse down a dirt road somewhere in Wrath.

I think you will recognize this man.

So waht?  

This past fall, this man made an attempt on the life of Prince Stolas, and he injured two of your employees in the process.

For another minute, he doesn't respond.  This time however, you do not not need to coax him out with more bait.  When he finally does respond, his tone is more serious, and he drops his misspellings and typos.

How do you know that?  And how did you get this number?

You smile, taking a sip of your coffee.  You almost have him.

I know a lot of things.  Including where this man went after he injured your employees.

Get to the point.

I usually sell the information I gather for money, but in this case, I'm willing to barter.  Information for information.  I know this man spoke to you before he ran.  I want to know what he said to you.

And in return you'll tell me where he went after beating the shit out of us?

Your eyes glint behind your glasses as you respond to him.

I'll tell you EVERYTHING I already know about him.  

Or maybe you'd rather know more about the prince who's been harassing you?

Or maybe you'd rather I let out a few dirty secrets about those celebrities you hate so much?

In any case, I'll happily repay you in any way I can.

[fandom-blackhole]

The 5 Marriage Proposals of Clan Leader Vizsla

AN: I apologize that I didn't get this out last week, but work has been sooooo stressful for me and it is driving me nuts and taking away all motivation. From here on forward I still plan to get one-shots or series parts posted on Wednesdays, but instead of trying to do THOT asks on both Tuesday and Thursday, its probably going to one or the other, most likely Thursdays, each week, and as always Sinful Sudays will always be on Sunday! As always love you guys!!!!!

Pairing: Clan Leader!Paz Vizsla x Reader

Words: 4.8k

Summary: Having a Mandalorian clan settlement not far from your small village was never a problem, they were quiet, they scared away any potential threats, and they came to trade meat they had hunted for items they could not acquire themselves. But their leader seemed to have his heart set on making you his spouse...

or 5 times Clan Leader Paz proposes to you and the 1 time you accept

Warnings: none really, just fluff and pining, Paz not taking no for an answer, mentions of hunting animals, UNEDITED

First Attempt.

It was the first time you had met him. You had been helping your father run his tailoring booth at the market square in the village. The two of you didn’t set the booth up every day the market was open, having a shop on the other side of town made it so you didn’t have too, but you did set up and open the booth about twice a month so you could offer smaller, quicker services as well as sell more already premade clothes, anything from dresses to underthings to handkerchiefs with small embroidered designs. For the most part that is what you did, was the selling of the already made clothing as well as taking small mending orders that you could finish in five minutes or less, your father on the other hand mainly managed from behind the scenes, and talked with barter’s wanting to sell their fabrics, furs, leathers, or what not.

The days that you set up the booth usually managed to collect a handful of customers but never a ton of them. Most would come and browse through your items, ask questions, and then leave empty handed. You didn’t mind, for you you liked the change of scenery from just sitting in the shop all day every day. You didn’t mind the fact that there were always other people to talk to during these days, you didn’t mind talking to your father but he was only your father and sometimes just hearing the town gossip from the elderly women in the neighboring stalls was nice.

Today was like any other market day. You and your father went out and grabbed your usual spot early so you would have time to set up the awning and the tables and racks before laying out clothing. Nothing was new or special about the day, it passed slowly and you walked over for tea at lunchtime with the other women and just sat and listened to the gossip. It was halfway through your first cup of tea that you had heard and saw many of the other women rushing to get up and giggling excitedly as they all rushed back to their booths. As the Syn sisters walked past you you heard the eldest say, “Gosh I hope the mandalorian’s clan leader is with them this time. I would leave my husband in a heartbeat to be with that man.”

It was then that it finally clicked with you that today, of all days, the group of mandalorian hunters were coming in to make trades and buy things for the rest of their people. Some how, in the past you had always managed to miss the warriors. You would say your father did it on purpose, but it is not like the mandalorians let you all know when they were going to be showing up, they just always appeared out of pretty much thin air and leave just as quickly. You knew from your stock at the shop that your father dealt with them in some way, shape, or form because of the nice stock of furs and fleeces your would have replenished at least every other month. All you knew was that this was going to be the first time you would see their kind in person, and not just from rumors and stories that you had heard about through out your life.

After it had dawned on you, you had also gotten up with a giddy nervousness and walked back over to your stall. At your stall you had made yourself busy by tidying up the clothing items and making sure things looked nice as you watched the group of four enter the square and start at one of the farmers’ stalls. From the looks of it, it was pretty easy to tell who was incharge among the group. He was taller than the other, so much taller, towering over even Farmer Jani who was six foot some inches himself. The leader also had an impressive aura about him that just oozed power and control, a demeanor that all but dared you to speak out of turn or try and rip off him or his people. The last real defining feature of the man you assumed to be the leader was his armorered helmet, while the other three’s were plain maybe only having paint on theirs’, his was decorated two sets of horns, the lower pair were thicker and curved around the bottom of his helmet and started roughly behind where you would expect his ears to be, the other set were smaller and less thick and sprouted from the sides of his temples curving straight up before tampering out in a slight curve near the points almost in a bull like fashion.

You had not realized that you had been staring until his helm slowly turned towards you, and you were almost certain that the two of you had made eye contact purely from the chill that traveled down your spine when his head had frozen. While holding your gaze, you saw him tilt his head, followed by his closest associate, a man in complete silver armor, to glance over as well and you could only assume the two were exchanging words. Then he mandalorian in the horned helmet turned completely to you and started walking your way, making your mouth go dry. The only thoughts running through your head was, “did I offend him” and “oh maker please don’t let him do anything bad”.

When his hulking figure stopped in front of you, your panicking mind would only let a singular thought through as you stared up at him, “Kriff, he’s even bigger up close”. Taking a deep breath you smiled up at him, still worried you’d upset him and you meekly asked, “H-hello, is there something I can help you with, sir? Some mending or new clothing perhaps?”

He replied with a grunt, looking around the stall, as if just noticing where he was at, before he gently reached for your left hand, grabbing it and bringing it to the center of his chest and saying, in a voice that was unfairly attractive, “Marry me.”

It took you a whole minute to process what he said, and your face immediately dropped, staring at the horned mandalorian, you shockingly said, “Excuse me?”

Attempt two.

The second time that the man, who you now knew for sure to be the mandalorian clan’s leader, Paz Vizsla, tried to propose to you was in a different situation, but at the same place. Your father had fallen ill for the past week and you had been forced to go to the market by yourself while he slept so that you could grab some medicines as well as replenish your food supply that was starting to get very low. You hadn’t wanted to go, waiting until you absolutely had to go. After your strange encounter with the mandalorian clan leader that ended with him declaring, to everyone in the market, that he was going to get you to say yes to his proposal even if it took him his entire lifetime, well you had understandably been avoiding anywhere and everywhere he may be.

It had been about a month since Leader Vizsla’s first proposal and since that time, you have had your father do most of your shopping as well as staying back at the shop on the days he wanted to set up the booth at the market. He knew and understood your reasoning behind avoiding the market, but he also had been joking with you that have a mandalorian son wouldn’t be so bad, that he would be a better spouse than many of the boys in the village. You couldn’t exactly disagree with him on either point, but you just couldn’t except the proposal with it being the first time you both had met, and neither of you knowing a thing about the other. It just didn’t feel right at all.

Today though, you had shown up at the market, trying to come at the latest possible second hoping that if the mandalorians had come that day, they would have already gotten their things and left. The downside was you were forced to pick through the picked over vegtables, fruits, and meats that the others had not wanted throughout the day. You wouldn’t complain though, because at least at this time of day the evening breeze was blowing and the startings of an orange sky from the setting sun gave everything a beautiful glow.

You had talked with many of the women you were friends with, catching up on all of the news that you had missed in your absence. Many of them saying that they missed you coming to the market, and to your relief no one brought up the events of your last market visit. Though it did seem like each and everyone of the booths you had gone too had the owners shooting glances over your shoulder, but each time you checked there was nothing or no one there. It didn’t change the fact that you also were feeling like someone was watching you, but you tried to just chalk that up to it being one of the villagers in the market, there was always someone watching someone as they walked around the booths.

It was as you were picking out your meat cuts to take home, that you felt someone come up behind you. Thinking it was just another customer, you moved to the side slightly to allow them to look as well without being in the way. You had been talking to the butcher when the person had walked up, and he had excused himself for a second before coming back with a large cut of fresh meat and added to the few items you had already picked out.

“Um, Simon, as lovely as that looks, I cannot afford that cut. Plus I am sure there is someone else here in town that could use that more,” you said with a kind, but confused smile. He acted like he was going to reply, but then the other person at the booth spoke up and you froze as you heard the deep familiar rumbling voice.

“No, mesh’la, that is for you. I caught and cut the animal myself. I wanted to bring you a gift.”

You turned your head to look up at him, realizing he was standing directly next to you. You had to close you eyes and take a deep breath. The gesture was definitely not one you were expecting, and honestly it was hard to argue you didn’t want it when your resources were so lacking at the moment, but a the same time you feared that if you accepted such a gift, than he would use that to twist you into making you marry him. Your doubts must have been crystal clear on your face, because he then said, “The gift is just that, a gift, mesh’la. Though I had hoped that it would show you that I could provide for you and our family. You would want for nothing if you married me.”

‘Clan Leader Vizsla, I cannot accept such a gift when I have nothing to give you in return…”

“I ask nothing of you in return, if not your agreement of marriage, but I will not force you hand. I will be persistent and ask you everytime I see you though because I do know that you are the one I want by my side,” then he turned to Simon and nodded before pulling out the credits for the meat there, passing it to Simon as you tried to protest again. Then he turned to you as he slipped the meats into your basket and said, “So?”

“Leader Vizsla, please. We don’t even know eachother, I can’t marry you.”

Attempt Three.

The cold had crept into your small village, leaves turning from greens to oranges, reads, yellows, and purples, by the time you saw him next. This time you had given up on avoiding the market, especially after learning that Clan Leader Vizsla had been showing up before the sun rose with his other warriors and staying until the market closed by himself having sent the others ahead of him, and just staying and waiting for you to make and appearance. For some reason after you had been told that you had flushed and had to bite your cheek so to try and force down the smile that ept trying to pop up on your face. You still did not know much about the man, but you did know that his actions had proven that he was serious in his pursuit of your hand.

With the weather getting cold, your father, now fully recovered from the illness he had struggled with, had decided he did not want to sit in the cold and risk getting sick again so the two of you stayed in the shop. Your father had run upstairs to your small home for something when you heard two people enter the back door, as you were mending a dress. Gently setting everything down you made your way to the back of the store, coming face to face with the Clan Leader once more, as well as the silver mandalorian from the first time you had met him. You could see Leader Vizsla perk up, straightening his back and almost trying to show off his size and power the second you walked in. The action almost made you laugh, almost. The man beside him gave off a sigh, before saying, “Your father is he here?”

“He is. He just ran upstairs, may I help you with something,” you answered the mandalorian as you watched his leader almost look fidgety with you there, or maybe it is because you were talking to the other mandalorian and not him.

The silver mandalorian nodded in reply, and said, “We have brought in the furs of our hunts, in trade for some new, warmer clothes for the children of the clan.”

You smiled and replied saying, “Of course! May I see what you have brought in?”

As the silver man turned to grab the furs, you watched as the clan leader turned quicker and set them on the table next to you, and said, “Here, mesh’la.”

You only smiled kindly at him, as you took your time looking over the furs, only really stopping once to run your fingers through a beautiful and softer ginger colored fur, which caused Leader Vizsla to step closer and say, “Beautiful, isn’t it? It came from a smaller beast we had been tracking for weeks. Her beauty reminded me of you, especially with how she fought.”

This time you couldn’t help but to laugh at his attempt at flirting, before you said, “Of course, nothing is more romantic than telling the person you want to marry that you thought about them as you killed a creature.”

Behind you you heard a barking laugh come from the silver mandalorian who had been looking through clothes and listening to your conversation. Without turning around or stopping his task, he said, “I like this one, vod. This one I can see keeping you in check.”

Said mandalorian just slumped slightly in embarrassment, before he turned to you and said, “I guess now would not result in a yes to my proposal either?”

You only shook your head, immediately sobering up and pushing your fingers though the soft fur again, brushing against his finger accidentally, before saying, “You are a good man, I can tell, but it just doesn’t feel right for me to accept your offer. I am sorry.”

Attempt Four.

Not as much time had passed since you had last seen the mandalorians in your shop since you had been asked for the third time to marry their leader. In fact it had only been about a week when he showed up at your shop again, with a small bunch of fall flowers and a bag on his side. After getting over the initial shock of seeing him there right at closing and so soon after the incident with the furs, you took the flowers with a smile and a quick thank you, as that familiar heat started rising in your face once again.

“I wanted to ask if you would like to have dinner with me, mesh’la.”

“Dinner?”

The man nodded, and after a second of thought, you allowed your gut to overrule your head, and you agreed. After telling your father and leaving the flowers in some water you walked back to where he stood patiently and asked, “And where exactly are we having this dinner?”

He only tilted his head down to look at you, and you got the feeling that he was just smirking at you before he held his hand out and only replied, “It is a surprise, mesh’la.”

Cautiously, you laid your hand in his own before, which as soon as it was in his grasp he lifted it to his chest right above his heart, before lacing your fingers with his own larger ones and leading you away from the shop. During your walk to where ever you were going you both were silent for the most part until he lead you to a smaller building on the outskirts iof the village. On the outside the building didn’t look like much at all, but the second you walked in you found that your armorered companion most likely decorated the place for this dinner. There was a nice fire going in the fireplace against one wall keeping the place warm and casting the singular room in a soft orange glow. Next to the fire stood a small table, short enough that you both could sit comfortably of the furs laid out on th ground as you ate. On the table sat a couple of candles for more light, as well as plates and utensils. The remaining open space was filled with more of the flowers that he had brought to you, there petals scattered around and in the light they look even more soft and delicate.

The mandalorian lead you inside and helped you down onto one of the sides of the table, before settling next you you and pulling off the bag he had been carrying.

“I did not know what your favorite foods were, mesh’la, so I just made a bunch of traditional mandalorian foods so you could try a little of everything. If that is okay with you?”

“That, actually sounds amazing, Leader Vizsla, but your helmet? I thought your people couldn’t remove it in front of others,” as soon as the words left your mouth, he tilted his head down, before replying, “Please, mesh’la, call me Paz, and… there is a loophole. We are not to show our faces to anyone but our spouses or children, so that just means you cannot look at my face. I had thought…”

“Thought what, Cla-... Paz,” he looked up at you when you said his name, it felt heavy and sweet in your mouth and you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that you could get used to saying his name. Softly, Paz raised his hand and brushed his knuckles against your cheek, before lowering his voice and saying, “Mesh’la, I thought that I may blindfold you and feed you, if you were okay with that of course. I would be satisfied just to sit here and watch you enjoy the foods that I have brought.”

Your silent for a moment as you think about his offer. You trusted him, he had never given you a reason not to, and you fully believed he was a good man, that he would not harm you in anyway. So with your heart thundering in your chest, you nodded and watched as he pulled out a smooth cloth and placed it softly over your eyes and carefully tying it there. When he finished, you could only see the the outline of his shape being lit by the fire through your blindfold. Shortly after he had the cloth secured, you heard a slight hiss and watched as his outline lost the bulky horns, then he whispered, his voice now clear and soft, but some how even deeper than with the helmet, “Okay, mesh’la, what would you like to start with? I brought all kinds of flavors and dishes…”

Dinner progressed with Paz tentatively feeding you a bite of one dish, explaining anything and everything about it. Some dishes he talked about the significance of it in their culture, other dishes he would talk about a memory he had that was linked to the dish, or even just giving you a bite and waiting for your reaction before saying that it was one of his favorites to eat and make. By the time the food was eaten and you were fuller than you could ever remember being in your life. You were content and happy and warm, and a feeling of something else was starting to creep into your heart, something that made you want to just smile constantly, something that made you feel warm and fuzzy with every word Paz said.

Once he finished a story about Din, the silver mandalorian and his brother, the two of you sat in content silence for a second before Paz leaned forward, placing his forehead against your own, and said, “Mesh’la, this was nice, I am glad you agreed to this….but I must ask again, because each day without you next to me hurts, love, mesh’la, please, marry me…”

You looked down at your lap with a sigh, and started playing with your fingers. Taking a deep breath and said, “Paz, you know that I can’t… it just-”

“Doens’t feel right. I know mesh’la, but you know I had to ask.”

Attempt Five.

Since your dinner with Paz, you haven’t been able to get off your mind. His voice, or image always floating at the edges of your mind. Months passed and you hadn’t seen nor heard from him or the other mandalorians since that night. You told yourself you weren’t worried, that you were just curious, but it was always half hearted, and never fully convincing. Your father even picked up on your change. Noticing you whip around everytime someone walked into the store only to slump over, he watched as you walked around the market, always looking around for some thing or someone even while chatting with others.

Then your father started getting sick again, and instead of getting better his health just continuously kept slipping further and further away from you. One evening as you were helping him he his dinner he said, “My darling girl, why do you never say yes to the mandalorian? It is obvious you have feelings for him, and I just want you to be happy. I want you to be with some one who will keep you safe, that will never leaving you wanting for anything, and he can do that for you.”

“Dad please, I...I don’t know what I feel for Paz. He is a great man, and I know he would take care of me, I just. I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right…”

Your father other nodded and then told you he was tired, smiling you kissed his forehead and wished him a goodnight, walking over to the kitchen to clean up dinner.

Your father’s condition stayed much the smae for a couple of weeks, until one evening after you closed up the shop and walked upstairs to check on him before making dinner. At a glance it looked like he was peacefully asleep on his, back, but something nagged at you to go in and check on him and you are both happy and sad that you did. Just brushing your fingers along his cheek and seeing the color gone from his face let you know that he was gone. Biting your lip, you walked downstairs crying and commed the doctor asking him to come over. In the time while you were waiting, you had sat down in your sewing chair and started crying. You sat there for you didn’t know how long watching ass the doctor came and confirmed what you already knew. You turned your head as the doctor took him away from the house with a singular, “I am sorry for your loss.”

You stayed down in the shop for hours, just crying and watching the sun disappear from the sky. Time passed and flowed with you unaware, only able to watch out the window of the shop emotionless and mourning.

It was only when you felt a hand on your shoulder, that you moved, and even then it was only a slow tilt of your head upwards, where you found the now safe and familiar horned helmet looking down towards you. You only sighed and shook your head, having run out of tears either minutes or hours ago. You heard Paz faintly whisper your name, but you didn’t acknowledge him only staring out the window. Paz then moved, so that he was kneeling in front of you and grabbed your face.

“Mesh’la, please. I know you are hurting, I came to see you and I saw them take him away. Please, let me take you away, come with me to the clan, where I can take care of you…”

And for some reason, even though his words were only meant with the best of intentions, but they just made you angry. Now was not the time for this little game you both had been playing, now was not the time for him to be sweeping in here and trying to play the doting lover. Pulling away from him, you stood up and walked away from him with a pained expression, wanting to get away from him, but his reflexes being too quick to fully getaway. By the time you had reached the other side of the room, he was already right next to you, and you just turned and pushed against his chest, trying to punch at him but he kept catching your fists, trying to tell you to stop so you wouldn’t hurt yourself.

“Go. A. Way. Paz,” you turn away from him and wrapped your arms around yourself, “PLease just leave, I… I can’t do this right now,” then you walked upstairs, leaving him there and locking the door behind you.

Last Attempt.

It had been a month. A month since you buried your father and a month since you had seen Paz and your heart ached. You missed your father, the person you were closest within this galaxy, but you also missed Paz and felt guilty for the way you had reacted. He had only been trying to help you, he wanted to take care of you in your time of grief and mourning. And you had just tried to hurt him, you pushed him away and now, you hadn’t seen or heard from him. You knew that the mandalorians, including him, had been visiting the market, Din had come by a couple of times to trade furs for clothes and mendings. You always wanted to ask about Paz, but you never felt brave enough. Always thinking that you have finally just managed to push him away for good, and just as you were starting to allow yourself to feel things for him.

Days passed and you found yourself feeling lonelier and lonelier. Some days you couldn’t pull yourself from bed long enough to even open the shop, and your market trips all but stopped, not being able to handle the pitying looks that were shot your way. But you still needed food, so trips were necessary, but now you went first thing in the mornings. The mornings always empty and you had the place to yourself besides the booth owners. You chatted and shopped and tried to seem happy, but it always seemed like there was a deep underlying sadness you couldn’t shake.

Then, one morning, as you were standing by the butcher’s booth, you felt someone come up behind you and much like the first time you watched Simon pull out a nice piece of fresh meat, and you heard the voice you had been aching behind you say, “Mesh’la I hope you won’t fight me this time. You look tired and like you haven’t been eating. I am sorry for what i did and said during our last meeting but I miss you.”

You turn to look at him with a soft smile and sad eyes right as he says, “I will only ask you one last time, meshla, will you please stand by my side and let me give you everything in my power, let me make you happy?”

“Paz...I,” and you saw him slump, before you reached up and cupped the cheek of his helmet, “Paz, I am sorry for how I overreact. Maker I have missed you, how my heart has been broken without you...Yes, Paz, yes.”

Tags: @ollovaemisc @kikiinden @bunny-fair @shellyc9 @just-someone11 @elinedjarin @zukoyonce @nativeomega369 @equalstrashflavoredtrash @itsnottilly @haapeaness @jennacide02 @space-kates @lovecatsnotpeople @rubyuris @boomtownboy @misguidedandbeguiled @kgbtardis @beskarprincessjenny @bluewritesao3 @goblinsimp @phoenixhalliwell @stargazingthenightaway @aeuna1 @joculatrices @soggy-platee @loudicrous @themaskismyface @maybege @alittletosalted @mysticalgalaxysalad @pucksart @blondecity @latenightsthoughtsnstuff @tacticalsparkles @shove-an-ass-up-my-stick

(Thank you all for reading! I hoped you enjoyed the story and all LIKES and/or REBLOGS are super appreciated! Love you guys!)

Also I am planning on making a google form so I can make up some taglists so keep an eye out for that!!

[bluesilksilverspurs]

So, a little intro piece to what I hope will be quite a few pieces about Nikolai. This part is SFW, but the rest will definitely most likely not be :)

F!reader x Nikolai Zinoviev

"Something planned for this evening?" His voice was cool, and unexpected. Sometimes you forgot there was even anyone else in the dim room, the quiet and the faint, still light thrown by blue screens suggesting solitude. You knew he preferred it that way. Wesker wasn't one for small talk.

Turning, you looked along the console to him. An imposing figure, all the more so since the Mansion Incident, Wesker was sitting watching you, his long fingers splayed on the arms of the leather chair.

You felt suddenly self-conscious. You weren't wearing anything risqué - you'd changed into a pair of smart black jeans, a dark blue top that suggested a hint of cleavage. The necklace at your throat sparkled silver in the light above you. But still, you felt suddenly naked, as though he could see through you, as transparent as water.

"I'm meeting a friend for dinner."

Wesker didn't say anything at first, but his fingers drummed very softly on the armrest. When you didn't elaborate, he continued.

"A friend we have in common?"

It was a question, but it came out sounding like a statement. You swallowed. Why were you nervous? You weren't doing anything wrong. Were you?

"Nikolai."

He stared at you for a beat longer, then turned his head to the bank of monitors on his left. His gloved hand tapped a few times on the keypad beside him. Your cheeks burned.

"He's a dangerous man. You should take care with the company you keep."

A nervous giggle bubbled from your lips, and you flashed a smile at him.

"Dangerous men seem to be the only company I keep these days."

Wesker smirked at you, but his gaze had drifted. His attention was already on something else. "Have fun, then."

"Thanks."

You pressed your palm against the release mechanism for the door and walked out of the darkened room, blinking in the sudden harsh glare of the corridor. White and chrome, stretching for miles, it seemed. Given how many people worked in this facility, it was strange that you barely saw anyone. Well, it wasn't strange on this particular floor. Here it was quiet, austere, the atmosphere monastic. People rarely came here, unless to deliver bad news, or receive it.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime, and you stepped inside. There, three versions of yourself stared back at you, identical eyebrows raised in identical appraisal. You looked okay, you thought. This was a fairly balanced assessment - your inner critic might be lying dormant, but you knew it wouldn't take much to coax her out. Instead, you combed your fingers through your hair, teasing out strands on each side of your face. You'd put on a little make-up - nothing much, only a slick of mascara, really - and you tried a shaky smile. The nerves exploded in your stomach.

There was no point in asking yourself why you were nervous. Nikolai Zinoviev was a mercenary, a ruthless man who played badly with others. But he had a wry sense of humour that delighted you, an odd chivalry about him, and eyes that were surprisingly doe-like for a trained killer. You thought him tremendously handsome, but not the kind of man you would normally be attracted to (here your mind scoffed. He was rather a lot like the kind of men you were normally attracted. Your current employer being a former case in point). If you were honest, you didn't think he would be interested, not in you, nor maybe anyone else. Certainly not for anything more than a quick fuck. So it had surprised you when he asked if you'd join him tonight.

Maybe a quick fuck was all he wanted. You didn't know. It had been a long time since you'd been on any type of date at all - working as a contact for powerful men manipulating the balance of power was exhausting, time-intensive and secretive, in effect making it almost impossible to have an intimate relationship. You didn't want to lie to anyone, or present yourself as something other than you were. You knew what your job was - you were good at it, and you were loyal, which is probably why Wesker had kept you around for so long. You knew that you weren't working for the good guys, although sometimes you could see the logic in the moves that were made. It didn't matter anyway. Good, or bad, there would always be casualties, always be compromises, always deals struck and undone. The money was good, and you were respected, although sometimes you thought that might be, in part, because of who your direct boss was.

Your job was how you had met Nikolai in the first place. You wore many hats and spun many plates for Wesker, but your chief responsibility was the allocation of contracts. At your fingertips was a database of the world's mercenaries, private armies, general guns for hire. Wesker told you what he wanted, you arranged to have it done. Simple. Most of the time, a quick encrypted message was enough to a familiar contact - a straightforward job needing executed. Other times it was more complicated, and for this you would meet contacts to discuss the details, and their compensation. Sometimes they bartered for price, but not always. Not even often, really. Wesker was well-connected and had deep pockets. His contracts were sought after, not merely because of the good pay, but because of the good graces it could land a mercenary in. Wesker might be above the interpersonal politics, but you remembered who you liked to work with, and who was unreliable, or a headache.

You liked to work with Nikolai.

Reliable, efficient, handsome. What more could an agent ask for?

You had reached the front door of the building. Sometimes you wondered if people really did believe this was simply the headquarters of an international manufacturer of lab equipment. The original story had been a HR company, but it was thought too hard to explain the delivery trucks coming in and out. You did wonder what people thought about the helicopters that came and went. It didn't matter. The town was in Wesker's pocket, or rather, in the pockets of the companies that he hid behind. Dark shades hiding dark intentions.

The company car was waiting at the kerb, and you slid into the back seat. The driver pulled away smoothly, heading downtown. You wondered if this is how Wesker had known you had plans, but you couldn't begin to guess how he suspected it was Nikolai you were meeting. It didn't really matter, you supposed. You wouldn't have lied to him. You didn't lie to Wesker and get away with it. If the man wanted to know something, then he could find it out easily enough.

The lights seemed to flicker and blur as the car moved between traffic. You would be early, most likely, but you didn't mind waiting. Maybe you'd even have a drink to calm your nerves, although drinking wasn't something you tended to do. You didn't like feeling out of control.

Soon, the car was pulling up outside a small bar. Inside, you could see patrons milling about, people drinking, heads close together. You hadn't picked the venue, but you'd read favourable reviews in the local press. You thanked the driver, pressed a crisp $20 into his hand and, taking a deep breath, got out of the car.

"Ah, Miss L/n!" The Russian accent was unmistakable, smooth and dark and dizzying. You startled, and he laughed, pushing away from the wall he'd been leaning against. "I am sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you."

The blush that was furiously spreading across your cheeks deepened as your eyes flitted across him. He seemed impossibly tall, even though you weren't particularly short, and he was wearing a smart grey linen jacket and a pale shirt over dark trousers. Even in civilian clothes, he was intimidating, but he made you feel…. safe, somehow. You knew what he had done, what he did for a living. You knew how dangerous he could be. But you didn't feel threatened by him. You smiled.

"It's alright, I just…. Well, I'm early - it didn't occur to me that you would be early too."

"I don't like a lady to have to walk into a bar unescorted." His expression was playful, and you relaxed a little.

"And they say chivalry is dead." Linking your hand into the crook of his proffered arm, you walked into the bar with him. Were you imagining it, or were people staring? Did anyone recognise either of you? Was there anyone here doing surveillance? You shook your head a little, as though trying to shake loose the thoughts. You knew Nikolai would have already run recce here. It was fine.

"Reservation, sir?" The maitre d' asked, his tone polished and bright. Nikolai smiled at the man, and you marvelled at how personable he could appear to be. You knew about his reputation. You knew about his propensity for manipulation, for ingratiating himself with people - you knew this, and worried about it, and somehow were drawn to him anyway. Maybe you had no sense of self-preservation after all.

"Novikov."

You didn’t let your eyes leave the maitre d' and his gloved hand running his pencil down the gilt-lined book, never giving away the sleight in name.

"Ah yes, sir. Yes. Please, follow me." The man made a sweeping gesture and stepped nimbly round the varnished table, and you allowed Nikolai to lead you through the bar. There were booths in the back, curved backs, sleek tables, lined along the wall, but the maitre d' led you off to the left and through a sedate black door. Behind it, there was a staircase, lit with tiny blown-glass lamps, like little frosted irises blooming with soft light. You looked up at Nikolai through your eyelashes as he held the door open for you to go through, and you both followed the man up the stairs.

With a subtle flourish, the man opened the door at the top. The room that you walked into was not as large as the bar down stairs, but there were a small number of fine booths lining the walls. Some of them were occupied, some were empty, but your eyes were drawn to the baby grand sitting on a little plinth in the centre of the room, a tall vase frothing with lilac-coloured flowers beside it. A man in coat and tails sat there, momentarily paused to take a sip of his drink and converse with one of the patrons.

"I didn't know this place was here." You admitted, feeling strangely naïve as you slid into the booth indicated by the maitre d'. The man took your drink orders and then left, and Nikolai looked at you properly for the first time.

"You look very lovely this evening. A little nervous, perhaps, but lovely."

"You look very lovely yourself, Mr. Novikov." Your smile was flirtatious, genuine. It felt as though this was the first thing you had done in an age that wasn't work. It probably was. He laughed.

"Makes sense to keep a low profile. I doubt they'd buy my name was Jones, or Smith, though. Not with this accent."

"You know, I was kind of surprised when you asked if I'd join you tonight." Your fingers played with the edge of the heavy linen napkin, lining it neatly perpendicular to the table edge. Why was it so hard to look at him all of a sudden?

His large hand covered yours, stilling your anxious fidgeting. His skin was warm - a corresponding warmth seemed to bloom low in your belly.

"Why?"

Why, indeed. You glanced up and found his eyes intent on you, his expression intense. His thumb grazed back and forth along the underside of your wrist, the movement mesmerising, tracing the thrum of your pulse.

"I guess I just never imagined you as the kind of man who'd go out for dinner." Or be interested in me. You smiled, "I don't know why I thought you would be working 24/7. Maybe it's because I've only seen you in a work capacity til now."

"There's a lot of things you don't know about me, Miss L/n". His smile was wolfish, sharp. That feeling in your belly made you shift in your seat, pressing your thighs tight together beneath the welcome cover of the table.

"I'll bet."

The smile on his face softened, and he let go of your hand, breaking the breathless feeling of falling, of your mind racing like a rabbit in the parts of your mind you normally kept the doors closed on.

"Let's spend this evening getting to know a few more things about each other, hm?" He raised his glass to you, and you mirrored him, shy and alive.

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

dearest comfy <3 what if Triss was a blacksmith AND Eskel was a blacksmith??? What then?? Enemies to lovers maybe? <3

Ellie. I love you. I love this prompt. And I love Trisskel. This is a triple threat of wonderfulness. Hopefully the fic delivers 💖💖

Warnings: no violence, some hostile Triss (mostly internal), lmao is this considered idiot and exasperated to lovers? idk you tell me, its pretty chill tbh, unless you don’t like daggers. there's lots of daggers. 

_____________________

Triss was furious. 

She had spent her whole life stoking a furnace, shadowing her father, sweating, suffering burn after burn and later cut after searing cut as she learned to forge all sorts of weaponry. Now, this teddy bear-shaped child was setting up shop in her courtyard?! Unacceptable. Unbelievable! She’d staked a claim on her territory for market day early. So early she hadn’t even made her first blade. Her father still had her hammering out decorative discs and fastenings for armor. 

One of her customers had the audacity to call him ‘cute’ to her face.

He was no more than twenty-five, tall and stocky like most people expected of a blacksmith, but they claimed there was a softness about him. Triss remembered that softness well, before loss and responsibility really set in. What others saw as sweet, boyish charm she saw as a weakness. 

She sent her assistant to assess his booth, maybe flirt and ask some questions, and was even more annoyed when they came back. 

“He’s young but he’s not inexperienced. His blades are good. So is his uh… customer service.” 

Triss rolled her eyes, “What kind of weapons was he selling? I don’t care about his looks. I have breasts.”

Her assistant shrugged and described his table. 

That following week she put in double the hours at her workshop, put the extra flourish on every piece, perfected every detail until her arms ached and her head pounded. She often forgot to drink water, let alone eat, when she got worked up, so her assistant brought her meals. 

When the next market day came, she proudly displayed her new wares.

And if she took her hair out of the usual braids and unbuttoned her blouse a bit lower than last week, who would be brave enough to point it out?

This time the newcomer had the gaul to visit her booth. 

“Good morning, Miss Merigold,” he dipped in a bow of respect before she even turned around to greet him, straightening up and disarming her with a lopsided grin, “My apologies, I meant to introduce myself after last week’s market. But you were far more efficient at break-down than I.” 

She wouldn’t have called him cute by a long shot. He was downright handsome.

Then she remembered they were rivals. There would be no fraternizing with the enemy.  

It took her a moment to gather her wits before she responded, “Good morning. To whom do I owe the pleasure?”

She knew. 

Of course she knew. But he was far better looking than she had assumed, his scars only adding to his alluring presence, and she needed to feel like she had the upper hand. 

His smile grew a bit sheepish, “Eskel of the Blue Mountains. I’m your new neighbor… sort of,” he offered his hand over her table and she took it, hoping her hesitation wasn’t too obvious. 

“Welcome. I hope the city is treating you well?” 

“Well enough,” he acquiesced, letting go of her hand after a moment, “To be truthful, I haven’t left my forge much at all. I’m still getting used to her. But you know how that goes.” 

Triss raised her eyebrows and plastered an over-polite smile on her face, “I must say I wouldn’t. I inherited my forge from my father. I learned with her. We get along quite well.” 

Eskel was called by someone from his booth as he made to speak. He waved at them to wait a moment and turned back to Triss with a wink, “Well if you have any relationship advice, let me know.”

Before she could think of a polite but not too friendly response, he was gone. 

She turned back to her assistant in a huff, “He’s infuriating.” 

“He’s dreamy.”

“Hush,” she snapped, pointing to her sketch pad, “Hand me that. Call for me if there’s a large sale or a problem.”

She sketched and planned half the day away. But when she realized how much the materials for her plans would cost she adjusted her cleavage and left her tent. Someone had to drive the hard bargain around here, and she knew her assistant was too kind. 

The next week she arrived with a beautiful set of delicate-looking throwing knives, a few different ornate daggers, and a sword fit for a king alongside her typical, practical items. However, she was seeing more than just her flowing hilt designs inlaid with etchings. 

Eskel seemed to have had a similar idea.

She wandered past his booth, pretending to buy fabric from the stall next to him, and fumed. It seemed Eskel had a sharper eye than she’d anticipated. He very clearly mimicked her setup and emphasized the smaller wares like she did. He even had the same sign in three different languages about customizations and bulk orders.

This had become all out war. 

When her sword sold that day she decided to finish off the dozen or so she had laying in wait for specific orders over the week. She even detailed a breastplate to match for three of them, guessing at the size in reference to the sword as best she could. As she worked she mulled over her new competition. His soft golden eyes that crinkled ever so slightly when he smiled were absolutely aggravating. At least that’s what she told herself. It was simply her competitive nature that had her fixating on this mountain of a man. 

She returned the next week with a spread so large she could barely fit it on her table.

Eskel had come back with daggers inlaid with precious stones of dazzling pale blue and sparkling greys and whites. Blue Mountains indeed.

Polite customers started mumbling comparisons to themselves while the brash ones outwardly used the other stall to barter a better price. Every time Eskel was mentioned Triss would bristle, hold back a snarl, and turn on every bit of innocent charm she had. 

She began leaving with a lighter cart and a challenging wink from her competition. Over the week she worked her fingers to the bone over fine details and getting the balance absolutely perfect. 

After months of competition, months of uncomfortable eye contact, she finally broke when he sold a matching helmet, breastplate, and dagger to one of her most loyal customers. 

“Eskel. We need to have a word,” she marched right up to his tent, hands tucked into her half apron at her waist. 

He smirked, “That all?”

She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest, “We can’t keep making the same things.”

“Pretty daggers and ceremonial armor? Why not?” he mimicked her, folding his massive arms over his own chest, leaning back against his table, making him just a little bit taller than Triss rather than the usual towering over her. 

She rolled her eyes and stepped a little closer, “We’ve both done well, or I’m assuming you have, but eventually all the nobility this side of the canal will have been sold to. We’ll have saturated the market and be left with an armory full of ornate weaponry with no one to buy it.”

“Preserving the market means one gets to keep said market.”

Triss nodded but Eskel seemed unimpressed. 

“And how would you suggest we settle who keeps it?” he raised an eyebrow at her and she just wanted to smack the smug look off his face. Or kiss it. She really wasn’t sure anymore. 

She scrambled for a moment, not having entirely thought this through, “A competition.”

He stood to full height and sighed, “What are the terms?”

“One dagger. Same price. Whoever sells first gets the market. The other has to branch out or move.”

Eskel nodded and held his hand out, “Agreed.”

Triss went to take his hand but he gripped her forearm, his whole hand covering much of her elbow. She did her best not to think about how strong his arm felt in her grasp, how when she squeezed she felt a gentle give before she hit muscle. 

He winked at her as he released his grasp and turned back to work, “See you next week Merigold.” 

Triss worked on a single dagger all week. 

She couldn’t get Eskel’s stupid cocky smile or his tanned arms out of her head. The way he looked down at her with that condescending smile enraged her. Her assistant claimed he looked more fond than condescending, but Triss only narrowed her eyes and shook her head. She’d been raised in the marketplace. She knew exactly how men viewed her. 

In the end, her dagger looked very fitting for a man like him. Broad, sturdy, a bit curved at the tip, and simply yet elegantly decorated. She cooled it in a liquid mixture her father had made and kept secret, giving the blade a finish similar to copper, but with all the strength of steel. 

If she noticed the coincidence she stubbornly ignored it. 

Eskel was already set up and waiting when she arrived at the market. She spared him only a curt nod while she set up her booth as if preparing for battle. 

He sauntered over to her before dawn had officially broken, blade in hand with what Triss might guess to be a nervous expression. 

“Good morning, Merigold,” he cleared his throat and set the dagger currently wrapped in cloth on the table between them, “What have you for our little competition?” 

Triss proudly pulled the dagger she had made from her case, handing it over by the hilt as she spoke, “Good morning, Eskel.”

He took the blade and hummed as he inspected it, whispering, “It’s beautiful...”

She wasn’t prepared for such a genuine compliment. Nor was she prepared for how much she loved hearing that word fall from his lips.

“Th-thank you.”

Eskel handed it back before unwrapping his.

Triss almost had to catch her breath. It was gorgeous, gracefully curved, a turquoise stone grip bordered by an ornate handguard. The part that really got her though was the engraving on the blade. She stepped out and around the table to catch more of the sunlight to see what it was and gasped. Little jasmine flowers were etched into the flat of the blade. 

She looked up at him in awe, “Why jasmine?”

He gave her a crooked smile, rubbing the back of his neck, “You, ahm- your perfume. It is jasmine right?” 

She tilted her head and really looked at him since the first time she met him, “You noticed my perfume?”

“It’s nice,” he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his leather apron pockets. 

Triss thought about all the winks and the ‘good mornings’ and compliments. She’d thought they were just to get her buttered up, but maybe she’d been a little harsher than she needed to.

“It’s stunning,” she breathed, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, not wanting to pull away from his warmth when she had to. 

They were interrupted by her assistant and set a price quickly before scurrying back to their tents. 

All day they would glance toward the other’s booth, but Triss was no longer checking his table. She was looking for him. His kind smile and boisterous laugh. His easy charm and especially his humility under pressure. 

All day she struggled with the realization that she was just a little bit in love with her competition. 

Nearing sundown she told her assistant to begin cleaning up and grabbed her coin purse before marching over to his stand once again. 

“Did you sell it?” Eskel looked disappointed and she was surprised to be glad to tell him no. 

“I have two things to say and I will only say them once, so listen carefully. I realize I’ve been unduly cold to you and I want to apologize. You’ve proven that you’re not only a skilled craftsman but seem to be a good man as well and you don’t deserve it. “

“Apology accepted,” Eskel grinned, leaning back on his table as he waited for her next item.

“Thank you. Now, I’d like to buy the dagger. The one with the jasmines.”

Eskel frowned, “You- you’re forfeiting?”

Triss bit her lip and forced herself to look him in his honey gold eyes, “Yes. Though I hope we can both agree to stay where we are? I think I might miss you if you leave.”

He grinned and pushed off the table, standing just inches from Triss now that he was upright. His hand hesitantly brushed a stray curl out of her eyes as he leaned closer, hesitating to give her time to leave if she wanted, before he brushed his lips against hers. She melted into him, wrapping her arms around his neck as they kissed. His hands covered her back, pressing her to him and nearly lifting her off her feet. 

When they parted they were gasping for breath they both wished they didn't need.

“What about a trade and a truce?” 

Triss nodded, standing up on her tiptoes to plant another kiss on his lips, “And dinner.”

Eskel chuckled, “I think that’s perfectly reasonable.” 

[fragileizywriting]

Hello love, I have a question to ask:

When did Marinette/Adrien realise how possessive/jealous Luka could get? And how does Luka express that jealousy/possessiveness? (And I'm not talking about the pillows, although it does amuse me to picture him being upset and just refusing to give them back even though they apologized.)

hi hi~~~ i love this question so much 🥺 i haven't stopped thinking about jealous luka, it's so cute

marinette finally officially announces it In Person in color coordinatin' that luka actually gets really jealous! but she'd suspected it multiple times before, honestly. the way he always seems to be in her shadow whenever they're in public, just close enough to make it obvious what he wants, which is her attention... he gets more upfront about it afterwards, because she's convinced him that he's not annoying her with it.

there's that whole tik tok audio "walking around alone but feeling safe because i have a big scary dog"-- it's hard for anyone to really approach marinette without extreme amounts of guts, idiocracy, or straight-up lust in their body when there's a giant six foot three / 195cm dude behind her, refusing to stop making eyecontact with anyone who gets close by. he makes it worse by wearing stompy boots that have a ridiculous amount of buckles on them-- now that luka has enough money (adrien) to buy all the clothes he wants, luka is slowwwwly making his way into more alternative attire. he has the entire outward appearance of a guard-dog at this point. literally no one has a chance against him. he doesn't mean to look so aggressive, he knows it causes people to stay away, but sometimes it pays off-- marinette finds herself with lots of people coming up to her when she's alone, so she's so thankful that luka doesn't mind following her around for errands. in fact, he loves walking with her around Paris. he likes being out of the house a lot-- she uses that to her advantage always, dragging him by the wrist to go day shopping with her.

he doesn't even have to do much, honestly, in order to show that he's jealous. a simple "are you ready to go?" when marinette is trying to get out of a conversation, with an arm wrapped around her, is enough for someone to get the memo.

he's never been aggressive to anyone, so he doesn't actually start fights. occasionally when he hears desires from other people about her, he gets really fidgety about it, but the most he'll do is show fangs or anything of the sort. maybe pull marinette a little closer. if he really needs to, he'll kiss her until she gets dazed out-- by the time he pulls away, the person is gone.

both of them refuse to let her sit on the outside part of the booth. they like being in her space. adrien especially likes to tease her, squishing her against the wall when they sit, just to annoy her-- luka does the opposite. he sits with her but doesn't do anything to show he's in her space-- most likely just an arm around the back of wherever she's sitting. and of course, the staring. luka always wins whenever he finds himself in a staring contest with whoever it is that's trying to get marinette's attention.

as for adrien, it's somewhat the same thing too. adrien is already far less approachable than marinette, so whoever it is doesn't stay long, but those who keep trying usually find themselves under the impression that perhaps yet another attractive man showing up is a sign of threesome-- they have no idea. they don't know any better. it isn't until adrien says something of "my boyfriend doesn't like it when strangers hit on me" that they realize that oh. those glares of sexual tension don't exist. those are just... glares. they hightail out of there almost immediately. luka is a lot more friendlier than adrien is, but he has such an aggressive appearance that the poor dude ends up scaring away anyone almost 90% of the time.

and of course. they either wait until luka is asleep to take their own pillows, or attempt to barter-- marinette suffocates into his chest when she tries to snag one and he ends up snatching her by the wrist while asleep and wrapping her up like he's hugging a stuffed animal-- and adrien sometimes just loses when luka looks at him with just so much disappointment. it's fine. sleeping without a pillow is in style, anyway.

[equalstrashflavoredtrash]

A Trip to the Market

WELP I JUST WENT AND WROTE A FIC FOR @cptnbvcks​ NOW SHE’S GOTTA FORGIVE ME FOR TALKING ABT FUCKING JAR JAR BINKS

This fic is really indulgent. Cus what this fandom totally needs is another fic abt groping in a cantina and then fuckin in alley. Anyway I hope you enjoy this horny mess i’ve made. This one’s for all my homies with thicc thighs! directily inspired by this post and then encougraged this idiot

Din DjarinX female!Reader (no y/n)//The Mandalorian

wordcount: 5.4k

warnings: SMUT, dom!Mando, bondage/ropes (not restraints tho), teasing, slight exhibitionism/sex in public, fingering, penetration, cockwarming, oral (f receving), some cum eating, aftercare, shibari **PLEASE NOTE: I DONT KNOW SHIT ABT SHIBARI, THIS FIC IS FANTASY, DO NOT USE IT AS A GUIDE. go learn abt it from someone who knows what they’re talking abt cus that’s not me lol

You hadn’t been sitting long when Mando arrived—crossing the threshold of the cantina exactly when he said he would, as punctual as ever. You watched as he surveyed the room, taking in every patron before moving from the entrance. He made his way across the dusty floor, his steps strong and sure as he approached your table.

Silently he slid in the booth, settling to sit directly next to you with his back to the wall. You had been mindful to choose a table in the back of the room, knowing his preference for positioning himself.  

“Have a good morning?” He asked, the visor of his helmet tilting towards you ever so slightly.

“We did,” you smiled, thinking about the little green toddler before taking a sip of your drink as you shifted your weight, adjusting to be more comfortably seated—your surprise for Mando proving to make sitting for an extended period quite awkward. “We went for a walk along the river and caught some toads. Little guy was worn out by the time we got back so he’s down for a nap right now instead of coming along. Any luck finding the lead on that bounty?” You fiddled with the cup in your hand, rocking the bottom of it against the stained wooden table as he hummed in response, the sound coming across crackled through his helmet.

“No.” Mando’s answer was clipped and you could tell he was distracted. Unable to see his eyes, it was impossible to know exactly what he was looking at, but you’d bet all your credits he had finally noticed the creep at the bar.

From the moment you had walked in he’d been staring, watching intently as you ordered your drink and sat down to wait for the Mandalorian. The stranger wore a wide brim hat pulled low over his brow, shading his face in the already dimly lit cantina. You had been stared at plenty of times before, but usually they stopped once they caught a glimpse of the Mandalorian. This guy though, he had continued to keep his head turned squarely in your direction.

“I’ve just been ignoring him,” you stated as you nudged Mando’s elbow with your own, pulling his attention back to you.

“I know,” he replied, still looking out, watching the room. “As long as he doesn’t try anything.”

You watched out of the corner of your eye as Mando’s hand started to move, pulling away from where it rested on the tabletop. Situations like this with the creep were nothing new, and both you and Mando realized that sometimes, certain displays were effective in getting a message across to strangers that wouldn’t leave you alone. When you were making plans earlier with Mando over the com-link, he suggested meeting up at the cantina, and you wondered if something like this would happen—but as his hand landed on the bare skin just below the hem of your skirt, you suddenly didn’t care.

The worn leather of Mando’s glove cupped your knee, giving a small squeeze before continuing to drift along your thigh. You bit your lip, trying to hide your smile—there was a bubble of excitement in your chest that was not only your normal jitters from feeling Mando’s hands on you, but an eagerness for him to discover…

His pinky bumped into it first. You could tell he had noticed by the way his touch hesitated before continuing. Once the rest of his fingers slid further up, stroking over each ridge of the eight woven cords binding around your thighs, his helmet spun around—his neck snapping to face you. You tried to flash him a face of innocence as if you had no idea why you suddenly had the ever-vigilant Mandalorian’s undivided attention.

Looping a finger through one one of the bands wrapped around your legs he tugged, feeling the soft give of your flesh against the coarse material. “Are these ropes?” he asked, his voice sounding low through the vocoder as the visor stayed even, trained on you. You could almost feel his gaze boring into you like blaster fire, watching for even the slightest hint of a tell.

“Uh-huh,” you confirmed with a quick nod. “Tied it myself.”

“I want to see—”

“No!” You spoke quickly, hands jumping to grab his forearm as you interrupted him before remembering to keep your voice low. “Mando, there’s people watching.” You raised your eyebrows, trying to make your point clear but you felt his touch tracing along the crisscrossing cords, following how they snaked around your curves.

You had taken your time before leaving the Razor Crest, starting at your waist and then moving to twist the rope to wrap around each leg four times. The loops were spaced evenly along outside of your thigh, crisscrossing into an alluring woven pattern that drew in towards your center. It had been a spur of the moment idea, a fun way to surprise the Mandalorian—and you were happy with the results so far. You felt secure with the cords winding around your hips and you knew he also enjoyed when you were bound like this—even if it was unusual for you to tie them yourself.

But Mando didn’t like your answer. Seeing his face wasn’t necessary to know he was annoyed, you could feel the warning in the way his hand tensed.

With a gulp you finished off your drink and left the empty cup on the table before moving away from him, scooting out of the booth. He didn’t try to hold you in your seat, letting your legs slide from under his hands. Gathering your things, you draped the strap of your messenger bag over your shoulder so the leather crossed your chest, resting comfortable between your breasts.

“I have a few errands I want to run, see if I can find one of those valves and maybe get some food.” You tried to keep your expression nonchalant, attempting to sound candid and not react to the way Mando was watching you. It was hard to tell just where he was looking but you were sure he was imagining you without your flowy orange sundress.

“Fine,” he sighed, his voice sounding like a huff through the distortion of the hemlet. Mando rose from his seat, standing over you before he gestured for you to lead the way.

You couldn’t remember the last time Mando had walked beside you. Usually he trailed two paces behind, keeping you directly in his range of vision as he scanned the surroundings—always on alert incase of a surprise—but now he stayed close, his shoulder occasionally bumping yours until he raised his hand to rest on the small of your back.

His fingers stroked along your hips—something small that seemed like an affectionate caress at first, but he was searching. Once he found the bump from the rope that looped around your middle under the fabric of your dress, he thumbed at it, idly strumming—and training your thoughts on his touch.

You tried to ignore him, searching the stalls as you moved through the open air market. Stepping away from his grasp, you approached a vendor, interested in the fruits they were selling. His hand had fallen from your back but Mando stayed within arm’s reach.

The Mandalorian appeared stoic as ever as you attempted to barter with the middle aged man who stood across the table of produce. The vendor had no way of seeing how Mando’s hand danced around the hem of your skirt behind you—the occasional brush of his fingertips against the back of your leg, or the way he would pinch and tug at your dress distracting you from the conversation at hand. His efforts paired with the language barrier lead you to struggle communicating and eventually give up, waving your hands and walking away.

Mando followed, ever the sentinel at your heels, until you halted to face him.

“Cut it out,” you hissed, feeling a familiar heat creeping into your cheeks from behind your ears. You wondered for a moment if he could tell—he mentioned once his visor had a sensor for changes in body temperature.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His helmet dipped, looking at you as he continued with a professional tone, “I’m just making sure you’re safe. We’re on a new planet, in a strange town surrounded by people. I think it’s prudent I stay close, don't you?”

With a huff you spun on your heel—if he was going to play it like that you’d have your own fun. As you turned you tried to add as much of a twist as you could, knowing well the way the dress’ light fabric flounced with abrupt movements. A subtle fling of your hand guided it to billow and lift, catching the air to reveal just enough. He most likely only saw the briefest glimpse of what you were hiding but you knew that was ample fodder.

You weren’t able to move quickly, the reality of wearing ropes wound around the apex of your thighs while walking in a humid climate was starting to make itself known—and just the feeling of Mando’s hands on you had been exciting enough to make you wet, a fact that was more apparent due to your lack of underwear.

It wasn’t long until Mando was on you again, his touch was more brazen; resting his palm over your ass rather than repeating the glancing touches from before. Reaching back you grabbed at his wrist and pulled his arm forward, hooking your elbow around his to hold him close and keep his wandering touch in place.

Spotting a vender with barrels of grain you steered Mando in her direction, knowing your pantry could always use more rice. This seller was an older woman and knew enough Universal Basic that you were able to discuss prices without much difficulty. As you went back and forth with the vendor, going through the ritual of haggling down to an agreement, you felt Mando’s arm slip away but paid it no mind.

It wasn’t until you turned to Mando to ask if he wanted beans too or not that you noticed he wasn’t there. Frantically you checked over your other shoulder then spun around, searching for the crowd for a glint of his beskar reflecting in the bright sun, but there was nothing, not a single piece of reflective metal in sight. Why would he just walk off without telling you?

Returning to look at the venor, you frantically tried to think how to simply ask for her help. “Please, did you see my—,” Fuck, what do you call Mando? Your boss? Your friend? “The Mandalorian, did you see where he went?” The woman didn’t seem at all concerned by your worried expression as she gestured to the alley around the side of the building she was set up in front of. “Thank you!” You called over your shoulder, already leaving to follow him.

“Mand—,” you started as you rounded the mudbrick corner, halting midstep as you spotted him. Mando was standing face to face with the creep from the bar. You had no clue what they were discussing but it was obvious to you that The Mandalorian was not about to fight him. His posture was relaxed, shoulders rolled back with his thumbs hooked around his belt buckle to rest his arms. If there was the possibility of something happening Mando’s hand would be much closer to his blaster.

Just as you had begun to will your feet to move, Mando and the stranger clasped each other’s forearms and let go, then the stranger then handed something off before turning away. Passing you as he made his exit, the man you had originally thought of as some creep gave you a friendly nod and smile.

“What was that about?” You asked as you stopped next to Mando, still watching the retreating figure over your shoulder.

“The lead I’ve been looking for.” Turning around you noticed what he had been given: a tracking fob with the light still blinking. “Apparently he’s been following me all day, watching. Heard me talking to you, that’s how he knew to be at the cantina.”

“Did you know someone was following you?”

“Of course,” Mando stated, tucking the device away safely into one of his many pouches. Suddenly his on edge behavior all day made a little more sense.

“Well, now that’s all settled,” You began, making to leave the shadowy alley and return to the market. “The lady at the stall was offering an extra half pound of beans for a reduced price if I—”

Mando stopped you mid sentence and stride by a single finger hooked around the rope—keeping you from moving forward in a lazy hold. “We’re not done here,” he admonished, jerking your hips back with a quick tug for added emphasis.

Your body’s reaction to his voice was instant; you could feel a hard pulse of want in your pelvis as he grabbed at your skirt. Bringing your hands to the strap of your bag, you nervously fiddled with it at the center of your chest, fighting the urge to stop his wandering touch even though you were aware of the constant threat of someone walking around the corner.

Mando continued to hold your skirt up with one hand—the fabric balled in a fist he kept resting in the small of your back—as the other dropped. His fingers traced along the ropes, following one from your hips down your thigh before returning back up to grab you ass and moving on to the other thigh. He seemed to be mapping every inch with his touch before he wrapped his fist around the cord at the side of your hip and pulled you to turn around.

Letting out a soft ‘oh’ in surprise you stumbled, falling back slightly until your shoulder blades bumped into the stone wall. “Hold your skirt up,” he ordered, his visor dipping to watch your hands as you grabbed the hem and lifted it like a curtain, unveiling your gift for him. Your cheeks were burning, embarrassed to be doing something so brazen in public, but all you wanted was for him to touch you. You made to press your thighs—the urge to rub them together not even conscious of you—but your skin stung, red and raw from the damp friction, it had begun to chafe. Though you reacted to the pain, separating your legs a little bit more, it sent an exciting tingle through your limbs, adding to the fire burning low in your belly.

With both of his hands available now, Mando started at your waist, trailing over the crisscrossing bindings while his thumbs gently rubbed at the woven design. He came to the loops secured around your outer thighs and his fingers hovered for a moment before hooking underneath.

Gripping the cords, he easily lifted you up off your feet.

Gasping you wavered, off balance and hanging a few inches over the ground. One of your hands dropped your skirt, flying up to brace yourself against his currias as your feet swung, looking for purchase. He held you in the air for a solid moment—the ropes pulling but not biting at your skin due to the harness evenly supporting your weight.

Dropping you to the ground he let out a hum, his hands cupping your hips. “Not bad.”

“Not bad? I think I did pretty well!” You countered, smacking your palm flat against his beskar in protest.

“Your knots need work.” Mando reached to your waist, easily undoing the fastening at the front. “And it’s loose.” Holding the tails in his left fist, he grabbed at the leading lines, giving each a tug hard enough to move your hips as he tightened what he could before finishing with his own knot, pulling three times to secure it. Reaching back to your sides he tested the ropes again, pulling to check they were just right. “If you keep them tight, it won't rub your skin raw as you walk.”

You simpered, biting your lip as you looked away, you had really been hoping he hadn’t noticed, but of course he did—Mando is nothing if not observant.

This time when he gave a hard jerk to spin you around against the wall, you weren’t caught off guard and managed to brace yourself with your hands on the bricks as he pressed up against you. Mando’s hips were flush against your ass, the hard ridge of his cock rubbing along you through the canvas of his trousers.

“Your ass looks so good tied up like this.” Mando’s voice was low, close behind your ear. “All pinched and round, just for me.” His hands traveled around your hips as he leaned back, keeping his erection against you as he squeezed and played with your bottom. You yelped as he gave your left cheek a hard smack, realizing that he had taken his gloves off. He pulled his hips away as his hand slid down between your legs. Letting out something like a whimper at the loss of contact, it quickly morphed into a moan as his thick fingers easily pushed between your lips. You shuddered at the contact, the shock of him finally touching you running up your spine to tingle at the base of your skull as your fingers gripped at the stones before you.

“You like walking around like this don’t you? All bound and teasing me.” Mando’s voice was deep, coming from somewhere in his chest as he rambled. He knew what his dirty talk did to you and you were sure he could feel the effects now—his fingers pressed against your hole as it fluttered. “It’s obvious how much you love this; you’re dripping,” his tone was chiding but light as his touch swirled around your pussy, showing just how wet you had gotten.

You tried to stay still, pressing yourself against the wall as the rough texture of the bricks dragged against your nipples through the thin fabric of your dress. The sound of Mando playing with your drenched heat was audible over the background hum of the market twenty feet away.

Mando knew what he was doing, teasing you by gliding his fingers everywhere but your clit—you were so worked up that you might cum if he did and he realized this. “So wet, and it got all over the ropes. I bet you’re sore.” His hand pulled away, making a notable squelch as his fingers left your pussy to stroke along your bound inner thighs, spreading your slickness even further and making a mess. “And now you have to walk all the way back to the Razor Crest.”

Once he had finished wiping his hand on your legs, you watched, your cheek still pressed against the wall with eyes half dazed glancing over your shoulder, as he pulled his gloves back on.

“No-o,” you whined pathetically in protest once you fully realized what he was saying. “I was so close, you can’t stop.”

Mando gave your ass—which was still pointed out, your back curled so he had easy access to you—another hard slap before pulling your skirt down over your bottom, hiding the rope harness again. “We need to start moving if we want to get back and have time to fuck before the little one wakes up.”

Through you grumbled out an agreement, you apparently still weren’t moving fast enough for Mando, who grabbed your waist and pulled you up straight, pivoting you to face forward as you kept trying to adjust your dress.

He kept his palm flat against you, resting between your shoulder blades, while exiting the alley way. The sudden light of the sun after being in the shade hurt your eyes. Holding up a hand you tried to shield your face and let Mando guide you until you could see again. Squinting, it took a second to realize why he had stopped.

Standing in front of the same stall from before, Mando spoke up saying something you didn’t understand but the woman pulled up a second sack and began filling it with the beans she had been offering you.

Confused you looking up at Mando and found his helmet turned towards you. “You have the credits,” he said evenly, giving away nothing—his voice sounding as unemotional as ever though his hand on your back was stroking small soothing circles into your skin.

“Oh right,” you mumbled, quickly twisting to search in your shoulder bag for the little purse of metal currency. As you handed the money to the woman—who seemed to take in your flushed cheeks and how close The Mandalorian was standing, before giving you a knowing smirk—Mando hoisted the sack of rice and beans that had been tied together over his shoulder. With a nod he said one more thing which the woman repeated back before he was leading you into the crowd of the market.

Each step you took was careful—cautious to avoid irritating your skin further—focused more on your gait than where you were going as Mando led you through the throng of people who parted easily for the armored man.

“You speak the language here?” You finally asked, looking up at his beskar helmet as you furrowed your brow.

“Only a little bit.”

“And you let me make a fool of myself in front of that fruit seller, while you were pinching my ass?” You were peeved with him but you still wondered what his expression was under there—was he wearing some cheeky grin, thoroughly entertained by your frustrations?

Instead his head turned towards you as he simply replied, “It was cute.”

A hint of a laugh came through the vocoder though, you were sure of it.

+++... .... .. -... .- .-. ..+++

Returning to the Razor Crest the first thing you did was flop into a chair by the makeshift dining table that had been cobbled together as the number of residents on the ship grew. Mando was gone without a word, disappearing into the cockpit with a swish of his cape.

You watched as he climbed the ladder until he was out of view before checking your thighs. With gentle taps you tested the patches of red skin, hissing slightly as you brushed against the largest welt. Luckily the damage was not as bad as you feared and would heal quickly. Carefully you ran your finger along the ropes, feeling just how damp and sticky they had gotten from your excitement.

“How’re you feeling?” Mando’s voice spooked you, making you suddenly aware of his presence as your head shot up and your knees snapped closed. He stood nearby, holding a small jar you recognized as the bacta-ointment he uses on burns and rashes.

“Not nearly as bad as I thought, I should be fine.” You gave him a warm smile as he crossed the grated floor, setting the first aid down as he came to stand in front of you.

“Are you good to keep going? I checked on the little womp rat, he’s still snoring.” Mando’s fingers brushed lightly along the edge of your hand, sending tingles up your arm from the briefest touch.

You bit your lip and nodded, looking up at him through your lashes as you replied, “I am,” but before you could even finish the short confirmation he was already grabbing at you—hoisting you onto the wobbly table by your upper arms.

The jar of bacta clattered onto the floor, mindlessly shoved out of the way. You gasped while Mando practically ripped your dress up over your head, his eagerness to see you nude overriding any caution. Trying to find your balance, you braced yourself with both arms behind you, holding you up right as he grabbed your left leg, bringing it up so your ankle rested on his shoulder.

Sitting on the table like that with your legs spread, you were fully on display for Mando. He let out an approving growl, something that vibrated out from behind his ribs as he made quick work of shedding his belt. You felt a low throb, your pussy begging for him to fill you as you watched him undress.

The head of his cock was almost purple when he pulled it out, precum leaking from the tip. With a swipe between your lips that was too quick to be any kind of satisfying, he gathered your juices on his fingers, and spread your slick along his shaft.

“Mando,” you pleaded, dragging out the last syllable of his nickname into a whine. “I need you inside of me, please.”

He didn’t hesitate, done with teasing you. Mando lined himself up with your center and pushed. His cock filled you quickly, stretching your walls to take his girth but finding no resistance in the abundant lubrication.

“By the Maker,” he hissed, his voice husky even with the distortion and static as he paused, holding in place to enjoy the way your pussy hugged him. “How are you so tight and so wet?” You felt another throb at his words, tensing around him as he spoke.

“It’s because your cock is so fu-fucking bi-ig.” You tried to banter, counter his comments but the way his cock pressed inside you—prodding at your very end—got in the way of you forming coherent thoughts.

With a deep groan, Mando started to move, pulling out as you whimpered. He held your waist, fingers gripping at your bindings when he thrusted back into you. Wasting no time, he settled into a brutal pace, fucking you hard with such a convenient handle. You moaned and shuddered, your own hips matching his movements, chasing the tension you could feel building in your core as his cock dragged inside you. You tried to hold yourself up against the table but you were tired and your arms quickly got sore.

“Mando—,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his chest to catch his attention. He halted abruptly, his visor snapping up from where he’d been watching your pussy take him to your eyes. “Flip me over,” you requested, your voice airy but loud enough for him to hear.

His breathing was heavy, little puffs coming from his helmet as he nodded. Pulling again on the ropes he rolled you onto your front, drawing your hips back from the edge before sinking into you with ease. You let out a low moan, the head of his cock bumping into that wonderful spot deep inside of you with every thrust from this angle. He continued, ruthlessly pounding into you without mercy as he held onto the cords around your waist for leverage—there wasn’t much more you could do besides take him, letting him fuck you as he pleased.

Your orgasm was building, you could feel your scalp tighten and your toes curl, your muscles tensing, preparing as you approached the crest. You weren’t aware you were talking but you could hear your voice begging him to keep going, don’t stop. At the encouragement he doubled his efforts, leaning forward so his hand rested next to your head. He was hitting deeper than ever with this position and you felt yourself let go with a wail.

“Fu-uck,” Mando moaned in your ear, the curve of his helmet over his brow dropping to rest against your temple. He went stiff above you and you could feel the way his cock pulsed inside you, spilling his cum as your walls rhythmically clenched tight, convulsing around him.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, silently basking in the afterglow of your shared orgasms while your breathing leveled. Mando’s broad form covered you as he kept you pinned against the table top. He held himself up slightly, balancing on one elbow close enough you could feel his armor brush against your shoulder blades with each inhale.

You kept your eyes closed, enjoying the security of lying beneath his protective body—nothing could hurt your right now with him both above and inside you.

His free hand began to roam, gliding along your ribs before approaching the ropes at your waist. His fingers followed the cords around to your front, coming to rest at the fastened knot just below your belly button.

Without needing to see, Mando was able to nimbly undo the knot, prising the right tails to loosen it’s hold. He continued to tug and pull, unraveling the harness as much as he could before rising from on top of you.

You were disappointed as the cool recycled air of the hull moved in to wrap around you, filling in where he had been. Shivering slightly, you cracked an eye open. Mando knelt behind you—both hands bare—as he carefully unwound the ropes, taking every caution to not irritate your skin more than it already was.

Once your hips were free he tossed the bundle to the side before gathering the bacta-ointment from where it had rolled off to. He stopped for a moment, staring at your thighs and you wondered if he liked the textured imprints the harness had left behind. Scooping up the cream with three fingers, he gently smoothed it across your affected skin. The contact of the cold ointment was shocking at first contact—you gasped and wiggled, but Mando’s wide hand gripped your thigh to keep you still.

He took his time spreading it across your skin—rubbing it in more than you were sure was necessary, covering every inch where the rope had been, not just your inner thighs—before his touch found your pussy again. You couldn’t help but flinch as his fingertips bumped against your clit, still sensitive after the orgasm.

“You’re so wet still,” he intoned, quietly speaking more to himself than you before he picked up his voice. “Close your eyes and don’t open them.”

You knew what this meant and obliged without hesitation, squeezing your eyelids shut before bringing a hand to cover your face as added protection.

You heard an audible hiss and click that you recognized as the release mechanism of his helmet. There was a tingle that ran up your limbs at the sound, an excitement that raced from the tips of your fingers and toes to your core because you knew that noise heralded his lips on you.

His hands grabbed at your ass, parting your cheeks to give him the perfect view of his cum dripping from your hole. Though you were expecting it, you were not prepared. His warm mouth connected with your pussy, immediately lapping at your juices. Flattening his tongue he drew it along your slit, catching every drop he could while brushing at your clit.

You moaned loudly at the stimulation, every touch feeling more vivid with your lack of sight. There was no way for you to watch him, but you could still listen—hearing the obscene slurps as he reveled in your cunt, as if he was doing this more for his pleasure than yours.

Mando’s tongue toyed with your nub, making your knees tremble as that feeling deep in your belly began to quickly bubble up. You called his name as your free hand flew back to grab at him. Sealing his lips around your clit, he sucked while sinking two thick fingers into your blushed hole.

Your fist clenched around his hair, tugging hard, but that only seemed to encourage him. One of his hands pumped into you, his finger curling just right to press down on that spot inside you, as the other gripped your hips—hard enough you were sure it would bruise—holding you against his face while he smothered himself between your lips.

You moaned and writhed against the table before crumpling under his ministrations. Yelling into your palm you came hard and all over his face. He continued to finger you, feeling the way your walls clenched around him as if drawing his digits further into your channel before the contact became all too much. Every brush was over stimulating, your hips involuntarily jerking away from him and into the table’s edge until he pulled back.

Limp against the surface, you couldn’t move—only able to take deep breaths as your heart pounded—your hand still clamped tight over your eyes until you hear Mando give the ok.

You can hear him shifting around, standing up and gathering his helmet before his unmodulated voice commented, “Once you’re all healed, you need to show me how you tied that. I want to see how long you can hang in it.”

///

THANKS FOR READING I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS DAY DREAM

(￣y▽,￣)╭

TAGOS: @pascalisthepunkest​ @whenimaunicorn​ @cptnbvcks​ @no-droids​ @rzrcrst​ @readsalot73​ @spacegayofficial​ @lannister-slings-and-arrows​ @libellule2001​ @nolivingthingdroid​ @chelsfic​ @lizzabex​ @hopelikethesun​  @themandjalorian​ @stevieharrrr​ @magichandthing​

[i-see-you-now-you-see-me]

Loving us Both or, Another level of Crazy 

(oneshot, but depends of the future) Part of the DYVLONY series, can be read seperately

Pairing : villain Hendery (Wayv) x Reader

Word count: approx 4k

About: I tell you now, important part of this story is- Hendery has two personalities, but it comes up in the story, not to confuse you, here they are:

Hendery (Huang Guanhang)- boss

Guanhee- Huang Guanhee- who deals with all filthy stuff, boss/ to everyone they are brother and sister

Warnings: Mentions of blood and gore, a bit of descriptive character death, sex, filthy smut, Guanhee is a dirty bitch, sex, sex, and some more...

filth under the cut

*Earth, the third Planet from the Sun, 149.6 million kilometers away*

-I keep telling you that someone took her, I am sure of it! – Nurse Nana, your friend whom you hade become great friends, answered.

-Miss, there is no proof of that, you cannot just announce things like this on the internet, it is classed as a felony, - the police officer was not having it, it was the third family member this week, who were saying the exact same thing, “we were on a night out, and she never came back” sort of thing. And the best was, all of the missing persons went to the same club.

Yet police didn’t want to spend their money on this. There were far more important things for them to be dealing with at this hour.

-Alright miss, we will make a file and let you know as soon as something will come up, - he announced.

-Thank you, - nurse Nana thanked the police and left.

While studying at UNI you had a big exam coming up, to help you in the process you had applied to help at the local hospital, trainee psychologist assistant, and a Doctor Vera McGregorky welcomed you into all her conversations with her patients, who didn’t mind you, a student to be there and listen. You had signed the documents for confidential information, and not a single word had escaped your mouth in talks of other patients.

You had met Nana when you arrived, she was the one to greet you and lead you to the doctors’ office, she was nice, and you became friends.

Once your exam had passed, she had invited you for a glass of beer on a night out, (you rarely drank beer, but sometimes you enjoyed it), so you agreed. Somehow during the night, you were left alone, because Nana smoked, and she used to say, “I don’t want your lungs to get polluted because of me, you know that statistics have proven, that a non - smoker standing next to a smoker is at higher risk of lung pollution than the actual smoker,” and she would add with a grin, “that’s the trufff”.

And now, she was there. Walking down the street where the club was.

-Where are you, Y/N, what happened to you, - when she returned from smoking, you were nowhere to be found, she searched everywhere in the club where she could. Not a single glimpse from you was there.

Ever since that day, she has been trying to file a missing persons case, even posted on the internet about it, receiving a few reposts and likes, until she was called to police office. If they would have been a bit more interested in that, eh?

Nana sighed.

-Assholes, - she whispered as she walked of.

* Planet DYVLONY, 10043567901;1102033149001*

-I hate that bitch, - one of the henchmen spoke.

-I know, last time when she slapped you, I remember the look on your face, - he sighed, - why can’t it be her brother this time.

-I know, right? Sometimes she really gets on my nerves.

They both walked through a warehouse that belonged to the Infamous Twins of DYVLONY, and today was one of those days where, instead of himself – Hendery, their boss, more liked preferred boss, they had to work together with his twin sister Huang Guanhee, who, if/when in a bad mood, tended to treat people like shit.

-Didn’t I tell you, that I don’t want to see your ugly ass looking faces today? Huh? Was I not clear? – Huang Guanhee sat on a chair, while behind her, tied to a post was a naked woman, barely breathing, beaten to a pulp.

-Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but Mr. Tieger wants to see you, or your brother, he is outside, - Guanhee sighed, she hated that bastard, he owed them a lot of money, and he was trying to barter all sorts of shit on a regular basis.

-Ah, - she groaned, - bring him in, - Guanhee agreed.

Both henchmen walked out, grabbed Mr. Tieger by his collar, and really brought him in on his knees, where he stayed. Looking up, seeing Guanhee sitting on the chair, he bit his cheek. She was not the person he wanted to see there.

-Why are you here? I am busy, - she said and crossed her legs.

-I, - his mouth felt dry there for a moment, there was something not right about this woman, - I have been selected to take care of… the aliens that had crashed.

Guanhee arched a brow.

-So? – she asked.

-I have no need of an alien in my home, and I thought… - she didn’t let him finish a sentence.

-You thought? – she abruptly stood up, - exactly what, huh? You come here an offer some alien? What’s in it for me, eh?

She walked closer and smacked Mr. Tieger in the face, so hard, he fell backwards. She groaned and straightened herself up. Guenhee looked at her poor, tied girl in the back, licking her lips, taking a stick from the floor, she walked over to the girl and beat her sides and legs, the girl only jerked around with no sound, tears flowing down her face, she had no voice anymore.

-This is what happens when you don’t pay back the money, and as much as I love a pink pussy to feast on, you don’t have one, so get the fuck out of these premises, and in ten days bring us back money, or else, I will leave you dick- less bleeding in the street, do you understand?

Never have you ever seen a man run as fast as Mr. Tieger did in that moment.

-This bitch is crazy, - he said to himself, as he got in his car and drove off.

Later in the room, on the top floor of the warehouse, Guanhee was undressing. Her stockings were rolled off, her skirt neatly folded on the bed, her white blouse folded on top of that, her hair, a brown (ish) wig, left on the side, before being put away on a mannequin. Fake eyelashes taken off, together with her make up, fake boobs off, and his penis freed from the tight panties.

-It’s your turn now, - she said and looked in the mirror. As soon as those words left her mouth, Hendery appeared, straightened himself up, hearing a knock on the door.

-Boss, it’s me, can I come in? – Hendery walked over and opened the door. His right- hand man was there. Dante was the only person on DYVLONY who knew the ugly truth.

Hendery and Guanhee were the same person.

*

You sat in the waiting room, a bit nervous, of course. Passing an exam had felt easier than this. Palms sweaty, one of your legs kept shaking.

-Nothing to worry about, - you assured yourself, - it’s going to be just fine.

Mr. Tieger was signing papers, ready to greet you, and then sell you off. He knew today he would see Hendery, not his sister, he was sure of it, he will definitely be ready to bargain. Once Hendery see’s how you look like, Mr. Tieger might be in for a good money.

-Hello, miss Y/N, I am Mr. William Tieger, - he shook your hand, - shall we go now?

You nodded. He looked like a “decent” man. Mr. Tieger made sure you walked first, he checked out how you looked like from behind, all the curves in the right places, he will def be swimming in gold after tonight.

-Let’s make a d-tour, - he said, helping you in his car, and soon he had stopped in front of what looked like a very posh atelier. Walking in, he was greeted with two DYVLONY ladies.

-Hello ser, how can be of assistance today, - they said in unison.

-I need to dress her, - he leaned in, while you weren’t listening, - the sexier the better.

Both girls nodded. This was the most popular atelier for a lot of reasons, and the girls were ready for their task. Taking your measures, they went to work on your clothing straight away. Soon, you were wearing embroidered bralette, with matching pantie set, and attached stockings, down your legs. And for whatever reason, your last piece of clothing, a really flimsy looking dress was put on, you looked cheap.

-What is this? – you asked, - I am not wearing it! – you protested.

-You, - Mr. Tieger spoke, - my darling, won’t have a choice.

With that your world went black. One of the assistants had knocked you out, wearing a big smile on her face, even while tying you up. Mr. Tieger paid in cash, threw you over his shoulder, and left. Putting you in the booth of his car, for no one to see. He smiled to himself adding the last piece – a mouth cloth.

-Let’s make Hendery happy, - smacking your thigh with his hand, he closed the booth and drove off.

The warehouse looked as dead as ever. Henchmen stood in the front, guarding the twins, as Mr. Tieger pulled up. Stepping out, he gave the man a sheepish grin.

-I am here to speak with Hendery, I have something to offer, - this time, henchmen didn’t say anything, just opened the door to let him in. Mr. Tieger took you out from the back, and again, put you over his shoulder, bringing you in. Slowly walking closer, he noticed that the chair was turned around.

-Huang Guanheng, - he greeted, - good to see you here.

There was no response on the other side.

-I am here to bargain a little something, you might find of value, - he smiled, putting you down on the cold floor. He didn’t notice how “Hendery” crossed his legs, and his arms over his chest. – this is the alien; I think she might be to your liking.

The doors of the warehouse were now locked, no one could get in, and no one could get out. Somehow, you found yourself waking up, no sounds leaving your mouth, but a short breath. Startled by a strong grip on your jaw, your eyes stayed shut.

-What do you think? – Mr. Tieger’s smug face was back at it. The chair turned around and he gasped. – what the fuck?! – he shouted.

Looking back at him was Guanhee, wearing her best smile, she even winked towards him.

-I thought I warned you once, - she said, still sitting down.

-Where is Hendery, Guanhee? – Mr. Tieger asked.

-I don’t have to answer you, but if you must know, I take that as your dying wish. You really are something, - Guanhee said, - but no worries, soon I will gut you like a fish, and make sure everyone is watching.

-What??? – Mr. Tieger was angry, he came towards her in big striking steps. Once close enough, he was ready to grab Guanhee by her hair, and before he could react a knife was plunged in his lower abdomen.

-I did promise you, didn’t I? – she giggled as a crazy person, the knife was now used to cut Mr. Tieger open, knife stopping at his ribs, while blood gushed out of him. His knees hit the floor, and you opened your eyes. Startled to see what was going on, you had to get away. Easier said than done, with your arms tied behind your back, and your legs tied as well, the only movement you could do, is somewhat like a worm, inch by inch moving away, trying not to pay attention to someone dying in the background.

Guanhee watched as Mr. Tieger bled on the floor, her own clothing was dirtied by now, but she didn’t bother. Looking over she saw you trying to crawl away, and she smiled.

-Hey, - she shouted, and you stopped not knowing why you stopped. – I will give you ten second head start, say thank you Guanhee, - she clapped her hands.

Your eyes were bulging out of your scull now, ten seconds? No chance you’ll get anywhere, a sudden thought was in the back of your mind. “I will die now”, tears started streaming down your face as you kept on trying to move away.

-Ten, - Guanhee announced as she stepped closer, starting the count down. – Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

You heard her right by you when she said “one”, her hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your upper body upwards, making you even more uncomfortable. The bloody knife in front of your face, you started pleading for your life, even with your mouth filled with cloth, that was tied behind your head. You must have sounded terrible… because Guanhee let go of your hair. You landed on your face, hitting your forehead in the process.

-Give her a shower, - Guanhee mentioned with her hands, - then tie her up like normal.

-Yes ma’am, - henchman nodded.

Dragging you away for the “shower”, which in reality meant, ice cold water on your body, getting you rid of the clothes you wore. Cold and worn out from the cold shower blast, you didn’t struggle when your naked body was tied up by the wooden post. The only thing you could see was a chair, which was unoccupied for now.

Guanhee washed up, changed her clothes, looking in the mirror, she smiled to herself, putting on her glasses, she walked through the room and down the stairs.

She saw your naked form from the second floor and rubbed her palms together. Sitting on the chair, she watched you closely. You didn’t struggle, your mouth had tape over it, the only thing you did, you were weeping, trying to do it quietly.

Listen. You had seen crazy, while working at the hospital, there had been patients that had to be in the mental asylum, you had read too much about serial killers, how they disliked people crying, or, how it edged them on. So, you tried to calm yourself.

Guanhee stood up and walked closer.

-You do have a pretty face, though, - she started, taking your jaw in her hand, - I must say, Mr. Tieger was right, you could be of use, - she gave you a smile. Her hand let go of your face and then she grabbed your nipple. Pinching it, twisting it with her fingers. You didn’t know what to do, how to react, your body betrayed you well, heat pooling in your lower areas, the same as the hotness travelling to your face.

Then her lips enveloped the other nipple, she went full licking and sucking on your breast, and soon her hand was not only pinching the nipple but massaging the whole breast.

“Fuck no,” you thought to yourself, trying to get your body to cooperate with your mind, but it wouldn’t budge.

Then she swapped it over, her lips on the other of your breast peaks and the other twisting your other nipple. Her hot mouth was providing you with saliva, that you felt sliding down your torso, to your stomach.

-Guess my favorite color, - she spoke looking at you. You didn’t know what to say, and you couldn’t anyways, but still. Without a warning her hand was in between your legs, grabbing on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

What was she doing?

-I will tell you, - she said as she got on her knees, you saw henchman approaching. Your legs got untied, and the henchmen were holding you up. Shame of nakedness like this was seen on your face. You were now legs apart, pussy on display, a single drop of your nectar gathered on your pussy lips. You looked everywhere else, but not down. Guanhee smacked your thigh to get your attention, it went to a shade of red after the second smack. – I love pink, - she announced while biting her lip.

Your heart was in your throat now, beating so fast, you weren’t ready for what Guanhee had in mind. Her tongue prodded pass her lips, and the tip of it touched your mound. She then gave you a test lick between your folds, swallowing your juices, slowly moving her tongue up and down until she reached your tight hole. She smiled. You saw her smile before she took of her glasses and her tongue went back to its job.

Her tongue dived in your tight hole, in and out, a little faster then and a little slower after, tears were threatening to fall down your face again. Not only a woman was going down on you, but it was also giving you a spark of pleasure. She sat back on her knees, bringing a hand to her face, licking a finger, before the same finger entered you, you shut your eyes.

She was exploring your vaginal walls, finding a soft spot, that made your legs quiver a bit, she continued to press on it more, and then her mouth attacked your clitoris. She sucked and licked, and she finger – fucked you, till you orgasmed, screaming through the tape, your legs shaking from pleasure. Intense waves of hot electric feeling went through all of you, goosebumps rising on your skin.

Guanhee stepped back, her face was covered in your cum, she licked her lips, wiping some of your cum on her hand so she could lick it off. She stood up.

-What a good girl, - she said, - coming on my face like that, hmm, I might just keep you.

With that she walked away. Soon your legs were down on the floor again, tied back up. Then the tape was pulled off, and you were given water by one of the henchmen. Chugging it down like it was your last meal, not knowing what’s going to happen after.

And for some reason, you drifted to sleep soon after that.

When you woke up, the sun was peeking through the windows. Once your eyes adjusted, your face turned straight to the chair. There was a figure sitting there. Looking at you was a man. Who looked just like the lady… Guanhee was her name, right? Uhm, what?

-Good morning, - he greeted, you nodded. If you were alive, it really was a good morning. – I am Hendery, you must have heard about me?

You nodded “no”.

-I see, - he laughed a bit, - you really are not from here, are you?

The more you looked at him, the more it seemed like you were tripping. Somewhere in your mind was a doubt. Alright, you have heard of identical twins, and all that, but so much common in looks on twins, it was a rare sight. And the doubt in your mind was saying, that something was not right.

-You look tired, - he said, - rough night?

You rolled your eyes at the comment. Hendery stood up and walked over.

-How about I untie you, give you some clothing and some soup? It can stay our secret, - he said, and you nodded. Soon after you were clothed and fed, and very thankful.

The next couple of days, you were allowed to move around in the warehouse and a bit outside at the back, mainly just sitting down at a wooden table with one of the henchmen to accompany you. You were thinking. The more you thought of a possibility that could be true, the more you started to agree that it really could be true.

Psychology had taught you well. Seeing the signs of un-healthy mind was easy for you to spot, those couple of months helping Doctor Vera, were paying off.

The next day, while outside eating breakfast, you were greeted by Guanhee.

-I thought I might see you here, - she said startling you, -my brother has treated you well, - she bit her cheek.

-At least he’s nice, - it came out harsher than expected. Guanhee grabbed your hair to turn your face to her, and smacked your cheek, left one first and then your other one. Then she pulled you up only to kick your legs, so you fell on your knees. She didn’t let go of your hair.

-Ah, - she said, - is this how we are going to play? Shall I tie you to the post again? – her eyes were filled with anger as she spat the words out, - starve you until you are nothing but a pile of bones for the wild wolves?

-No wonder everyone hates you, - you hit her weak spot with your sentence.

The cold shower was blasting at you again, you fell down, this time Guanhee was doing it herself, and to your surprise, she was stronger than she looked. Dragging you by your hair, this time she tied you, while you were on your knees. You ended up- legs wide opened, ass in the air, while your breasts were pressed at the wooden post.

She disappeared.

You didn’t even hear or see where she went, but you were left all by yourself, your eyes closing for a brief moment.

-My sister left you for me as a gift, - a voice spoke, waking you up from your slumber, it was Hendery. He was next to you, his hands stroking your sides, your stomach, then your ass cheeks, giving both of them a squeeze. – she knows how to make me happy, - he said.

His hand begin massaging your pussy, stroking your folds.

-Don’t do it, - you squeaked out, when Hendery’s hand touched your clitoris.

-And why not, - he smiled as he continued the assault on your cunt, - my sister already had a taste, I really want to try that too, - he pouted. – she always gets all the fun.

-I would rather suck your dick, - you spoke to stop him.

-Maybe another time, - you heard the zipper of his trousers, and then you felt his thick cock prod at your entrance. He moved his mushroom head up and down your folds, gathering the slick to cover his member. His hand softly touched your stomach as he was steadying himself. – breath in, baby-girl, - he whispered, licking on your ear, where he positioned his body.

His thick cock entered you only a couple of centimeters, you exhaled loudly with a moan. Slipping deeper, Hendery made sure to wait, till you got accustomed, inch by inch. Once completely sheathed inside of you, his balls where right at your bottom, he started a steady rhythm. It was followed by grunts and groans, and every thrust he gave you was as delicious as a desert after a meal.

Your walls were clamping down on him so hard, Hendery had to stop, to make you relax a bit more, and then he would get back to it. He knew you were close, the more your walls were sucking him deeper, the readier to orgasm you were. With a couple more thrusts you came, biting your lips, grabbing onto the wood. Hendery still worked to reach his high, and just before he could, you came again, and then he stilled, filling your abused cunt to the brim.

His arms around your body stayed like that for a while, the same as his lips licked your sweat from the back of your neck, down to your shoulder blades. Pulling out slowly, he earned a moan from you.

-Should I leave you like this? – he teased. – I think I will…

-Noo, - you protested, - I cannot feel my knees, - you said honestly.

So instead of leaving you like that, he turned you around, tied your back against the post, with his seed between your legs, making it impossible to move, the unpleasant feeling lingering there. He was smiling at you. The same smile Guanhee gave you. And he walked up the stairs and, in that room, where you had seen Guanhee disappear a couple of times, only to be greeted by Hendery the next day, or Guanhee a day after that.

And as you anticipated, you woke up with someone touching you, opening your eyes you saw Guanhee, licking her lips.

-Beautiful morning, isn’t it? – she asked, and you didn’t respond. – my brother had some fun, I see, - she licked her lips, - I can clean you up, if you’d like?

You nodded a “no”, and Guanhee stared at you, before leaving.

-I know who you are, - you shouted behind her, and Guanhee slowly walked back.

-And what is that?

You stayed quiet, till she was right in front of you. She stared down at you, grabbing your jaw in her hand.

-Hendery is you and you are Hendery, Guanhee doesn’t exist…- you said. – you are not real.

She slapped you.

-Are you afraid of the truth? – you asked. – you and I both know; this is not the way to live.

-Who are you? – she asked, grabbing you even harder.

-I can help you, - you said, - I can help you both, if only you’d let me…

The conclusion – split personality. This might be the scariest patient of all, but you were ready to use your knowledge to help as much as you could.

Guanhee stared at you, leaning in, and you felt something pressing onto your leg. Through her tight skirt, a visible boner was pressing through, her lips attacked yours.

-But before that, we can play a little…

[honeymoonjin]

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 yoongi x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 24k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut, fluff, angst

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 it may be misfortune that brings you to min yoongi’s door looking for a place to stay, but luckily holly lodge has a vacancy.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 explicit sexual content, cursing, unintentional voyeurism, non-explicit mxm (taejin side pairing), protected sex, kinda-sub!yoongi, oral (m receiving), fingering, yoongi lowkey being a pillow princess, smut with a whole lot of feelings, body worship (m receiving), praise (m receiving), this was more vanilla than expected, cowgirl/riding, hand-holding during sex, this isn’t jerk-off material it’s slow burn softness so be warned

many thanks to @jamaisjoons for the gorgeous banner

--

A distant crunch of gravel is the only warning you get. You look around absentmindedly, down the steep slope of the hilly fields, and see a bus pulling away down the windy path that had brought you here several hours ago.

"Oh, fuck-!" You make it less than a third of the way down, half-stumbling, half-running, before you give up, realising it's no use. "Oh, fuck," you repeat with a sullen sigh, sinking down to the dirt path.

What was meant to be a day-trip to the renowned Boseong Green Tea fields was apparently going to be longer than a day.

The sky was steadily growing darker, and through the vibrant hedgerows of green tea plants that lined the hillside, a fog was starting to collect. Consulting your phone tells you it's later than you thought.

You stand up again, brushing the dust off the back of your jeans, and slowly plod your way back up to the peak of the hill, where a flat area with some benches provides a decent lookout. The several small cafes and restaurants at the base of the fields have no lights on, and a metal grille has been slid down over the windows of the ticket booth. It's deserted.

Your roaming data works up here, although it's a little more patchy than you'd grown used to around the rest of the country, and you use the last of your dying battery to google some places to stay. With any luck, you'd be able to phone in to a hostel or motel and book in a place. You just hoped the walk wasn't too far in the dark. But as the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, and you call a seventeenth number, you begin to lose hope.

"Even just for one night?" you barter nervously, biting on your nail as the older lady on the other end sighs.

"I'm sorry, dear, we're all booked out. You should've called in advance. Spring is a busy time of year."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I wasn't even meant to stay. I missed the bus back."

"Are you at the Boseong-gun bus terminal? I'm sure there are other busses coming in no time."

"I'm still at the tea fields," you admit, "it was a bus from out of town. Please, I'll walk down to the main street myself, I just don't want to stay outside all ni-"

"Wait- At the plantation? Have you tried Holly Lodge yet?"

You frown. "No. I didn't see that name come up when I searched online for accommodation."

A laugh rings out, though you sense it's not directed at you. "No, dear, Min wouldn't have put it online. But it's far closer to the fields, and I would venture a guess that it's the one place in Boseong that won't have been flooded with guests."

You feel yourself inflate with hope. "Do you have the phone number? Thank you so much!"

"I don't think the owner even has a phone. If he does, I certainly don't know the number. But- Where on the plantation are you right now? Can you get to the top?"

"I'm at the top," you answer reflexively, "but are you sure there's room there? I'd hate to show up unannounced."

The lady on the phone laughs again, slightly condescending. You get the vibe she's not the biggest fan of 'Min'. "He won't have any customers. It's just a small bed-and-breakfast, but he's so far away from the town centre, and he makes no effort to advertise. It's a wonder he's still open, to be quite frank. Anyways, if you're at the top, turn around away from the entrance."

You bite your lip uncertainly but do as she says. You haven’t looked back this way, but you see now that there’s a winding path down the other side, a skinny trail of flattened grass leading into the distance. “Do I go down the other side of the hill?”

“Away from the main fields, yes,” the motel owner replies in a slightly impatient voice. You imagine she can’t appreciate the late-night call for such a busy time of year. “Down at the bottom, there’s a patch of trees.”

Feeling your toes beginning to go numb in your shoes from the cool, damp fog rising, you begin to pick your way down. “I see them.”

“Just beyond them is Holly Lodge. It’s not far. Why he chose to open a bed-and-breakfast behind Boseong Fields is beyond me. I imagine he couldn’t afford anywhere else. I’m sorry dear, the place is probably poor quality, but I’m sure it’ll do for a night.”

Stumbling down the hill in the dark, picking up momentum as you go, you squint into the small thicket of trees in the valley. Perhaps it’s desperation making you see things, but you swear there’s the slightest glow coming from between them. “Thank you so much for your help!”

“It’s fine,” the older lady assures you, “and if you happen to stay longer, I’d be more than happy to reserve you a room for tomorrow night so that you don’t have to stay at that place any longer than necessary.”

You scrunch up your eyebrows. How bad was this place? “I appreciate the offer, but is it okay if I call you back in the morning? I might be able to get tomorrow’s bus back.”

“Alrighty, dear. Best of luck to you. Bye now.”

You pull your phone back and swear lowly when you see your battery life on its last legs. You have a charger in your backpack (along with some water and snacks, something you’re relieved you packed last-minute before coming) but it’s no use unless the Holly Lodge has a place to plug it in, and at this point, as you make it to the foot of the hill and start winding your way through the trees, you’re not expecting anything.

What you do know is that you were right; the light you saw peeking through the trees is growing steadily closer, warm and flickering. It’s unsteady underfoot, but you doggedly push ahead, the glow being the only thing lighting up the landscape. The sky is a deep black, slightly murky with cloud, and you very nearly crash into a few trunks on your way, but after a little over ten minutes, you break into a grassy clearing and sigh in relief.

In front of you lies a modest house, barely more than a cottage, attached to civilisation by a gravel road that pulls away at a 90-degree angle from where you came from, running adjacent to the side of the hill. At its foot, a little wooden sign with white paint reads, ‘HOLLY LODGE, visitors welcome.’ It seems that you’ve entered through the backyard - if that’s what you could even call it. The side of the house is covered in an expansive trellis, lined with vibrant pink azaleas. They’re lit up from below by a tiny campfire, casting a tall shadow on them of a person sitting-

Your eyes fly wide and a stranged sound comes out of your throat. There’s a man crouched over the fire, frozen, a wooden skewer still hovering over the flames that lick at it. He’s wrapped a tartan blanket around himself, bunched up under his chin, and the light of the flames cast an orange glow over his clear skin and brown hair, which hangs low over his brow in soft curls.

You blink. He doesn’t move. “Your meat’s burning,” you point out.

That shocks him back into action, and he whips it back out of the fire, but the damage is done. The entire underside of what looks like lamb is completely charred. “Fuck,” he growls bitterly, “thanks a lot.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Perhaps the lady on the phone was right, and this place really wasn’t ideal. “Excuse me, I just… Do you have any rooms available?”

His mouth dangles open, lips just plump enough for it to be a pout, and you wait as his catlike eyes look over you, glancing back through the trees where you came. “...you want to stay?” he asks finally, the sour edge gone from his voice.

You point at the sign out front awkwardly. “This is a bed-and-breakfast, right?”

He stares for a few moments more, then jumps up off the ground suddenly, letting go of the blanket. It tumbles to the grass around him, revealing a matching set of white-and-grey striped pyjamas. He bounds over to you, hopping barefoot in the grass, and comes to a stop in front of you, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why didn’t you go to any of the other motels? You- you came from the fields instead of from the road.”

You bite your lip nervously. If he turns you away, you’re fucked. The moon is high in the sky, a waxy blot lighting up a patch of clouds, and you know that sky will be your roof tonight if he doesn’t let you in. “Yeah, I missed my bus back home and since it’s spring, there’s no space. Do you have a room?”

He twitches his nose and lifts a hand up, fiddling with his ear. “The power went out,” he admits, “so you can’t have a hot shower or anything.”

Your chest inflates with hope. “That’s okay,” you reassure quickly, waving your hands at him, “I just want a bed for the night, I’ll pay anything.”

He scrunches up his face at this. “I can’t charge you; it’s past midnight. You’re barely getting a proper night, and like I said, the facilities aren’t really working. Come on, let me show you to your room.”

He leaves the tiny bonfire burning away on its bed of rocks, and grabs a flashlight that was lying on the grass beside his blanket, before scurrying around to the front of the house, gesturing with a blanket-covered paw for you to follow.

You do with a quirk of your lips. This man, who couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties, was stomping about like he was grumpy, yet he looked sweeter than anyone you had met so far. Was this really the same Min that the lady had spoken so lowly of on the phone?

You can’t see much detail inside when the two of you enter. He guides the torch straight down a hallway, not bothering to show you the bathroom or kitchen or anything except a small bedroom with a single bed and a bedside table.

“Here it is,” he states awkwardly, pressing his lips flat into a half-smile. “It’s not much, I’m sorry. If you get into pyjamas, I could handwash your clothes for you.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Oh, wow, you don’t have to do that! Besides, I don’t have any other clothes with me. I’ll just have to sleep in this.”

His eyes go round with concern. “That won’t be very comfortable.” He scratches behind his ear. “You could, uh, I mean, I could give you some comfier clothes to wear?” You can’t bring yourself to say anything, only staring at him dumbfounded. The man loses his composure and laughs awkwardly, shaking his head and staring at the floor. “Sorry, that’s crossing the line, I shouldn’t-”

“I would really appreciate that,” you cut in, “sorry, I just… That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”

A shy smile tugs at his lips, and if the torch was facing him more, perhaps you could recognise his cheeks pinkening slightly. “Oh, I-” he falters and laughs breathily again, gathering himself. “No, I’m not- I-” he tamps down his grin by biting down on his bottom lip, fixing you with a flustered look of gratitude. “I’ll go grab something now. Just wait here. You can have the torch.”

He disappears into shadows, then returns immediately, passing over the blanket. “And this. Just a minute.”

And then Min is gone again. You listen in bemusement at the pitter-patter of his bare feet on the wooden floorboards, fading into nothingness, a few thuds of drawers opening and closing, and then him returning with a bundle of clothes. You school your expression when he gently reaches out to hand over the clothes.

“It’s just a t-shirt and some basketball shorts,” he apologises, “but they’re clean and they’re comfy. I assume you’ll be needing the torch when you get changed? I can shut the door behind you.”

You give him your most grateful smile. “If it’s not too much bother. Thank you so much.” Once he makes it to the door, he begins to swing it shut, but a thought strikes you. “Wait!” He pauses, head sticking out in the crack, the wooden door pushing his cheeks out. You force yourself not to smile at the cute image he provides, but instead clear your throat. “Oh, uh, what’s your name? Min, right?”

His eyebrows lift below his curls in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Oh, I called a lady on the phone when I was looking for a place to stay; the Boseong’s Best Motel? She said you were in the area.”

His gaze lowers to the floor, and his voice flattens. “Mrs. Na? What else did she say?”

You sense it’s a sore topic. “Just that… that you might have a free room.”

He smiles sadly, like he knows that’s not all, but nods. “Well, Min is my surname.” His face disappears further into the shadows. “My name’s Yoongi.”

--

You sleep well that night.

Better than you have in years, in fact, and with heavy curtains drawn across the one window in the room, the break of dawn doesn’t rouse you like it normally would. Instead, you drift in and out of consciousness all morning, happy to kick off the blankets as it warms up and stretch out.

It’s not until you hear a loud clatter that you’re snapped out of it, and you jump up, eyes flying open and wandering around the room.

The pyjama-clad man from last night, Yoongi, is hunched over the bedside table just beside you, eyes and mouth wide open as he watches you wake up and stretch. You raise your arms high over your head and let out a groan as your muscles ease.

“Goo’morning,” you murmur, hands dropping by your sides again. It’s not until he stays silent, swallowing hard, that you look down at yourself and swear, grasping at the sheets.

The basketball shorts he gave you were so old that the elastic was spent, and they wouldn’t stay on, so you had opted for the simple option of your underwear from earlier, and the baggy off-white t-shirt he gave you. However, that meant that your legs were fully exposed, and two points peaked the fabric on your chest.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, and ducks his head to pick up the cutlery he dropped on the floor. You clutch at the heavy cotton sheets, tucking them under your chin, and wait as he delicately places the cutlery on a fabric napkin that sits beside a plate of steaming eggs on toast, sunny side up, and a small mug of what smells like black tea. “I can get you a new set of cutlery if you want.”

“It’s okay.” You try and send him a grateful smile, but his gaze is fixed on the floor, cheeks bright red.

“I didn’t mean to look,” he confesses in a voice so hushed you almost miss it.

“It’s okay,” you repeat. “Thank you for bringing me breakfast.”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing much. I, uh, I’ll be outside if you need me.” When he leaves, it’s like he’s in a rush, shuffling his feet on the floorboards, knocking his leg on the foot of the bed and his shoulder on the doorjamb in his haste to leave.

After he stumbles out, your stomach growls, and you take that as a sign to enjoy the breakfast he’s so generously prepared you. After quickly opening the curtains and the window, you return to your bed. The eggs are perfectly salted, with a sprinkle of paprika, and you place the plate on your lap, munching away slowly as you look out the window.

The sun’s streaming in, and with the added light you can make out the details on the plate as you clear it. The edges aren’t perfectly round, and by the way the egg yolk pools in one corner, it’s not level either. On the brim, faded teal lettering spells out H O L L Y  L O G D E, with a little cartoon drawing of what looked like a dog’s face. You finish your final mouthful and replace the place with the cup of tea, noting the uneven thickness of the handle and the same careful painting on the side. Did he make these himself? With the state of the property, and it’s apparent lack of success, you can’t imagine he had the means for official branding.

You blow onto the surface of the liquid gently, and take a tentative sip. It’s the perfect temperature to warm you up inside, and while you’re not usually a fan of tea, this one seems to have a unique taste; not quite black tea, not quite green tea, with a sweet tang to it. It’s delicious, and it’s gone quicker than you would’ve liked.

When you emerge into the back garden, still wearing his shirt, but with your jeans back on, you spot him squatting over a brown planter box against the exterior wall. The trellis of climbing azaleas provides a gorgeous backdrop; the vibrant shades of pink petal and green leaf bask in the sun’s warm rays.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the time to quietly hover just behind the corner, out of sight. With golden heat on your face, lush grass under your feet and birds singing in the trees, you could almost convince yourself you’re in paradise. Min Yoongi, the one person in town who would give you a place to stay, certainly fits within that ideal. You had assumed he’d be in a baggy t-shirt and shorts, if the clothes he gave you were anything to go by, but you’re pleasantly surprised to see him in a thin pastel purple sweater, poking out from a worn pair of overalls.

In the silence of the morning, you can hear what sounds like muttering, and you strain to listen in to his pouty voice as he squats over the planter box, brown curls ruffling slightly in the breeze.

“...probably thinks you’re rude,” you think you hear him say, “or a pervert. The one customer since opening and you scare her away. Silly Min Yoongi. What if she shuts us do-”

You duck back and cough noisily, before rounding the corner, pretending like you weren’t just eavesdropping. “Good morning,” you say to him again brightly, and the young man does a double-take at your attire. You probably should’ve put on a bra underneath the shirt.

“Good morning,” he responds reflexively, ��are you, uh, heading off now? Did you enjoy breakfast?” His voice trails off cutely at the end, like he’s unsure he should even ask.

“It was great, you’re so generous. I’m curious, though, what’s the brand of that tea? It’s really good.”

Yoongi’s eyes go wide, his pink lips rounding into a surprised ‘o’. He swallows, and stands up, brushing some stray soil off on the front of his overalls. “You liked the tea?”

You nod hesitatingly. “Uh- yeah. I couldn’t recognise the flavour, though. Is it green tea?”

“Oolong,” he clarifies, mouth quirking in a disbelieving smile. “You really liked it?” You nod again, and his eyes sparkle, a shy smile lifting to reveal his gums. “I made it myself,” he reveals, “here! I’ll show you my tea plants!” The sudden burst of joy dissolves away, and he deflates. “Oh, but you probably need to head off, huh?”

A strange yearning stirs inside you. The feeling that you’d do anything to keep that smile on his face a little longer. “There are actually no busses on a Sunday, so I’m stuck here for another night anyway.” You immediately regret your word choice. He flinches when you say ‘stuck here’ and loses your gaze, frowning at the grass.

Before you can revoke your statement, he’s shrugging gloomily. “I, uh, I know this place isn’t as well run as the others. I’m really sorry, you know, about the electricity. I used the hot coals from the fire last night to make your breakfast, I hope it was warm enough. Like I said yesterday, it’s not fair to charge you for subpar service, so...”

“No, no! That’s not what I meant at all, honestly! It was just a bad choice of words.” He’s not convinced, kicking his foot against the ground and tugging at his earlobe uncertainly. “The whole missing-the-bus thing was a real nightmare, and I’m just glad I found you and Holly Lodge, because it’s been the only thing keeping me from going nuts.”

“Huh?”

Your heart breaks at his sullen face, the way his cheeks puff up slightly when he presses his lips together in a pout. “Really, Yoongi. I’m so grateful to you for even letting me stay here, let alone being as kind as you are. I’m happy to pay for the room, fuck, I’ll pay double. And if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate being able to stay another night.”

His gaze searches yours, and eventually a soft smile pulls across his lips. “Thank you…” His eyes fly wide open. “I’m so sorry, I never got your name! Oh wow, that’s poor of me, I’m sorry, I-”

“Yoongi,” you interrupt gently. “It’s fine. My name’s Y/n. It’s my fault, I should’ve introduced myself, but I was pretty tired.”

He scratches behind his ear again. “Well, then. I think it makes us about even. Truce?”

You laugh softly. “Truce. And if you’re not too busy, I think I’d like to check out that tea plant of yours.”

He smothers a proud grin, opting for a simple nod, before he’s making his way around the back of the house, where there’s a bit of humid shade. “My grandma was the best at making tea,” he explains, “she knew all about harvesting times and growing conditions, and her secret trick was to add strawberries.”

“So that was that sweet aftertaste.”

He nods eagerly. “Exactly.” The soil here is damp under your bare feet, slightly springy, but Yoongi pays it no mind, waving a hand towards a large hedge that lines the back of his garden. You pause in your tracks. The edges of the leaves are browning, curling up in a way you’re certain isn’t healthy. “This is it?” You hope your voice doesn’t sound disappointed, but you are a little confused.

He pouts. “I know. It’s not very impressive, is it?” He gnaws at his bottom lip for a few moments, running his hand over the dry leaves. “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. It’s never been like this before, but after my… Now that I’m here by myself, it’s just been getting worse and worse.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “But the tea I had this morning-”

“-was the last cup of my grandma’s final batch, the one we made together. None of the tea I’ve tried to make is any good. I try cutting off the dead parts, but it still tastes funny.”

All this talk of ‘last’ and ‘final’ makes you worry about the wellbeing of his grandmother, but you don’t dare ask, having upset him enough this morning already. “It just looks like it’s not getting enough nutrients. You might need to buy something to improve the soil quality.”

He blinks at you. “You know how to grow tea?”

“No idea,” you admit, “but I do know how to grow a lot of other plants, and I’m sure I could learn.” An idea strikes you, and you flash him a smile. “How about this? In lieu of paying you for the room tonight, I can help you get the tea back to health again. With how good that cup was, it’s practically a public service.”

A tentative smile plays at his lips, but he’s still confused. “What do you mean? Surely you can’t save it by tomorrow?”

Now it’s your turn to fidget nervously, clutching your hands together. “I, uh, I don’t really have anything waiting for me back home. I was planning on staying in Busan or Seoul for a while, but I think maybe I’d… maybe I’d rather stay here. Only if you don’t mind! And of course, I’ll pay for the room-”

A hopeful grin breaks out across his face, unabashed. “No charge! If you really think you could bring back the tea plants, that more than covers the room fee.” At your stupefied look, he clarifies, “this was my grandma’s pride and joy. It really means a lot to me. More than money. Thank you, Y/n.”

—

You discover many things about Min Yoongi on that first day.

That he has a dog, for instance, which he needs to pick up from the vet later that morning.

You also discover that Min Yoongi does not own a car.

“How much longer?” you venture, hoping your tone isn’t too whiny.

“Not long.”

You pout at his back, watching the dogged way he walks the uneven gravel path, slowly descending as it twists through the trees, around the back of the fields and towards the Main Street. “You said that last time.”

He turns his head back quickly, a cheeky grin on his face, and you try to ignore the way your chest leaps at it. “You were the one that wanted to come.”

“I wanna check out the town. If you want to save that tea plant, you’re gonna need some decent fertilizer. Is there a garden center here?”

With his legs slightly bent in those baggy overalls, and his arms swinging by his side with every step, he radiates enthusiasm, but your question causes him to pause. “I...assume so?”

You skip a little to catch up to him. “I mean, we could always just ask one of the other residents. Someone’s bound to know.”

His smile falters. “We could.”

You bite your lip, regretting the weird change in tone. In an attempt to bring his cheery disposition back, you bump his shoulder lightly with his. “So, you have a dog, huh? Your place isn’t exactly fenced. She must be well trained.”

“He,” Yoongi hastily corrects, though the corners of his mouth lift. “Holly’s an old boy, he’s not the type to wander away. He doesn’t even need a leash to take him back home, he’ll just walk along beside me.”

“What’s he at the vet for? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The gravel merges with smooth paver stones as you emerge onto the Main Street. You spot a sign with a cat and a dog silhouette. Yoongi straightens up and begins rushing along faster. “Check-up,” he explains absentmindedly. “He was my grandma’s dog, so you can imagine he’s got some years on him. Prevention is the best medicine and all that.”

The door to the veterinarian jingles overhead, and the young man at the counter glances up from the small grey kitten in his arms with a heart-shaped beam. “Oh! Hi, Yoonie-hyung! Here for Holly?”

Yoongi’s cheeks puff up at the nickname. “He’s all good to go? No issues?”

You eye up the little name badge pinned to his polo shirt. Hoseok. “Same old. The doctor will send the tests off like usual. Just a sec; I’ll go get him from out back.” The boy carefully sets down the kitten into a small plastic kennel on the desk with four others. You can’t help but smile as you watch the baby animals squeak and snuggle up to each other. After washing his hands with some hand sanitizer, the receptionist gets out from behind the desk and disappears through a side door.

You wait for a moment, then decide to fill the silence. “When did you open Holly Lo-”

You’re cut off by the gentle tinkling of the bell above the door. Yoongi glances back quickly, and his whole demeanor changes, shoulders hunching and head ducking down. You frown, and turn around to see an unfamiliar lady approaching.

She’s old enough to be a grandparent, flabby skin on a skinny arm trembling as she carries a cat kennel with a yowling tabby inside. “Oh, Hoseok!” she calls out in a ringing tone, glancing past the two of you. “Chestnut needs his check-up, where are you? Is the doctor free?”

You would raise your brows at her impatience when there are clearly other people in line, but instead you’re just concerned at Yoongi’s reaction. His elbows are up on the higher ledge of the desk, and he’s practically hiding his face behind his forearms.

Subtly, you step out a little bit from the desk, concealing him. Unfortunately, the lady notices the movement and fixes her sour stare on you.

“You aren’t from here,” she states. “And no houses have been sold, so you’re obviously not moving in. What’s a tourist doing in a vet?”

“Um.” You give her a confused stare, a little taken aback by how forward she is. “Pet check-up,” you finish lamely.

Hoping she would leave you alone from there is clearly naive. “Day trip? If you’re staying overnight, I can recommend a good place to park up. I own a hotel and it’s the best wa-”

“I’m good,” you interrupt, “I’ve got a place to stay. But it’s very kind of you to offer.”

She narrows her eyebrows, drawn-on and smudging slightly into her wan foundation. “Wait a minute. Something’s fishy. You were the one calling at an ungodly hour in the evening looking for accommodation, weren’t you?”

You glance at the door that the receptionist disappeared behind, willing him to return. “Yeah.”

“Mrs. Na told me she said you could-” She freezes and stands up straight. Her eyes slide behind you suspiciously. “Min.”

Though you don’t turn around - some instinct in you thinks you shouldn’t turn your back on her - you can imagine what the B&B owner must look like. His voice is so small. “Hi, Mrs. Soh.”

“Finally got a customer, huh?” The room feels to shrink with every word that drips with the seasoned condescension only an elderly person can give.

Yoongi shuffles forward a little on the plastic linoleum floor. “That’s right, Mrs. Soh. Next time you speak to Mrs. Na, please thank her for sending Y/n my way.”

The lady openly rolls her eyes at this, and you have to bite hard on the tip of your tongue to stop from lunging at her. “Mrs. Na wasn’t giving you a hand-out, boy. We aren’t about to help the business that took everything from us.”

Your eyes wide, you stare at the poster on canines and felines pinned to the far wall. “Should we ring the bell? I don’t know what’s taking so long.”

You regret bringing the attention back on you as Mrs. Soh scans your face with an entitled curl of her lip. “And you. I’m surprised you’re actually choosing to stay with Min. His place is a pigsty, isn’t it? Maybe you feel bad for him, girl, but let me tell you: the only good thing about that bed-and-breakfast is how it’s a perfect example of karma. His grandmother monopolises and terrorises the tea markets while she’s alive, and now that she’s kicked it her spawn can’t do anything right.”

You forget all about respecting elders and let out a shocked scoff. “What the fuck is your problem?”

As she splutters, Yoongi’s hand wraps lightly around your elbow, tugging you backwards, but you only spare a quick glance at his sullen face before turning back to the woman across from you.

“First of all, you’re delusional if you think I’m going to stay with any of you after the way I see you treat others. Secondly, how dare you insult someone like that, let alone a dead person? You must be the meanest person in this fucking town. At least, I hope so, because I certainly don’t want to meet anyone nastier than you.”

Like magic, the very moment she opens her mouth, the door bursts open, and out comes Hoseok, a curly tan dog at his feet.

“Holly!” Yoongi cheers with more than a hint of relief, and the dog darts forward, claws scrabbling on the floor as he spins in excited circles. After reuniting with his pet, Yoongi busies himself with the payment, while you try determinately to avoid Mrs. Soh’s gaze. You wouldn’t be surprised if by nightfall everyone in town knew you as the bitchy tourist, but you didn’t even care, too occupied with steaming in your own rage.

The moment Yoongi takes a receipt from Hoseok’s hands, you wrap yours around his and tug him away from the desk, huffing at the cheery jingle of the door that accompanies you upon leaving.

“Woah, Y/n, slow down, Holly can’t run!”

You force yourself to take a steadying breath and return to a normal pace, the older dog happily trotting along on Yoongi’s other side.

He lets the two of you walk in silence for a while, until the sounds of the Main Street fade away, and all that you can hear is the crunch of gravel underfoot, paired with the metallic tinkling of Holly’s collar. You’re still holding onto Yoongi’s hand, but you swear you feel him squeeze slightly every time you loosen to let go, so you let them swing between you.

The ambient noises calm you down enough to feel like talking again. “I didn’t mean to snap,” you apologise. “But I haven’t felt that angry in a long time. What’s her deal?”

Another squeeze, or is that his fingers trembling slightly. “Ah, you get used to it,” he jokes with a smile, though it fades when you throw him a sad look. “No, seriously, I try not to let it bother me anymore. I just… don’t go into town much anymore.”

You nod slowly, watching your feet to make sure you don’t trip over the odd protruding rock or root. You don’t know if it’s wise to broach the topic, but it keeps seeming to come up. “...Your grandma’s tea was really popular, huh?”

He laughs lightly. When you flick him a confused look, he shrugs, jerking your hand with it. “I was wondering how long it would take you. The elephant in the room and all. My grandma lived here, at Holly Lodge, though it was just a house until I inherited it. She made tea, her own strain. It got popular among the locals and, soon enough, tourists were catching on too. They stopped going to the markets. Most of the ladies that own accommodation branch out into selling food and produce. Tea is a popular option, as you could probably guess. They lost their business to her.”

“That’s just life. And besides, that’s a problem they have with her. Why are they being so rude to you? You don’t even sell tea anymore.”

“Because they can? I don’t know. Listen, I’ve explained it, if you want to leave and avoid all this drama that’s fine but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He drops your hand, and a strange but unpleasant feeling cuts into you.

The slight incline back isn’t so bad, but his breathing is shallow and his gaze is trained on the ground. Your lips droop down in guilt. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, I probably made the situation worse for you by yelling at her. I shouldn’t have done it.”

He’s silent for a moment. The air darkens slightly, a wash of cloud moving over the sun. “Please don’t say that.” His fingers stretch out towards your hand, then fall back.

You don’t speak the rest of the way back.

--

You try not to stare. You try your best to occupy yourself with the dog at your feet, who gently paws at your hand if you halt your stroking of his thick curls. But as you sit on the floor and listen to the satisfied grunts of Holly, lying on his back in the sun, you can’t help but glance up every few seconds to the man in the kitchen.

It’s strangely domestic, the way he potters around the room, fully focussed on his task. Every measurement of flour, sugar, butter, is perfectly precise and done with care. It’s warm in the kitchen - he told you earlier it’s so the dough will rise when he rests it - and in the sun his skin seems to glow. He’s humming to himself as he kneads; a song you’ve never heard before but one you hope to hear many times again. Although he tied his hair up in a little bean sprout on the top of his head, a few stray wisps have broken free, and his pout deepens every time he has to blow them out of his eyes. The little white apron hooked around his neck and fastened at his slender waist is dusty with stray powder and smeared with runaway globs of dough.

You don’t want to break his concentration, but you feel strange sitting and silently watching him. “Jack of all trades, huh?”

He jumps and turns quickly to you, knocking over a thick paper bag of flour with his elbow, sending white grains flying into the air. His eyes fly wide open and he futilely cups his hands over where the flour is spilling out of the bag, which lays on its side on the bench. With hands full, he pushes it back up to standing, but everything in his hands is dumped onto the benchtop, including the perfectly kneaded round of dough. His shoulders droop.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” you hastily apologise the moment your voice returns to you. Ignoring the dog that whines and paws at you, you stand up and rush over to him, grabbing a tea towel on a hook and dousing it in tap water to begin cleaning up. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, I’m sorry.”

“It- It’s okay,” he assures haltingly, still awkwardly waving his white-covered hands in the air like he’s not sure what to do with them. You move quickly, cleaning up the majority of the spill for him, the towel coated in a flour-water goop by the time you’re done. When you straighten up, the man in front of you crinkles his nose, like it’s itchy, and sighs, though at his situation rather than you. He wiggles his white-covered fingers. “Thank you,” he says, “trying to grab the flour probably wasn’t the best…”

He trails off as you grab his wrists gently, leading him to the sink where you turn on the tap and run his hands under the steady stream. He waits, obediently turns his palms up for you to squirt a pump of hand soap onto them, and lathers up as you return to the other side of the bench to clean up the rest of the spilt flour.

You hear the water stop, and moments later he’s at your side, picking up the puffy ball of dough with a care that most people would reserve for a small child. Cradling it to his chest so as not to drop it, he uses one hand to delicately brush away the pile of flour on the surface. “It’s alright,” he mumbles softly, and you’re unsure whether he’s speaking to you or the dough, “it’ll be fine. Maybe a little dry, but still good.”

You fold over the top of the bag of flour and let your hands sit heavy on it, still clutching at the paper. “Yoongi.” He swallows hard and looks up when you say his name, absentmindedly patting the dough. “You’re a really kind person, you know that?”

He blinks, setting the dough on a clear patch of the wetly glistening bench. “What do you mean? I’m doing what any host would do. Welcoming my guest.”

You bite your lip, unsatisfied with the response. “Clearly not any host would be kind. I know that after this morning. Besides; it’s more than that. You made me eggs this morning on hot coals-”

“This is a bed-and-breakfast,” he replies weakly, “and that’s just because the power’s out. I’m not sure when it’ll be fixed actually, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. I…” You sigh, scanning his face. He really doesn’t get it, you realise. How special he is. “I’m so happy to be here, Yoongi. I’ve never met someone as kind as you. And I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. It’s clear this means a lot to you.”

He ducks his head, moving past you to open a drawer, fiddling around tubes of parchment paper and foil to pull out some plastic wrap. “Thank you, but it’s really nothing. I’m just happy for the company.”

As you lean against the bench and watch him gingerly knead the dough into a rough log shape, before rolling it up in the plastic wrap, you realise just how true that must be. A thought strikes you, shatters that solemn line of thought. “Wait… If the power’s out, how are you gonna bake the bread?”

“Oh!” He glances up, seemingly relieved at the change in topic. “Well, I thought I’d make some and save it until I can get the repair guy out here. I have an icebox around the back of the house that I’m using as a temporary freezer. Then, when we get power again…” He lifts up the dough with an odd quirk to his lips, like he’s cracking a secret joke only the two of you know. “Celebratory bread.”

Uncontrollably, a beam breaks across your face. “Sure, Min Yoongi. Celebratory bread.”

--

The two of you share a bonfire that night. You suspect it’s the first time, at least for a while, that he’s had company. Human company, at least.

“Come on, boy, not too close,” he warns Holly, whose nose continues to dip out towards the flames even as his owner gently pats his rump. The light casts Yoongi’s face in a deep orange warmth; you didn’t pick up on it last night, but his eyes practically glitter with the reflection of it. His hair is no longer up in a hair tie so the thick mop of curls - only somewhat looser than Holly’s, though a rich brown instead of the caramel of the dog - hang low on his brow, lopsided and dishevelled from changing into pyjamas.

The two of you had stuck to yourselves, for the most part, that afternoon. You’d taken advantage of an old bicycle he had dug out of his tool shed to go back down to the main town, spending hours at a cafe, shamelessly torrenting their wifi to research more about tea plants and how to grow (or, more importantly, revive) them. After the waitresses got a little too antsy with your continued presence, and once you felt confident in your task, you got directions to a hardware store and bought some decent soil. An employee there - a respectable albeit slightly clumsy young man who seemed like the epitome of customer service - offered to deliver the heavy plastic sacks for you, and so you returned home satisfied with a day well-spent.

It was another rustic barbecue for dinner. After disappearing into his room to change into a matching pair of baby pink cotton pyjamas, the bed-and-breakfast owner quickly set up a fire on the bed of blackened rocks and charcoal in his backyard. With a practised ease he raised the flame into a blaze, and every time he leant forward to cook some more meat, you watched with a strange fixation as beads of sweat collected at his temples, sticking down strands of hair and warming his cheeks to a rosy glow.

“Do they fit a bit better?”

His sudden question reaches your ears with a delay, and by the time your eyes focus again, he’s watching you curiously. “Fit a bit…? Oh! The clothes. Yes, thank you so much.”

With the clothes you came in currently drying on a rack in your spare room, Yoongi had lent you another raggedy shirt and a pair of plain blue boxer shorts. With how little fabric there was, you suspected they were underwear rather than proper pants, but as long as they stayed up you were happy.

His eyes dart to the side and his lip quirks. “I feel a little overdressed,” he admits, “giving you old clothes while I have proper pyjamas.”

“No, you look cute,” you protest automatically, before sputtering in embarrassment. “I- I meant, it’s fine, I don’t mind you wearing…” You trail off, coughing awkwardly.

With his cheeks so red from the fire, the only way you can tell he’s flustered is the flash of his gums as he smiles, ducking his head. “Ah,” he deflects softly, “you’re just messing with me, I’m not cute.” He doesn’t make eye contact with you for a moment, quietly cutting off strips of beef onto two plates. When he speaks again, you almost miss it over the crackle of flame, and you get the feeling he never intends for you to hear. “Not as cute as you,” he murmurs, and your heart short circuits.

In an effort to pretend like you didn’t overhear, you reach for one of the plates, scooting closer on the grass in order to reach it. The two of you eat in comfortable silence, enjoying the warming effect of the beef settling in your stomachs. He clearly has more of an appetite than you, and keeps munching away long after you’ve pushed your plate away. The grass is warm and dry from the heat of the fire, and so you lie back on it, letting your gaze reach the heavens.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” you muse, “at first I thought it was silly to have accommodation so far from the rest of the town, but I get it now. I don’t ever want to leave.” You attempt to lilt your voice, as if it’s a joke, but it falls flat. You don’t think you’ve ever been so genuine about something in a long time, and that scares you. You’ve only been here a day.

You hear wet noises, and lift your head off the grass to look over at your companion, who’s hurriedly chewing on an over-full mouthful of meat, blowing out his cheeks. You grin at the sight, propping yourself up on your elbows as you wait, and he does his best to flick you a chastising glare as he finally swallows. “Well,” he makes out with an empty mouth, “you know Holly Lodge is always happy to have you as long as you wish to stay. If you really do want to stay.”

Having said his piece, he promptly fills his mouth again with a thick slab that probably should’ve been cut in half first. You grin at the way his eyes widen unconsciously as he chows down, reflecting the hypnotic orange flicker in front of him. “Yeah,” you say gently, “I really do.”

--

It’s odd how days become weeks without you noticing. The days get so hot and humid that an evening fire, which had begun to feel routine, is no longer possible. After tilling the soil around the tea plant and doing some serious work on it, the leaves fatten up and return to their former glory. Yoongi’s face softens every time he walks past you working in the garden. You don’t know which thing he’s more happy to see between you and the thriving shrubbery.

Time passes as if in a dream, the bed-and-breakfast feeling like a slice of paradise separate from reality. The electrician comes, an eager yet very methodical apprentice by his side, and with the return of the electricity comes the celebratory bread, enjoyed with a strawberry jam of Yoongi’s own making. You spend your days in the garden and your evenings with Yoongi, sharing solace in each other’s company as you watch old movies or play convoluted card games. For someone that’s normally always on the go, you feel yourself settling in to this world.

Yoongi’s curls slacken as his hair grows, becoming shaggy over time, and one late Friday night he sets up a wooden stool in the bathroom and asks you to trim it. One lopsided cut later, things like these become normal for the two of you. He acclimatizes quickly to your presence, and you feel yourself changing too, melding your lifestyle into his. Even though you purchase some well-fitting shorts (as well as more underwear and feminine supplies), on the third day a pile of shirts was left on your bed and you’d been wearing them ever since. Eventually they begin to feel less like his shirts you’re just borrowing and more like your own, and you’re not sure how to feel about the niggling bud of disappointment in your chest when each one of them comes back from the wash smelling like your perfume instead of the sweetly floral scent you had begun to associate with him.

The domesticity of your situation doesn’t hit you until a Wednesday afternoon, when the sun melts the air around you into a wobbly haze, and you finally make it back home from a trip into town to grab some emergency groceries. Yoongi got weekly deliveries for the most part, but he had tried (and failed) to make some homemade ice cream the day before and the two of you were in urgent need of some milk. With a relatively mild morning, you felt safe to go on foot rather than bike, but the heat set in quickly and your feet are burning by the time you slam open the front door and step into the cool of the house.

“Yoongi,” you call out automatically, “I’m home.” The word slips out so naturally, that you think it can’t have been the first time you’d referred to the small cottage as home.

A happy gasp echoes down the hallway. “Y/n,” Yoongi cheers from a distance, “we have butterflies and bees out here, come see!”

A contented smile spreads across your face at the sound of his voice, and you slip your shoes and socks off, going through the lounge and out the back door of the house. Your heart billows in your chest every time you see him, but the delighted beam on his face makes you feel lighter than air.

Too hot for even the lightest of sweaters, Yoongi has taken to various short-sleeved shirts and button-downs. Today he’s in cream fabric shorts and a peachy satin shirt, feet bare like yours as he stares up the side of the exterior wall in wonder. Though you hate to look away from him, the way the sun casts his normally dark curls into a bronze halo, you make your way out into the garden, grass cushioning your sore feet as you turn to see what’s brought out this wonder in him.

Amongst a background of vibrant pink azaleas, you can spot fluttering movement where several monarch butterflies bask in the warm rays. Throughout the garden, honeybees aimlessly zip around, a gentle buzzing in your ears. “They’re beautiful,” you muse, “I guess the hot weather brought them out.”

The man across from you stays silent. You ponder the wildlife one more time before returning your gaze to him. Gone is the awe-filled gleam in his eyes. They’re turned down at the edges now, staring lower than your face. “You’re sunburnt,” he remarks with a frown, before raising his eyebrows in a more urgent expression of worry. “Quick; get inside!”

You apparently don’t move fast enough. The young man shoots forward, fingers slipping between yours and tugging you by the hand. You let him drag you inside, back into the slightly dim and blessedly cool house. “It’s okay, Yoongi,” you protest half-heartedly, but he doesn’t pay you any mind, squeezing tightly on your hand as he winds his way down the short hallway and into his bedroom.

Letting go of you to press at your shoulders and urge you to sit on the edge of his bed, Yoongi disappears back out into the hallway, only to return moments later with a bottle of green-ish clear gel. You eye it suspiciously, but he remains serious. “Aloe vera,” he explains, “it’ll help with the pain.”

“It doesn’t even hurt that bad,” you protest weakly, though even as you shrug, the drag of the fabric against the raw skin causes you to wince. Yoongi rushes forward, sitting on the bed beside you. You hiss when he gently pushes up the short sleeves of the baggy shirt, exposing the line where your usual skin tone becomes harshly reddened.

“This’ll help,” he repeats softly, and begins to rub the cool gel onto your skin. You sit in silence, watching him out of the corner of his eye as the bridge of his nose crinkles in concentration. “You should really be more careful,” he scolds, though there’s no bite to his tone. “Please don’t ever leave the house without sunscreen on days like this.”

“Okay, mom,” you joke gently, though he doesn’t laugh. “Really, Yoongi, it’s no big deal. You don’t have to make a fuss.”

His hands leave you. You look up after a moment, wondering why he’s gone so silent. His face is downtrodden, staring haplessly at the gel still smeared across his fingers. “I’m just trying to take care of you,” he mutters.

Your heart breaks at the hurt in his tone, but quickly a laugh jumps out. He glances up at you reproachfully, but you just grin and point to his head. “There’s a petal in your hair, at the back,” you explain, “it must’ve been there since you were outside.”

“Oh.” He begins patting down the back of his head, but somehow he misses the bright pink petal entirely.

You reach forward, and he goes stock still as you tentatively card a few fingers through his hair, lifting the azalea out of his messy curls. “Here,” you announce, handing it over to him, “you should keep it.” He curls his fingers around it, staring at it with an unreadable expression. “It could be good luck.”

When you leave his room, after thanking him for the aloe vera (refreshingly cool on your tender skin, you have to admit it helped), he stays on the bed, eyes glued to the petal in his palm. He doesn’t come back out until dinnertime.

--

The first day Min Yoongi gets real customers is a few weeks later, late on a Saturday morning. The two young men are a strange echo of you two months ago; turned away from every other hostel and motel in the town center, they find themselves at the doorstep of Holly Lodge, desperate for a place to stay.

However this time instead of lack of vacancy, the problem for them was a lack of tolerance. With hands firmly intertwined, they proudly announce they’re ‘pre-honeymooning’; a concept you had never heard before but it seems to be an excuse to take a vacation more than anything.

While the two of them fuss over the cuteness of the little cottage, Yoongi pulls you aside. “I can turn them away if you need,” he offers. “I only have one spare room and you’re using it.”

You furrow your brow in shock. “What? Yoongi, I’m not even paying for that room! You need to put your business before me. Besides, I could always sleep on the couch.”

He’s not happy with your answer, flicking a worried gaze over to the couple, who have made themselves at home on the old couch, heads ducked together as they whisper back and forth. “I mean… I suppose,” he gives in, tugging at his earlobe nervously. “But you don’t need to sleep on the couch. You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he seems antsy to get back to the visitors, so you let it drop. As Yoongi sits down in an armchair across from them, you slip into the kitchen to begin brewing some tea, the first from the revived tea plant.

“So, the two of you are happy to stay?” Yoongi questions shyly. As the three of them begin to discuss prices and facilities, you quietly observe them. You watch the couple, the way the younger, with hair dyed a vibrant blue, leans in to the side of the older, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds him close. The brunette, introduced to you earlier as Seokjin, mindlessly plays with the fringing on his fiance’s jacket, as the fiance, Taehyung, looks up at him with adoration in his eyes. It twists something deep inside you, to see them so...intimate, and soon enough you can’t bear to look at them, instead flicking your gaze over to Yoongi.

Yoongi. It is an odd feeling, seeing him return to his shy, easily-flustered self. In recent weeks he seemed to have grown comfortable with you, but this brings back memories of your first few days at Holly Lodge. As the kettle bubbles away, you watch Yoongi’s cheeks lift in a flattered smile as Seokjin points out a framed photograph on the wall, one Yoongi had mentioned some time ago he took. Back then, back when you stumbled in on his garden desperate for shelter, you were too hung up on your own misfortune to really notice him, but now it’s clear to you just how much this place means to him.

There’s a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye, Taehyung waving a hand towards the garden. Instead of following the gesture, Yoongi’s eyes dart over and are met by yours. His eyebrows lift when he catches you staring, but he looks back at the couple, mouthing something you can’t hear over the whistle of the kettle.

You clear your throat, shaking away the weird lingering emotion in your chest, and quickly pour four cups of tea. Upon your return, you notice there’s nowhere for you to sit. The young couple are taking up the couch, and Yoongi occupies the only armchair. You pass out the three cups and hover for a moment. Do you even need to be here? You’re technically just another guest, and this conversation doesn’t really involve you. But then again, the spare room isn’t your room anymore, and you’d feel weird going into Yoongi’s bedroom without him.

Yoongi, sensing your hesitance, pats the arm of the chair and squishes himself into the opposite corner. You suppress a grin; an easier solution would’ve just been sitting on the floor, but it’s too late to say no to him now. You perch awkwardly on the cushioned arm, having to lean into Yoongi’s shoulder slightly to keep your balance.

He takes a sip from the steaming mug, and gasps softly, glancing up at you. “Boseong Breakfast?” he questions in wonder, and you give him a short nod. “This tastes just like... “ The space between his brows crinkles slightly, but he forces himself to brighten his expression again, turning back to the men on the couch. “Y/n grew the tea herself in our garden outside. I hope you like it!”

Your eyes prickle, and you bite down hard on your tongue, staring into the murky depths of the tea in your hands. Our garden.

Taehyung’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of you curiously, pausing for a moment. “You guys make a cute couple,” he states finally.

Your eyes fly wide open, automatically turning to Yoongi, expecting him to speak up and explain, but it seems Yoongi was waiting for you to be the one protesting too. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. “Uh, we’re not a couple,” you remark, addressing Taehyung directly. Out of the corner of your eye, Yoongi nods in affirmation. “I’m actually just a guest, I’m just helping out around the garden while I’m here.”

Taehyung doesn’t reply, simply raising an eyebrow. Seokjin, still with an arm around his partner, swallows a sip of tea and drums his fingers against the homemade ceramic mug. “We’re looking to stay for a while; a few weeks, possibly a month. Would you be able to house us for that long? We understand if you’ve got prior bookings to fulfil.”

Yoongi leans in to you slightly, his elbow nudging your thigh. “I better check my calendar first,” he quips with a gummy grin. You let out a laugh at the joke, but the other two don’t join in, just staring at you and Yoongi in slight confusion like they’re trying to work something out.

You realise how it must look, you practically perching on Yoongi’s lap, and quickly stand up, taking a seat on the carpet in front of the coffee table instead. “Anyways,” you begin, “I usually do a load of washing every day, so if you want I’m happy to do it for you. Now that it’s ready, I have more tea than I know what to do with, so help yourself to that, too. If you need anything, just let Yoongi or me know.”

“Breakfast is at 9,” Yoongi helpfully supplies from the armchair. “I usually make lunch and dinner if you’re around. Thank you for choosing to stay at Holly Lodge. I hope you have an enjoyable time here.”

The two share a meaningful look, noses almost brushing at their proximity.  The elder breaks away to take another slow sip from his mug of tea. “I’m absolutely positive we will,” Seokjin replies with a beam.

--

It doesn’t feel right. His bed is comfortable, sure, but you’re all too aware of the man over the edge, curled up in blankets on the floor. “Are you sure you don’t wanna come up?” you offer unsurely. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

“It’s fine.” His voice comes to you slightly muted by distance. “Holly is keeping me company down here.”

You frown, unsatisfied. You roll over so that you’re facing him. “The sheets are super itchy, maybe I should’ve washed them first.”

He lets out a tired chuckle, resonating in his throat. “That’s just the sheets. They’re cheap.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur, “the sheets on the other bed seemed fine.”

He shuffles a bit, sitting up. “The other sheets are Egyptian cotton, that’s why.”

You raise your eyes. “Why are you suffering in these then?”

He’s silent for a moment, mouth flat. “Sheets are expensive.”

Your heart breaks for him. Spending all his money into the perfect guest experience, when he hadn’t even had any guests until you showed up. “I’ll buy you fancy sheets for your birthday, then.”

He scoffs softly, fisting his hands in Holly’s tan curls absentmindedly. “My birthday isn’t until next year. March.”

You shrug. “And?”

He fixes you with a baleful expression. “You’ll be long gone by then.”

In the dim lighting of the evening, you can barely make out a gleam in his eyes. A sudden exhaustion takes over you, and you can’t bear to look at his dejected form anymore. You close your eyes, making yourself as comfortable as you can under the covers. The pillowcase smells like him. “Will I?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Yoongi?” you ask into the night, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Mhm?”

“I don’t want you to sleep on the floor,” you admit. “Can you come up here?”

A pause. “With you?”

You can’t analyse his emotion with the careful way he speaks. You crack your eyes open again, staring down at him, at the way he hunches over uncertainly, cradling the sleeping dog in his lap. “I’ll stay on my side, I promise.”

His nose twitches. He tugs nervously at his earlobe. “You’re on my side,” he remarks. Your eyes widen and you begin to shuffle back. “No, no! You can stay. You can have that side.”

You scoot back over, continuing to face over the edge as he stands up, gently setting Holly down on the blankets, and comes around to hop in beside you. Though it’s summer, the cottage is always cool, and you shiver at the rush of air when he lifts the blankets. “Cold?” he questions in a murmur.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Here.” A weight falls over you, and you open your eyes to a dishevelled and tired Min Yoongi, folding the duvet in half so that it lays over you twofold. You go to protest, knowing he’ll be even colder than you now, but you can’t ruin the satisfied smile that plays at his lips as he pats it down, tucking the sides so that you’re snug.

Once he’s done, he disappears from your sight as he shuffles down under the bare sheets on the other side, humming happily. You let your eyes fall closed again, and breath in deeply. “Night, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

You snuggle your face further into the pillow. “Sweet dreams.”

--

“How did you two meet?” You glance up from the bed of herbs you’re tending to, squinting in the sun.

Taehyung, who’s taken to lounging in the sun outside as you work, sprawls his legs out on the warm grass. With his head tipped back to receive the rays, he sighs out happily. “Senior year,” he divulges, “we were both auditioning for Romeo in the school play, but Jin got the part instead of me. We were kinda rivals at that time, I guess. But one of my friends convinced me to audition for Juliet as revenge, and somehow I got in. We started spending more time together, and…” He shrugs. “The rest is history.”

“That’s cute.” A bird chirps in the trees, like it’s sounding out its agreement. You return to gently pressing seeds into the lush soil. “I wish I could have a meet-cute like that.”

He laughs, rich and warm. “Looks to me like you’re already in one.”

You avoid the temptation to look over to the cottage, where you know Yoongi is, inside making lunch with Seokjin (who turns out to be a brilliant cook). “No,” you deflect weakly. You can’t seem to find anything else to say, and so you clear the thought from your head entirely. “Anyway. When are you guys getting married?”

He huffs at the way you change the topic, but is only too happy to indulge. “Next year sometime. We’re in no rush. Love isn’t on a schedule, you know?”

You hate the way your mind slips to how you and Yoongi have been quietly enjoying each other’s company for the past two months or so. That’s not the same, you reason. Yoongi is just a kind person, that’s all. Anyone would grow fond of him. “I bet it’ll be a beautiful wedding,” you offer, “you two seem so in love. Besides, you’re both the hottest dudes I’ve seen in my life so I’m sure the wedding photos will be fantastic.”

He laughs boisterously, mouth widening and eyes crinkling, and it draws the attention of the two men in the kitchen, the taller of which gives a jaunty wave to his fiancé. Through the open window, you can see as Seokjin then turns around, makes a comment that causes Yoongi to flush, and claps him on the shoulder. Yoongi looks up towards the two of you, but his eyes narrow and he puts his back to you, returning to the food.

Your cheery disposition vanishes, and the air darkens as the sun dips below cloud. “I’m gonna head into town later, there’s a twilight market I want to check out. The two of you are welcome to come with.” 

Frowning at the sudden shade interrupting his tanning, Taehyung gets up, wiping the grass stands off his shorts. “Yeah, why not?”

—

“Honestly, you don’t have to, I don’t mind cooking!”

Yoongi’s protests go unheard. The engaged couple, who had earlier gone off on their own tangent at the street market, were determined to use some of the fresh produce they picked up to prepare a meal.

“Come on,” Seokjin pushes, “let us treat you! You’ve been so hospitable to us. Y/n said she worked in the garden as a thank you, so we can cook you a nice meal.”

The owner ducks his hand, delicately resting it in his hands, splayed fingers barely covering the happy grin. “You’re too sweet, really,” he gushes. “That would be really lovely.” Upon Seokjin’s insistence, the four of you had cracked open some soju, and it seemed the half-bottle Yoongi had consumed already was getting to him, cheeks shiny and pink. You can’t help but smile fondly at the sight of him getting all shy at the slightest display of kindness.

“What do you say, Y/n?” Taehyung questions. “Wanna come make him a meal?”

You pull your gaze away from Yoongi. “Huh? Oh, you’d be better off without me. I’m a terrible cook.”

Taehyung’s eyes glimmer in the glare of the low evening sun. “My Seokjinnie can teach you. Come on, it’s guests serving the host tonight.”

You agree reluctantly, and the two men grab one hand each, dragging you into the kitchen. You giggle at their enthusiasm, feeling a little past tipsy yourself. “What’s on the menu, head-chef?”

The brunette purses his lips in a wry smile and reaches into one of the bags, starting to empty out the various ingredients on the bench. “Don’t worry, young grasshopper, it’s very easy. We’ll make some fresh pasta sauce and have spaghetti bolognese.”

In the end, ‘very easy’ seems to be an overstatement. After finishing off another bottle of grapefruit soju you find yourself, clumsy with the warmth of the alcohol in your belly, furiously attempting to dice some onions on a chopping board.

As Taehyung manages the tomatoes reducing in a pan, Seokjin latches onto your flailing limbs, arms wrapping around you to gently clasp your wrists. “Careful, careful,” he chastises, “you’ll chop off a finger. Tuck your fingers under, and here, cut like this.”

You pout as he guides your hands, the knife cleanly slicing through the onion half you had previously been hacking at. “Okay, Mariah Carey. No, wait; what was that old lady chef’s name? Martha Stewart. Okay, Martha Stewart. Not everybody can be an incredible cook, you know?”

Taehyung chuckles under his breath at the other end of the kitchen. “We should not have given her alcohol,” he remarks to his fiance.

With a dawning realisation and a slightly running nose, you realise the cut onion is beginning to sting your eyes. You squeeze them shut, letting Seokjin continue to chop on behalf of your hands, but that only forces the tears out. “Ouch,” you whine hopelessly, leaning your weight back onto Seokjin’s broad chest.

“Oh-!” Seokjin stops chopping, simply holding your wrists in the air as the knife dangles pathetically from your dominant hand. “Tae-bear, can you come help?”

You let out another whine as Seokjin slowly walks backwards, you half-following half-stumbling back. Once there’s enough room between you and the bench, Taehyung slips in. “Oh, darling,” he coos, “that onion was being mean to you, hm? Open your eyes.”

You do so, but keep them in a pained squint. All you can see between a blurred layer of tears is his blue hair, and the patch of colour swirls in your vision. “So mean to me,” you repeat dumbly as warm hands gently wipe under your eyes, clearing away the tears that run down your cheeks.

“Goodness, she’s definitely had too much, how many bottles did you give her?”

You feel Seokjin’s chest rumble against your back as he replies. “Like, two? It’s not even strong stuff.”

You hum happily. “You’re strong stuff,” you say, though you don’t even know who you’re talking to. The sting is finally fading from your eyes, and once Taehyung gently pats the last of the tears away, you let out a tired sigh, going even more limp against Seokjin. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you complain, “don’t want bisghetti.”

Taehyung chuckles. “Okay, I think I’m gonna take you to your bedroom now, missy, you better have a lie-down.” The knife is pried from your fingers and strong arms lift you off of Seokjin, keeping you upright as you potter out of the kitchen with Taehyung.

Behind you, you hear Seokjin sigh. “Sorry, Yoongi,” he apologises, “we wouldn’t have given her so much if we knew she was a lightweight. She’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep. I can finish off the dinn-”

“Yoogi,” you cry, wriggling in Taehyung’s grasp. You hadn’t spoken to him since you started making dinner and that’s been far too long. Taehyung tries to shush you, but you twist around to face the dining table, where Yoongi sits. You go limp when you see him. Staring blankly into the middle distance, he has a strange look on his face, lips and brows frowning in disapproval or annoyance, but eyes soft with concern. Your nose tingles viciously and tears well in your eyes. “‘re you mad a’ me, Yogi bear?”

He looks up at you suddenly, face smoothing out as his eyes widen. “Of course I’m not, Y/n.” He trails off unconvingly at the end. “Just get some sleep, okay?”

You frown, somehow unsatisfied, but nod, letting your cumbersome feet carry you to his bedroom. He sleeps on the couch that night.

--

When you wake up, your memory is fuzzy but it’s clear by the way Yoongi treats you that you must’ve done something wrong.

You don’t understand it, but he seems cold to you, sulking. Over the space of a week, you spend so little time in his company that it feels like he must be actively avoiding you. To compensate the niggling sensation in your heart, you spend more time with the boys.

They cheer you up a lot, never questioning what’s got you so gloomy. Maybe they can already tell. But you waste away your days building up a modest garden in Yoongi’s backyard in the mornings when it’s cooler, and finding stuff to do with Taehyung and Seokjin in the afternoons.

Though you still share a room with Yoongi, the night after you got drunk he chose to sleep on the floor again, and you didn’t have the heart to ask him back up. You’ve been sleeping on his side for so long that his pillow no longer smells like him anymore. You don’t sleep well these days.

You find yourself waking naturally long before he does so that you can tiptoe out of his room and get ready alone. At night, you press your ear to the door and wait to hear his little snuffles and grunts of a deep sleep before you creep in. It seems odd to have any negative feelings towards him, but he just doesn’t seem the same as the man you had grown so used to sharing a house with.

Tonight, he woke up as you were sneaking inside his room, and so the two of you lie in dim silence, both all too aware of the other. Holly is curled up beside him, you can hear the gentle snoring, but Yoongi is completely quiet. You can’t even hear him breathe.

The total lack of sound in Yoongi’s room means that another noise is amplified. You wrinkle your brow at the odd, low pitched rumble, barely audible. You know it’s coming from outside the bedroom, though where exactly you couldn’t say.

Just as you’re about to pass it off as nothing, it sounds out again, louder this time. A moan.

Realisation dawns on you when you hear it again, drawn-out and dripping with pleasure. Taehyung and Seokjin are having sex in the next room over.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you whisper into the dark. “Have they no shame?”

It’s loud enough this time that you can hear the words themselves.

“Ah, Jinnie-hyung.” You screw up your face and huff.

“...they did say ‘pre-honeymooning,’” Yoongi reasons reluctantly.

You sit up, bunching the blankets in your lap as you glare down at the bed and breakfast owner. “So you’re on-” you break off as the undeniable high pitch of a whimper echoes throughout the house. “So you’re on their side? They’re fucking in my bed!”

He frowns at you, though it’s far from intimidating with his ruffled brown curls and sunshine yellow pyjamas. “It’s not your bed, it’s the guest bed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “They’re fucking on your Egyptian cotton sheets.”

A fury you’ve never before seen lights up in his eyes. “My sheets!” The begrudging way he crosses his arms over his chest makes him look like a petulant child, and you snort out a laugh. “Hey,” he cries out in a stage whisper, barely louder than the pleasured moans that seem to be rising to a fevered pitch, “don’t laugh at me! Those sheets were expensive!”

You pause for a moment, trying to stay composed, but then you hear it through the thin walls.

“Fuck, cum in me, hyung!”

You clap a hand over your mouth, barely in time to muffle your desperate laughter.

Through tears, you see Yoongi try to fight the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth, but soon enough he succumbs, shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed shut as he laughs silently. The two of you endure a minute or so of loud cries of climax, before all goes still.

You lower your hand. You stare at each other for a moment, but after nothing happens, you sigh out in relief. Yoongi goes to plump up his pillow as you fuss with the duvet. “Thank god that’s over,” you proclaim, “now we can finally-”

“Does my Tae-bear still want more, hm? Greedy boy.”

Yoongi’s face drops. He stands up suddenly, thrusting out a hand in front of your face. As quiet whines and sighs reach your ears from the other room, you stare at it blankly. He waves it impatiently. “Come on,” he instructs, “I can’t take this anymore. Let’s get out of here.”

Though you’re uncertain what he means, you reach out and take his hand. It’s warm, and his fingers slip between yours naturally, clasping tightly. Before leading you carefully to the door, Yoongi grabs a blanket off the floor and hands it to you. He opens the door so gingerly that you can hear nothing more than the brush of the wood against the carpet.

The two of you tip-toe down the hallway. Directly outside the guest bedroom, you’re close enough to hear not only Taehyung’s desperate moans, but the pants of exertion from his fiance. Whatever Seokjin was doing to him in there, it was nothing short of athletic.

Holly, having been woken when Yoongi got up, pads down the hallway behind you happily. You wince at the jangle of his collar, but the two loud men don’t seem to notice, or at least don’t care enough to pause.

When the two of you reach the living room, Yoongi drops your hand to fiddle with the key to the back door. He slides it open and you step out in confusion, waiting for him and Holly to come through, Yoongi sliding it shut behind him, locking it and pocketing the key in a tiny breast pocket on his pyjama shirt.

Once the door shuts behind you, you no longer have to remain quiet. “What are we doing?” you question.

Holly follows faithfully as Yoongi makes his way down the backyard barefooted; determined not to be left behind and burning with curiosity, you jog to catch up. You leave the even footing of the grass and begin picking your way through the trees, going in a slight incline up the hill.

“We weren’t gonna get any sleep listening to them going at it like rabbits anyway,” he explains, “so I figured we could chill out here for a few hours and come back inside before it gets too cold. Hopefully they’ll have tired themselves out by then.”

You frown, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Fine then,” you allow, “where are you- oh!” You’re cut off as Yoongi stumbles on a tree root, falling forward onto his hands and knees. He gets up quickly, brushing off the dirt and twigs from his palms. Even in the dim lighting, you can see his cheeks are red with embarrassment, so instead of poking fun, you just move on. “Tomorrow I can go down to the convenience store and buy some earplugs. Unless you want to talk to them about lowering the volume of their nightly activities?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Get the brand that comes with three sizes, I’ve got small ear canals.”

You bark out a surprised laugh. “I’m sure you do, Min Yoongi.” You let the jingle of Holly’s collar fill the air for a few moments, and your companion seems happy enough with the comfortable silence. He seems to be picking out an intentional path, though there is no evidence of a well-tread route he’s taking. It’s not until Yoongi comes to a stop in a small clearing, about a third of the way up the hillside, that you open your mouth again. “What’s this?”

Yoongi sits down in front of you, patting the grass. He waits for you to sit until he begins to explain. You shake out the blanket, laying over your two laps as he speaks. “I would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night all the time when I visited my grandma, pretending to be Indiana Jones or something. I found this glade one day and it became my nightly routine to come here at eleven or twelve pm and watch the stars.” He trails off in a wistful tone, craning his neck to look up.

Naturally, you follow his gaze. Blurred in the edges of your vision are the trees that surround you on the hill, but directly above is an open expanse of blackish navy, pricked with stars. The air is fresh, and you breathe it in deeply, feeling the cool air open your chest. You let your body tip back, lying down on the grass.

Yoongi’s voice comes from above, still sitting up. “One day I came back around two or three in the morning. Instead of being in bed, my grandma was waiting at the door for me. I thought she was mad - she wouldn’t speak to me all day - but that night when I went to leave she came out of her room and handed me a torch.” You can’t help but smile at the way Yoongi speaks, deeply entrenched in his own memories, voice hushed in nostalgic wonder. “Ever since that point, we did this together. She once told me that at night, the sun puts a big blanket over the earth to say it’s time to go to bed, but since it’s so old, it has holes in it. That’s what stars are. Ah, it sounds silly now, but at the time…” His voice changes, flattens. “I haven’t been here since she passed away. I couldn’t go alone.”

Your heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry, Yoongi.” You don’t know what else to say.

He sighs out heavily, the burden of loss. “Yeah.”

At some point over the next few hours, he lies down beside you, the two of you quietly contemplating the abyss above. Now that you’re looking at it different, it does look like a blanket. Thick blackness with pinpricks of light. You wonder what’s on the other side.

The air cools down. It’s still humid, but instead of warming you, it condenses on your neck in a cloying sweat, and beads on the grass. The tip of your nose is chilled pink, and you keep having to rubbing your hands together to warm them. You don’t want to interrupt this strange solemnity in the air, but once you begin to shiver slightly, you have no choice. “Can we head back now, Yoongi? I’m sure they’ve finished by now.”

“Hm? Yeah, okay.” He sits up and stretches with a groan, sticking out his arms and rolling his wrists. When he goes lax again, he sticks his fingers into the little pocket on his pyjama shirt. “Oh. Oh no.”

You frown, sitting up yourself. “What?”

“Must’ve fallen out when I tripped over,” he mumbles, “shit.”

“What?”

He tugs at his earlobe nervously. “I lost the key.”

“Y- what? So we’re locked out?”

“Well, just until tomorrow. When Taehyung and Seokjin get up, they can let us in. I’ll go down to the locksmith, get a new key made in no time.”

Now that you know you’re stuck here, the cold seems more insidious. You shiver again. “That doesn’t help us now, Yoongi! We’re stuck out here for the night because you wanted to go fucking stargazing.” His hurt look cuts through you like a knife, and you rush out the breath you’re holding, anger dissipating in a moment. “No, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I just… we’re gonna freeze out here, Yoongi.”

Guilt worries at his brow, and he tucks his knees up to his chest. “We can do our best to stay warm. The grass is still mostly dry, and there’s no wind or anything. If we huddle together under the blanket we can conserve body heat. It’s just one night.”

You stare at him for a moment, then nod begrudgingly. “Fine then,” you acquiesce. “We cuddle in order to survive tonight, and then never speak of it again.” With a flourish, you lie back down, tugging the blanket over you and turning your back to him.

Instead of a warm body, you’re met with silence. “Um,” Yoongi says finally, “I- Never mind.”

You twist your head around. “You what?”

He rubs at his cheek in embarrassment, though the dark pink blush firmly stays. “I like to be the little spoon.”

After a moment’s pause, you swivel around, holding the blanket up for him. “Come on then, little spoon,” you say softly, “get comfy.”

He offers you the smallest smile of gratitude, a flash of teeth peeking out, and turns, shuffling back until he’s pressed up against your chest. As you lower the blanket over the both of you, your arm naturally slips over his torso, curling over his tummy. The warmth of his body in your arms certainly is a respite from the cold, and clearly he agrees, because he lets out an unconscious grunt of happiness. You remember grinning into the darkness, ready to make a teasing remark, but sleep takes you before you can even open your mouth.

--

You had expected that night would bring Yoongi back to normal. That whatever strange mood had affected him in that week would be dissolved with the night you spent together under the stars. However, the next morning Taehyung and Seokjin convince you to stay at the lodge playing board games with them while Yoongi goes alone to the locksmith for a new key, and when he returns home to you curled up between the two of them, watching some dumb early-2000s rom-com on the TV, it seems his earlier grudge has returned with a vengeance.

There’s a strangely hostile tension in the air that afternoon, and when you and the boys finish up watching movies you pretend to accidentally fall asleep, just so you don’t have to go back to the room.

You begin to favor spending time with the other guests rather than Yoongi. It almost feels like you’re outstaying your welcome, but Taehyung and Seokjin seem enamoured with your company, and so day-in day-out you’re hanging out with them. After a couple weeks, you begin to view them as genuine friends. You get the impression that they hadn’t planned on staying as long as they are. Taehyung’s blue locks are beginning to grow out, hints of natural black peeking out at the roots. Seokjin has the (probably ill-founded) idea of buying bleach and dye at the supermarket, which is why you find yourself in a pair of gloves, lathering bright red hair dye on his scalp after dinner one night.

When Yoongi finished doing the dishes and saw Taehyung mixing the dye, he simply huffed and told him not to get any on the floor, then disappeared into his room. He was going to bed earlier and earlier, you noted, as well as getting up later in the mornings. You couldn’t remember the last time you held a conversation with him.

Now the three of you remaining in the kitchen sit cross legged on the floor, chatting away as the dye sets. Taehyung, with a plastic shower cap covering his hair, bangs his head back against the cabinets. “I wonder what colour I should have for the wedding,” he muses.

Seokjin’s eyes crinkle at the thought. “At the rate you’re dying it, it’ll be straw by the time you walk down that aisle.”

The younger grins, boxy. “You’ll still love me, even with scarecrow hair?”

“Of course,” Seokjin answers without hesitation. “Besides, it would grow back healthy in no time.”

“Would you love me even if I was bald?”

“Let’s not get hasty here,” he jibes, lifting his eyebrows in mock concern. “Don’t worry, Tae-bear. You’re the only man for me.”

The two laugh fondly, then fall into a silence. You know it’s a personal question, but you’ve known them for a while, so you ask anyway. “Have you guys always known? That you were attracted to men, I mean.”

Taehyung smiles, nodding languidly. “Well, both of us are bi so it’s not just men. But for me, yeah. I always knew, and then when I was in college I was a complete Casanova. Boys, girls, everyone in between. Life was a buffet.”

“Oh,” you exclaim curiously, “so you’ve been with men and women then?” He nods again. A thought strikes you. “That’s something I’ve always wondered, actually. Who are better to kiss; guys or girls?”

Taehyung scratches lazily at his scalp through the plastic cap. “Most guys are great kissers, but there’s nothing nicer than women’s lips. Luckily my Seokjinnie has the prettiest lips in the world.”

You look over as Seokjin, sitting across from Taehyung, purses his lips playfully, before shrugging. “I wouldn’t know,” he admits, “Taehyung is my one and only.”

The aforementioned pushes off the cabinet, leaning forward with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Do you want to try?”

Seokjin tilts his head in confusion. “Hm?”

“If I gave you permission and Y/n agreed to it, would you want to kiss her right now?”

“What?” You gape incredulously at Taehyung, but he’s dead serious. Looking back over, Seokjin is silent, nibbling at his lip. He’s considering it. A wave of heat rushes through you, akin to excitement. He’s one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen in your life, and you can’t deny that physical connection is something you’ve been missing in your past few months. “Are you sure, Taehyung?”

He sends you a salacious wink, turning back to Seokjin. “Think of it as a wedding gift,” he bargains, “I don’t want you to marry me feeling like you’re unfulfilled, or that you’re missing out. As long as I’m the one that gets to be beside you every night, I’m happy.”

Seokjin’s eyes soften, then dart over to you. “Y/n…”

That’s invitation enough. You lick your lips, wetting them before crawling over to the older man. He pats his thighs, and you swing a leg over, steadying yourself on his lap. His hands are light on your hips.

“Just like it’s me, Seokjinnie,” Taehyung instructs. “Well, maybe a bit gentler than if it was me. You can kiss her, hyung.”

Though the statement was directed at Taehyung’s fiance, you take the initiative to duck your head down, eyes slipping closed the moment you feel his lips brush yours. He lets out an unsure sigh, muffled against you, and you feel his fingers curl, digging into your flesh slightly.

“That’s it,” Taehyung soothes. You hear the rustling of fabric, and you crack an eye open to see him sidling up beside Seokjin, watching the two of you. “How is she, hyung?”

You work your lips against Seokjin’s for a few more moments before pulling back. The man below you has flushed skin and dilated pupils. He swallows, throat bobbing. “Soft,” he makes out.

You run a finger over his lower lip, watching it bounce back. “For someone who’s never kissed more than one person before, you’re definitely the best kisser I’ve ever had.”

He grins under your touch. “I bet Taehyungie is better.”

There must be something in the air. The hair dye fumes getting to you, perhaps. Or maybe you’re just deprived. Either way, you feel your inhibitions falling away, and an arousal-fueled confidence takes over. You send Taehyung a lustful look. “Only one way to find out.”

The tiniest nod reveals his consent. Seokjin keeps you steady on his lap by gripping your hips with strong hands, and you lean over, placing one hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and the other on Taehyung’s, ducking your head to capture his lips with yours.

They’re somewhat thinner than Seokjin’s, and you find yourself missing those plump lips against you, but the younger man more than makes up for it with his prowess. His hands wind into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you in deeper. You let out a whimper into his mouth. Unlike Seokjin, whose kiss was pure and curious, this embrace is dripping with passion, and you find yourself drowning in it, mindlessly grinding your hips into the budding hardness below. Seokjin grunts, but you barely hear, lost in Taehyung’s grip, the tip of his tongue swiping teasingly against the flat of yours.

Suddenly, Seokjin goes stock-still and the hands wrapped around your hips go iron-tight. The sudden pressure breaks you out of your haze, and you pull away from Taehyung in confusion, the latter making a confused hum, eyes fluttering open.

You freeze as you hear a cabinet open and close behind you. Unable to look, you stare at the faces of the two men you’re currently sprawled on top of, as they lower their gazes in embarrassment at being caught out. You wait, listening to Yoongi hastily grabbing himself a glass of water, before he leaves quicker than he appeared.

Once the kitchen goes silent again, you slide off Seokjin’s lap, dejectedly staring at the floor. Shame burns in your chest, mixed with regret, and all you want is for the ground to swallow you whole. You swallow down the dryness in your throat. “C-can I sleep in your guys’ room tonight?” you ask with a small voice.

The two of them look ashamed, pitying. You hate it. You hate your lack of self-control. Seokjin nods silently, and the three of you make a solemn pilgrimage into the guest bedroom. Though the two of them fall into slumber soon enough, you lie awake on the floor in a bundle of pillows and blankets, imagining what his face must’ve looked like when he walked in on you messing around with two taken men. You don’t know which one would’ve been worse: seeing a look of anger, disgust, or disappointment on his face, or you never turning around at all.

--

When you wake up the next morning you’ve made up your mind. If you hadn’t already, you’ve definitely overstayed your welcome by this point. The boys don’t stir at all when you quietly tiptoe around their room, tugging on your jeans that you had kicked off the night before, too emotionally drained to bother with pyjamas. They look peaceful and content; there’s a lump in the middle of the bed where Taehyung has swung his leg over Seokjin’s hip, and his face is tucked into the crook of Seokjin’s neck. Their hands have found each other in the night, fingers lazily intertwined as they rest over the covers. Your eyes prickle at the sight.

In the kitchen, you eat alone. On the bench, the one that gets the most sun, is a tea towel with a pile of half-dried tea leaves. You wonder if Yoongi will continue making tea once you’re gone. Part of you wants to sneak out to the plant and take some of the leaves with you; that tea is the best you’ve ever had. But you force yourself to remember that you have no right to that plant. It was easy to see this as more than what it was, especially when Yoongi had been so generous and hospitable, but you’re a guest. At the end of the day, you’re nothing more than a traveler passing through. He’ll forget about you when new guests arrive. That’s how these things were meant to be, you reason. For fear of making too much noise, you forgo the ritualistic cup of Boseong Breakfast. Your stomach roils in yearning of a hot cup to soothe you, or perhaps that’s just the dread at knowing you’re about to leave.

Your stuff is still in Yoongi’s room. Shoes, backpack, wallet. You don’t fancy leaving here with nothing but a cellphone, so you turn the knob painstakingly slowly, leaving it open and using the light of your phone screen to find your way. Though you internally scream at yourself not to, you find yourself guiding the light onto his sleeping form, casting him in the weak cold glow.

He’s curled up in a tiny ball, barely occupying a third of the bed. Instead of on the floor, Holly is right beside him, stretched out languidly in the middle, head resting on the pillow right beside Yoongi’s face. His face reflects strangely, and you frown, risking a few steps closer.

Once you’re beside the edge of the bed, you lower the light to face the floor so you don’t wake him. He’s back on his side of the bed, the one you had temporarily occupied in a time that already felt so long ago to you, and every few seconds he lets out a small grunt or sniffle. Turned in towards the center of the bed, towards Holly, his hands are folded under his face, pressing his cheek up, revealing the dried tracks of tears that glimmer on the skin. You bite your lip harshly and force yourself to turn away and keep searching for your stuff.

But as you swivel around to check this end of the room, a sudden bright reflection hits you right in your eyes. You hiss loudly, squeezing them shut. Upon a second, more cautious glance, you see the culprit is a framed pane of glass sitting atop his nightstand. Careful not to suffer the glare again, you hold your phone up to inspect it.

It takes you a moment, but when you recognise that sliver of vibrant pink, your breath rushes out of you in an overwhelmed sigh. Pressed between two panes of glass so that it lies perfectly flat and preserved, the azalea petal you had picked out of his hair that distant spring day. He really kept it.

Tears threatening to well up, you quickly stand up straight again, caring less about making noise and more about finding your stuff and leaving quickly. You find your backpack in the bottom of his closet. Remembering at the last moment that you’re still in one of his baggy t-shirts rather than the one you came in - when had you started seeing them as your own clothes? - you tug it up over your head, quickly shimmying into the cold fabric of your shirt.

“What are you doing?”

You freeze at the familiar voice, croaky with sleep. “I… I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He’s sitting up; you can see his form out of the corner of your eye, but you keep your head down, not wanting to look at him for fear of what expression would be plastered on his face. “Are you going somewhere?”

You tense your lips, nodding tightly. Now that he’s awake, there’s no need to be quiet, so you rush out his room, leaving the door ajar behind you. It’s lighter out in the living room, the first few inches of the sun as it creeps over the hills above, sending a thin streak of orange light across the carpet.

It takes a few moments, probably since he’s still groggy from just waking up, but Yoongi rushes frantically down the hallway, bursting into the living room. He halts, watching you going through your stuff to make sure it’s all there. “Where are you going?” He stands there, shoulders slumped in dejection as you just shake your head mutely. “Are you leaving me?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I want to apologise for my behavior last night,” you say instead. “I wrote down your bank account earlier, the one you gave Seokjin and Taehyung. When I get back home I’ll reimburse you for however many nights I stayed here.”

“Home?”

“I can’t keep staying here like some freeloader,” you explain, “I’ll get out of your hair so that you can run your business.”

“You don’t have to go,” he protests, though his voice is small, barely reaching your ears.

You let out a frustrated groan when the zipper on your backpack jams, tugging roughly at it. “It’s for the best,” you insist, though you can’t tell who it is you’re trying to convince, “I’ve clearly overstayed my welcome.”

“What does that even mean?” he questions in a wobbly voice.

You huff, chucking the half-open backpack on the couch and facing Yoongi. “I can read the signs, Yoongi. For the past few weeks you’ve been avoiding me like the plague and glaring whenever I’m around. I get it, okay? I’ll get out of your hair.”

“It’s not like that,” he defends. He pushes his curls back off his forehead, sighing out shakily. “I didn’t realise that’s how you were… It’s not you.”

You scoff bitterly, crossing your arms over your head. Both of you have given up being quiet for the sake of the other guests, and at this point you couldn’t care less if they woke up. “Oh, well then by all means, tell me what your problem is. I guess I’m too stupid to understand your fucking smoke signals.”

He furrows his brow in annoyance. “Are you serious? It’s not like you’re the poster child for mature communication.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yoongi shrugs with a petulant frown. “Fuck, I save your tea plant, harvest and prepare the leaves, do the laundry, help with Holly, entertain the guests, and-”

The muscles in Yoongi’s jaw pop when he tenses it. “You are a fucking guest! I didn’t ask for you to act like a housewife! I didn’t ask for you to do the laundry, or plant the herb garden. I didn’t fucking ask for you to suck face with the other guests in my kitchen! So don’t act like such a goddamn saint.”

You hear a door open and shut in the distance, but nothing can distract you from the pent-up rage that’s rolling off you in waves. As the sun steadily rises, the house is lit up in it’s rays, and you curse the daylight for showing you Yoongi more clearly, the way his eyes glitter with unshed tears of frustration. “Why does it matter to you what I do with them? I wasn’t aware there were rules against guests kissing at Holly Lodge. But then again, you’ve never had guests before so I guess you never got around to writing any.”

His face crumples. “That’s not my fault,” he mutters. “I wanted guests to come. I always wanted guests to come.”

You curse yourself for getting so heated, knowing this is turning ugly, but you can’t help yourself. Picking up your backpack, you storm across to the front door, calling out over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Min Yoongi,” you snap, “you’ll get plenty of guests after I leave you a five-star review on Yelp. ‘Beautiful sights, expensive sheets, emotional turmoil. The best accommodation in Boseong.’ Have a nice life, Yoongi.”

Your hand is on the doorknob when his phone rings, a cheery ringtone of birds chirping. You don’t know what it is that makes you hesitate, but you hover at the front door long enough to hear him mumble, “oh, it’s the vets.”

Your hand falls. As much as Yoongi has hurt you, Min Holly is the sweetest old dog you’ve ever met, and curiosity keeps your feet planted.

“Hello? No, no, it’s okay, I was already awake… Ah, okay, thanks for the- He what?” With a growing feeling of dread, you swivel around in your spot, watching the emotions on Yoongi’s face play out like a movie; confusion, concern, fear. “Will he be okay?” He lets out a shuddering breath, looking around frantically. Looking for Holly. “And how quickly can I get him the operation?”

You let the backpack slide off your shoulder, gently hitting the carpet. His hand is over his nose and mouth, but you can see the wet glistening of his eyes and the way his shoulders shake. You know you’re probably the last person he wants to see, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him. Not now. Not when all you can think of is the pressed petal on his nightstand, framed like something precious. Not when you’re beginning to think that maybe you read his cold shoulder wrong after all.

“I… Can I call you back? I don’t think I can afford that, I need to contact someone who can. Okay. Yes, okay. Thank you for the call. Bye.” His voice cracks on the last syllable, and he barely manages to end the call before a broken sob is torn from his throat. “Oh, god.” His knees give out, and before you can process a response, you’re rushing forward, crouching on the floor in front of him.

“Yoongi, I’m so sorry,” you say in a hush, feeling your nose prickle with the warning of tears. He heaves another sob, crying some words you can’t make out. “Yoongi, I- You said there was someone you can call, take a deep breath, you can give them a call and get it sorted, okay?”

He wipes his face with shaking hands and blinks up at you. There’s no sign of animosity or lingering anger; when he stares at you, all you can see is a raw vulnerability. “My brother,” he manages to say in a thick voice, “but I can’t do it, I can’t speak to him.” He lets out another wail, and you sense there’s something deeper there, but you don’t have time to question it.

“Okay, I’ll call then. Unlock your phone for me, Yoongi, I’ll call.” He does so, typing in the string of numbers, 46559, three times before he gets it right with how violently his fingers tremble. “What’s your brother’s name, Yoongi?”

In the corner of your eye, you see two half-asleep young men padding down the hallway. You wave them away behind Yoongi’s back, mouthing get Holly at them. After they disappear, you bring your attention back to the bed-and-breakfast owner, who’s tucked his knees under his chin, looking more childlike than ever in his white pyjamas with daisies on them. “Joonie,” he hiccups, “call Joonie.”

Though there’s no Joonie listed as a contact, you assume Namjoon is the same person, and so you call it, reaching out to tentatively rub Yoongi’s back as it rings.

The call clicks through after only a few seconds. The voice is deeper than you were expecting, and authoritative. “Yoongi-hyung?”

With wide eyes filled with tears, Yoongi’s head picks up and he stares at you balefully, listening to the call. You put it on speakerphone. “I’m calling on behalf of Yoongi,” you explain, “I’m a friend.”

“The first call in years and it’s not even him,” he mutters, “go figure. What’s up?”

You bite your lip awkwardly. “Uh, it’s Holly. I don’t really know the details, Yoongi only just got the call, but he’s very sick. He needs an operation, urgently, it seems like. Yoongi would call, but he’s really upset at the moment.” You lock eyes with Yoongi as you speak, unable to tear your gaze away from the deep well of pain in them.

“Shit,” his brother curses, “is he there now?”

Yoongi gives the tiniest shake of his head. “He’s gone to grab some tissues, I think,” you lie, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “But Yoongi can’t afford the treatment. I think he’s hoping you could pay for it.”

Namjoon pauses on the other end of the line for a moment. “Your voice sounds distant, so I’m assuming you’re on speakerphone. Hi, Yoongi-hyung.” You bite your lip, but the crying boy just clasps his hand over his mouth again, a fresh wave of tears. “But anyway, of course I’ll pay. There’s just one thing… If I do this, hyung, Holly is staying with me. He needs proper care and treatment, especially if he’s having surgery. The veterinarians are better in Seoul, anyway. I can make sure he’s getting the best help. Understand, Yoongi?”

Clammy fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling the cellphone a little closer. “Okay, Joonie. I understand.”

You hear some typing in the background coming from Namjoon’s end, but Yoongi’s attention is caught by the familiar jingling from down the hallway. As Holly enters in a speedy jog, Yoongi reaches out to the dog with grabby-hands, letting out a shaky sigh of relief when the dog jumps into his arms, immediately lying across Yoongi’s lap. The young man cradles his companion, tears wetting the fur on his head.

“I’ve shuffled around a few appointments,” the voice from the phone announces, and you jump at the sudden noise. “I’ll be there by this afternoon. Thanks for the call…”

“Y/n,” you supply.

“Thanks for the call, Y/n. And I’ll see you soon, Yoongi-hyung.”

--

Seokjin and Taehyung decide to make their goodbyes. They sense, rightly so, that it wouldn’t do them well to stay, and as it is they had lives to get back to. The house seems quieter with them gone, but you suppose had they been here that cheery energy would’ve disappeared.

Yoongi and you spend the day in silence, quietly sitting on the couch, staring at the turned-off television screen emptily, as Holly sleeps soundly, snoring away in Yoongi’s arms. It feels more like a funeral, this weird, drawn-out goodbye, and once Yoongi receives a text saying Namjoon has landed, he solemnly wanders around the house, collecting all of Holly’s food, dog bed (that you’d never seen him actually use) and all of his favorite toys.

For the first time, you hear the crunch of gravel as someone arrives in a car. Namjoon looks nothing like Yoongi in the bigger picture - taller, bulkier, straighter hair - but they have the same glimmer in their eyes, the same round faces. For all that Namjoon seems to be the more adult one of the two, it’s clear by the way he pulls Yoongi into a tight hug, his whole body curling into it, that Namjoon is the younger brother. As the two of them catch up over some tea, you keep your distance, sensing there were some things they needed to discuss that didn’t concern you.

You decide to take Holly on one last wander through the forest. Now that Yoongi seems to have calmed down, eyes dry, you figure you’ve done your part. Especially with Seokjin and Taehyung leaving, you find it harder and harder to ignore the pull of your life back home, your responsibilities. Your old friends and loved ones don’t text you much anymore, but when they do they ask when you’re coming back to the ‘real world’. University, a career, a house. Things that they seem to care about more than you do. Your stuff is already packed up. When you get back, you can call up the Boseong-gun terminal and see when the next bus home leaves. It’s for the best, you tell yourself.

Namjoon is gone quickly after you return. The house feels hopelessly empty without Holly. If you can feel it, you have no idea how much it must tear Yoongi up inside, and so you put on the television, hoping any noise will fill even the smallest amount of that void.

You make the two of you some ramen for dinner, but both bowls sit untouched. They’ve long gone cold before Yoongi suddenly sits up, muting the ads on the TV. You stare at him uncertainly.

“I… wanted to thank you,” he says slowly, “for staying with me. You didn’t have to, but I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” He picks at some stray dog hairs that are embedded in the fabric of the couch. “I’m scared to be alone again.”

Your face falls. All thoughts of returning home are rendered void. You can’t leave him. “Of course I’ll stay,” you promise in a whisper.

He swallows, shuffling around so that he faces you on the couch. “You’ll stay,” he repeats in a chant. His gaze dips, then flickers back up to yours again. With brows furrowed like he’s unsure of what he’s doing, he leans forward and presses a tentative kiss across your lips.

You freeze. His hand rests on your knee, the lightest pressure, and he kisses you again, insistent this time like he’s begging for a response. Your heart breaks as you reach up and push his chest, separating him from you.

His eyes flutter open and his bottom lip trembles. “I don’t understand…” He retracts his hands into his lap, leaving your knee cold with his absence.

“You’re not in the right frame of mind, Yoongi,” you explain, “you’ve had a long day, and- Yoongi…” He stands up abruptly, and you reach out to him, but he waves your hand away.

“Goodnight,” he says shortly, leaving the room.

You sigh out and tip your head back, banging it against the couch headrest. Why did it feel like no matter what you did, it hurt?

--

You stay. Just like you promised, you stay for him.

You don’t see him anymore, but you drop off three meals a day at his door, and in the middle of the night, when you can’t sleep, sometimes you hear him showering, or grabbing a snack. Sometimes you hear him leave the house, only to return hours later. It feels strangely intimate that you know exactly where he goes on those nights.

You find out through eavesdropping on Yoongi’s calls to Namjoon that Holly got the operation. Though you still don’t know what exactly happened, there’s talk of a cast, and physical therapy. You hope he’s doing okay.

Although you understand Yoongi is upset about his companion being taken from him, you expect eventually he’ll come around. You wait day-in, day-out for him to open the door and come back to reality. You struggle away in the kitchen learning to cook, hoping to entice him with wafts of spice. You start loudly making calls to friends and family, highly recommending Holly Lodge. You even knock on his door in excitement when a little hedgehog trundles into the backyard one day, thinking maybe his pure love of nature will draw him out, but nothing works.

And then, after the leaves begin to burnish in autumn shades, you know you’ve been here too long. You sit down outside his doorway, head leaning against the closed door. “Yoongi,” you call out.

He doesn’t answer. You don’t even know if it’s awake or not. The thought that he might not even be listening gives you a strange confidence.

“Yoongi,” you repeat, “I don’t know what to do anymore. You can’t stay in there forever. I know I said I would stay. And I’ve done my best to keep that promise. But this isn’t healthy, for either of us. Please, just come out and have a meal with me. Come for a walk; we could go stargazing tonight. Anything, Yoongi.”

Silence.

“It’s time for me to leave,” you reveal lowly. “There’s nothing else I can do to help you. I… The bus back home leaves tomorrow, but it leaves early, so I’m going to stay in town overnight. I’ve already called Mrs. Na. She’s got a room for me at the motel.” You sigh out at the continued lack of response. “I’m telling you this, Yoongi, because once I go you need to start doing things for yourself. I’ve thought long and hard about this because I’m-” you break off, blinking quickly to fight the tears that spring to your ears. “Because I’m scared that you’ll forget to eat, and get sick. I’m scared of leaving you alone like this, but I don’t know what else to do.” You sniffle, clearing your throat and standing. “Goodbye, Yoongi.”

--

It takes you longer than normal to follow the gravel road back into town. Mostly because of the way your eyes will fill with tears, and you’ll stumble on the uneven footing here and there. Or maybe it’s your body’s last cry of protest, not wanting to leave at all.

Either way, when you reach it, the motel is nice enough. Check-in isn’t until 3 in the afternoon, apparently, so you mope in the lobby for a few hours, curled up on the armchair. Mrs. Na peeks over her magazine every couple of minutes, but you refuse to look back until she’s waving you over with a manicured hand.

“Single room for one night?”

You nod in confirmation, already fishing around your backpack for your wallet to pay. Having paid for the groceries yourself over the past few weeks, your account is running concerningly low. “Thanks for-”

“Finally got tired of the love shack, huh?”

You blink at the interruption, freezing. “Excuse me?”

The bitter wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepen as she frowns at you. “Don’t play coy, dear. You two little lovebirds have been the talk of the town. You stay here for months, and then out of nowhere, you don’t leave the lodge for weeks. I guess there must be trouble in paradise.”

You fight the urge to snap at her, knowing she’ll only kick you out. “It isn’t like that. There were some personal issues that needed sorting out, that’s all.”

She raises her eyebrows patronisingly, turning to reach for one of the keys hung up behind the desk. “The only personal issue I can see is how inappropriate it is for a young woman like yourself to be living with three young men.”

You bite your tongue. Just one night. Instead of replying, you simply hold out the last of your cash, a flat palm ready to accept the key in return.

She takes the cash delicately, making sure not to touch your hand itself at all, and then holds out the key. “I just want you to know that my motel does not tolerate any untoward behavior. You better not be trying to whore yourself out to my custom-”

You jump as a hand cuts into your line of vision and bats the hand away. Mrs. Na recoils in shock, still gripping the cash tightly, and widens her eyes at the newcomer.

Turning around in disbelief, you watch as Min Yoongi reaches over and tugs the notes forcefully from her hand. “I’ve had it,” he spits out.

“Yoongi,” you breathe in awe, but he ignores you.

Wearing a dusty pink sweater and grey skinny jeans, he somehow still manages to strike an intimidating image. His shoulder gently nudges you, pushing you behind him. “No, I’ve had it,” he repeats more forcefully. “You can insult me, you can insult my business, my house, even my family. But I will not stand here and let you insult the woman I love.”

Both you and Mrs. Na gape at him, and this sudden burst of confidence.

Yoongi slips his hand into yours, squeezing tightly. He glares at Mrs. Nah one last time. “And your tea always tasted like shit, that’s why you went out of business. Come on, Y/n, we’re going home.”

He doesn’t let your hand go the entire way back to the lodge. You don’t want him to, either, because your chest feels so light it seems like he’s the only thing anchoring you with this strange swirling inside you. He doesn’t speak, only rushing you back up the slight slope to the lodge, to home, and when you finally arrive you see the door swinging on its hinge in the breeze, wide open.

Yoongi doesn’t address it. It seems like he’s desperate, feverish, to get you inside. In an odd mirroring of your first night together, he leads you directly to the guest room, hand firmly clasping your own.

“Yoongi, what’s going on?”

He tips his chin forward suddenly, then shakes his head and falls back. “Talk first,” he mumbles to himself. Then, back at you: “Y/n. I know I’m not good with words, or silent yearning looks, or smoke signals. So I’m going to be really clear now, just in case you didn’t hear it back at the motel.”

You can’t help but crack a grin at the earnest statement, giggling quietly. Yoongi pouts at you, but returns your smile reluctantly. Your heart leaps. He hasn’t smiled since that night under the stars. “I did hear it,” you admit, “but I sure would love to hear it again.”

“I love you, Y/n,” he confesses, “I’m so hopelessly in love with you that I didn’t even realise it at first. I’m so in love with you that I didn’t know what to do with myself, how to act. I felt like I couldn’t be around you for too long because my heart would ache. But then avoiding you just felt even worse. And when I saw you with the boys…”

“It didn’t mean anything,” you defend quickly, but Yoongi just furrows his brows.

“That’s not what I mean… It made me realize that I had no right to be angry or jealous, because I didn’t even have the courage to kiss you like they did. Even if it meant nothing for you or for them, I hated that I was too scared to do the same.”

You release all the air you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “That day Namjoon came. When you kissed me…”

Yoongi nods, slowly sitting down onto the edge of the bed, looking at your hands, still intertwined. “I wanted to tell you in words,” he admits. “I really was so scared you were gonna leave me, and I didn’t think I could take it. But I just couldn’t say it. So, I did the only thing I could think of.” He lets out a noisy breath, flicking you a sad smile. “But I guess I misread the situation. Even after I saw you with Taehyung and Seokjin I still thought maybe you liked me too. Sorry for making things weird.”

You shake your head, but he’s not looking at you anymore, so you sit down beside him, clasping your other hand over the two of yours. “You didn’t misread the situation. I didn’t want things to go further that night because I thought you might regret it in the morning. But you didn’t misread the situation. I… I’ve liked you for a long time. And I’ve never felt this way before, but I think it might be love.”

His eyes are on you, bright with hope and realisation. Having forgone a haircut for a little too long, droopy curls hang low over his brows, and he scrunches his nose unconsciously at the tickle. You look over his button nose, the roundness of his cheeks. His delicate pink lips slightly parted as he gives you his full attention.

A smile stretches across your face. “Actually, I’m sure. I love you, Min Yoongi. So much.”

His mouth turns up in pure happiness, flashing his gums for the first time in months. He searches your face for a moment, like he can’t quite believe it, then does something you’re not expecting.

He pulls you into a tight hug.

You immediately feel all tension leave your body at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you, chin resting on your shoulder. You bury your face into his neck and sink into his embrace. You think for the both of you, it’s been a very long time since you’ve had one.

“I don’t deserve you,” he praises quietly.

You squeeze him tighter, breathing in his natural scent, slightly floral, like the smell of his garden in spring. “You deserve the world.”

Instead of letting go, after a few moments he turns his head slightly, so that his nose brushes against your neck. You shiver when you feel his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your throat. “Yoongi,” you murmur,  your body already responding to him, head tipping outwards to give him more room.

He works slowly, reverentially, sucking enough to make you tremble, but not so harshly to leave anything more than gentle pink marks. You sigh, eyes slipping closed in pleasure. You can feel his lips moving, like he’s whispering against your skin, making his way lower, but when his teeth scrape your collarbone lightly, you grow impatient.

You press your fingers insistently under his jaw and lift him, immediately capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s simultaneously exciting and reassuring, his lips molding against you as his back arches up, seeking every bit of contact he can get. You slide an arm around him, running it up and down his back soothingly. With the way his fingers curl desperately onto your shoulders, it seems like it’s been a while for him, just like it has for you. “Lie down,” you instruct softly, breaking from the kiss to help lower him to the bed.

You shuffle over for him to put his legs on the bed too, fully on his back, and then you straddle his hips, brushing his face fondly as you join your mouths together again. He seems all too happy to let you take control, eyes closed in bliss and jaw slack as you move lower, pressing countless small kisses down his cheek, jaw, and neck, until you’re propping yourself up on your forearms, laving at the skin. You can feel his pulse jumping under your tongue, and his throat bob every time he swallows. Sometimes, the skin vibrates gently, and you hear him letting out soft whimpers.

It’s not until his neck sports a spray of blossoming purple and dark pink that you sit up, a thought striking you. “Wait; why aren’t we in your bedroom?”

He blinks up at you, pupils blown wide, but eyes wider. “I wanted the Egyptian cotton sheets.”

You laugh breathily, clasping his face gently in your hands. “God, I love you.” His cheeks grow warm beneath your hands as his eyes soften in happiness. With his lips slightly pursed in your grasp, you bend down again and join your lips together.

He tastes sweet, and he has a patient yet passionate way of reciprocating the kiss, straining his face up to deepen it if he feels you pulling away too much. You could stay like this forever. As you feel his tongue shyly begin to slip out of his mouth, darting against your lip in tiny strokes, you feel a familiar sensation billow in your chest. The same feeling you had in those first few weeks, when everything felt magical and separate, like a little slice of heaven. Now, it’s far stronger, because at the center of your paradise is him.

You break off from his lips, nudging his head to the side with your nose and pressing a chaste kiss just below his ear. “Do you want to go further?” you question in a hushed whisper. “We can take this slow if you want.”

Looking up at you, he shakes his head hastily. “Please,” he sighs, “I want you.”

“Okay.” You sit up again, hovering over him. “Have you done this before?” He nods easily. “Let’s take this shirt off, then, hm?” He swallows when you play at the hem of his pink sweater, but nods after a moment.

Although it’s autumn, and he probably should’ve been layering up, it seems like he left the house in a hurry since he’s not wearing an undershirt. As you lift up the fabric inch by inch, more bare skin is revealed, unblemished other than a few moles. You trail your fingertips over them, feeling him shiver beneath you. The thought occurs to you that a time will come when you know the location of every one by heart, could map them out on the planes of his body with your eyes closed. Your heart aches at the thought, overwhelmed by it.

Having been in his room, sedentary for weeks, he’s developed a small paunch just above his waistband, filling out his hips a bit. He blushes, turning his head to the side shyly when you look over him.

“You’re beautiful, Yoongi,” you assure him wholeheartedly. “Absolutely perfect. Arms up for me?”

He obediently raises his limbs, wiggling out of the sweater. Once you toss it on the ground, you quickly remove and discard your own shirt, not wanting him to feel too self-conscious. His eyes light up at the sight of your bra, and you see his fingers twitch.

“Want me to take it off?” you question rhetorically, chucking lightly when he nods. Instead of doing as he wishes, you instead grab his hands and guide them around your back, leaning over so he can reach the clasp. “They’re hooks,” you explain, “so push the two sides towards each other, and then out.”

“I know how to take off a bra,” he mutters petulantly, though he fumbles with the hooks for a few moments, before finally getting them free and slipping the fabric off your body. You pull your arms out, and laugh when he flings it dramatically across the room, so that it smacks the wall and lands in a pitiful heap. “I hate those,” he mutters, half to himself. “They just get in the way.”

"I know something else that's getting in the way," you counter, and stand up off the bed, unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying out of them. "Do you want yours off too?"

He hesitates for a moment. "Can we... Can we turn the light off, or something?"

"Of course, if it makes you feel more comfortable." You quickly pad over to the other side of the room, flicking the light switch by the door.

It's clear that some time has passed since the two of you returned home by the way the room is plunged into a dim evening gloom when you turn the light off. "Too dark," Yoongi mumbles unhappily, and crawls over the mattress to reach the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and pushing the head of the lamp down so that it's just enough to see by. His face looks softer in this glow, and more relaxed. He gets out of his jeans quietly and without fanfare, settling back onto the bed.

In nothing but your underwear, when you lie down beside him and pull him into a languid kiss, you can feel the stiff peaks of your nipples pressing against his chest. He shivers in the cool air, mouth slack as you take control of the kiss. You’re all too happy to take things slow, not wanting to rush him, and so you lose track of time, simply kissing him until Yoongi is the only thing filling your thoughts.

After a time, your kisses become more frantic; sucking, nibbling, licking until your lips are swollen and slick. You let your hands roam the planes of his body, flat palms running up his chest and slipping over the curve in his lower spine. You swing a leg over his hips and gently press your heel, urging him closer until there’s nothing but the two layers of thin fabric keeping you apart. 

You sigh into his mouth when you feel a thumb swipe over one of your pebbled nipples, sending a bolt of pleasure straight down to your core. 

“Is this okay?” he questions as he begins to gently roll it between his fingers. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his hand, your kisses growing sloppy. “Feels good?” You groan out your confirmation, clenching your thighs tighter as he keeps the same delicate pressure, tugging lightly at it to see how stiff it can get between the pads of his fingers. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, “so good.” You bask in the sensation for a while longer, before you can no longer maintain your mouth on his. You clasp your hand over the one of his that cups your breast, gently pulling it away. “I want you, Yoongi.”

He stares at you, eyes wide with anticipation as you lower yourself, getting comfortable between his legs, face just above his clothed crotch. “You don’t have to-” he protests weakly, but you cut him off, patting the top of his thigh reassuringly.

“I want to,” you counter. “You took care of me when I had nowhere to stay, you took care of me when I got sunburnt. You even took care of me with Mrs. Na. So let me take care of you, baby.” 

You slip the fabric of his underwear down over the swells of his ass, watching as his cock springs up and rests on his stomach. It seems silly to say, but he’s got the most beautiful dick you’ve ever seen. Leaving his underwear half-on around his thighs, you take him gently in your hand, mouth watering. 

With a delicate pink head and a graceful curve, he’s smaller than you would’ve expected, but somehow this dainty cock fits him perfectly. It looks beautiful in your hand, and when you pump him, beads of precum pool in his slit, threatening to spill over. 

You take him in your mouth, flicking your tongue against the underside of his tip as you create some suction. He lets out a satisfied sigh, muscles tensing. After taking him deep in order to get him lubricated enough, you slip off him with a pop and begin jerking your wrist, working him to pull more moans from his swollen lips. 

“Feels so nice,” he praises, though he can’t stop from wiggling under your ministrations, the elastic around his thighs keeping him from moving much. 

When you suck him down again, you keep your eyes up, wanting to drink in his reactions. Eyes bunched shut in pleasure, he’s fully unaware of your gaze. 

He looks beautiful, even from this angle, and you’re struck by the fact that this will be the first time of many, that you’ll see him from below like this many times in the future, and that soon you’ll be able to decipher every twitch of his eyebrows and every gasped cry. 

Suddenly his eyes are opening, staring down at you in awe, and you feel your heart swell. You can’t take it anymore. You give him one last flick of your tongue, and crawl up his body to join your mouth to his, reveling in the way his two tastes mingle in your mouth. 

“I need you,” you chant against his lips, “are you still okay to take this all the way?” 

He nods quickly, but rubs behind his ear. “Could we get under the covers? I tend to, uh, fall asleep pretty quickly afterwards so I don’t want to freeze overnight.”

You laugh softly, sitting up to slip your panties off before you tuck yourself under the sheets. When you turn to wait for him, he’s frozen with his mouth hanging half-open. You give him a confused smile. “What?”

He blinks, shakes his head a bit to clear his thoughts, and cracks a wonky grin. “I’m somehow the luckiest and most stupid man in the world.” 

“How do you figure that?”

He kicks his underwear off the rest of the way and scoots under the blankets to join you, propping his head up with his hand as he lies on his side. “I’m the luckiest because I’m in love with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and she for some reason loves me back.” 

You smile softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your skin. “And why are you the stupidest?” 

“It took me this fucking long to do anything about it.”

You let out a loud laugh, reaching out for his hand to entwine your fingers again. The movement feels natural and the warmth of his palm in yours is already familiar and reassuring. “Let’s make up on lost time, then.” 

He grins, teeth pressing into his bottom lip, then gasps. “Wait,” he pouts, “I have to go grab a condom!” 

You push yourself up and reach over his body to the nightstand on the other side of the bed. “Don’t worry,” you assure, “the lovebirds have us covered.” 

In the drawer are three boxes of condoms. You rest on top of Yoongi’s bare chest as you reach into the open one, fiddling around for a square packet in the almost-empty carton. 

Yoongi leans over and widens his eyes. “God, how many times did they fuck in here?” When he cranes his neck, he sees the two full boxes beside the one you took. “How many times were they planning to fuck in here?”

You giggle, sitting up again, but it’s cut off by a drawn-out moan. You look down to see Yoongi latched on to your nipple, looking up at you innocently through his brown curls. You groan again, feeling his tongue swipe against it and his teeth nibble on it teasingly.

He pulls off you with a wet pop, hand coming up to massage at it, soothing away the slight pain from the bite. “Sorry,” he mutters off-handedly, though it’s clear he doesn’t really mean it, “I couldn’t help myself.” 

You grin and swing a leg over his hips, straddling him with his cock resting just in front of your bare pussy. He swears lowly and tips his head back onto the pillows. “Don’t apologise,” you assure, “I liked it. In fact, feel free to do that again anytime.” 

He blushes hotly, and as you bring your hand down to palm at his stiff cock, you marvel at the fact that he’s still so flustered around you. You wonder how long he’ll take to build his confidence, or if he’ll always be your sweet, shy boy in the bedroom. As you let go of his hand to rip open the packet and slide on the condom, you’re not sure which outcome you’d want more. He does look so beautiful splayed out in below you, neck blooming in colour from your markings. 

“Ready?” you check in one last time. Yoongi breathes out deeply and nods, but clutches his right hand out in front of you. You interlock your fingers with him once more and sit up on your knees, using your free hand to line him up. 

His whole body trembles when you sheath yourself on him in one swift movement. His eyes are furrowed shut, lips parted in pleasure. You can see his knuckles whiten as they grip the sheets and your hand. “Y/n,” he breathes out in a tight voice, “go slow. Please.” 

You bite your lip at the feeling of him inside you, clenching your folds to increase the friction as you lift up off him slowly. Creating a slow but deep pace, you let the sounds of his delicate cries fill your ears. He’s not noisy, but just very vocal, every breath coming out as a whine or moan of pleasure. “You’re so good for me, baby,” you praise breathlessly. “My good boy.” 

His hips buck up and you hiss as he inadvertently thrusts into you deeper than before. “God,” he whines hopelessly. 

“I thought you said slow,” you tease, resting your interlocked hands on the bed and trailing the fingertips of your other hand over his chest lightly, feeling the way his dick twitches inside you when you pass over his nipple.

He makes a noise of disagreement, tossing his head side to side when you begin to slowly swirl your hips, grinding on him rather than riding him. “Wan’more,” he pleads. 

You grab his other hand, keeping them both pinned to the pillow on either side of his head as an anchoring point for you to keep yourself steady as you begin to pick up your pace. 

He writhes beneath you so beautifully, and that paired with the grind of his cock inside you brings you to the edge after only a few more minutes. Yoongi is clearly suffering the same lack of longevity by the way his moans are short and high pitched, thighs trembling in desperation. 

Rather than words, you indicate you’re close by bending down and joining your lips together again, wanting to be as connected with him as possible when you reach your edge. The moment he moans your name into your mouth, you feel a powerful orgasm spread through you, coming from within and igniting pleasure in all your nerves. Your toes curl and your pace stutters, but you force yourself to continue as long as you can, grinding on him when you don’t have the strength to bounce up and down. He comes with a cry, clutching your hands so close they hurt, mindlessly babbling confessions of love. 

True to form, he indeed becomes very sleepy very fast, and you have to take the condom off for him as the moment you get up off him, he lets out a tired mumble, nuzzling his face into any skin of yours close enough in his sleep. 

You laugh silently, fondly, and join him under the heated covers, wrapping an arm around his middle, just like that night under the stars. 

—

You wake up before him that next morning. 

Although it’s late autumn, the sun streams in lazily through the crack in the curtains, casting a warm glow over his delicate body. He grunts unhappily when you separate yourself from him, and in his sleep he turns around, seeking your warmth. 

When you dress quietly, opting for his oversized sweater and some panties rather than your own clothes, you listen to the regular sound of his breathing, feeling it calm you. His hair is sticking up in all directions and he’s drooling out the corner of his mouth, but still, you’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than Min Yoongi. 

The soft pink of his sweater brings to mind a different shade, a vibrant one. The azalea petal that presumably still resides on his nightstand, the one he kept all those months ago. Did he really love you that whole time? 

You smile softly at the thought, and tip-toe out the guest room, towards the kitchen. With the only sound being the chirping of the birds outside, you grab the jar of Boseong Breakfast tea, and pull out two mugs. 

[georgemackayhey]

And I’m Coming For You

a/n: I think I’ve gotten at least a dozen vauge requests to write something for Ned over the year I’ve had this blog and I finally figured something out! 

warning: This wasn’t supposed to be nsfw but it’s Ned Kelly so it got a little steamy. Proceed with age appropritae caution or else! Basically 18+

gif by @hold-fire​ 

───※ ·❆· ※───

The Kelly’s. You knew the family name. Heard it through gossip in the village shops. Heard men on horses declare their mission to cease one of the gang’s latest schemes. Heard ladies worry over husbands who got mixed up with the lot. But never did you imagine any of the Kelly’s to be so handsome. 

But you didn’t know he was one of them… not right away. In your mind, The Kelly’s were a group of savages who hid out in the bush, waiting for passersby to torment. That’s the way all the rumors made it sound, anyway. So when a well-built man with piercing blue eyes strolled up to your stall, you didn’t second guess his status. You could hardly conjure up a polite greeting when you first laid eyes on the guy, only because of how alarmed you were by his beauty. He was sculpted by the angels, surely. You must have passed out in the deadly summer heat and a vision came to keep your comatose mind company. Till he spoke, in a voice that snapped you back to life.

“What have you got?” He asked like he was worried you wouldn’t have any of the things your booth advertised. But you understood his tone all the while. The summer was the driest yet, and the country's crops were long past suffering. You sold a farmer’s seeds, while the man was busy off bartering for more. If anyone was lucky enough to afford a bundle, the seeds still weren’t guaranteed to sprout in the dry barren world you’d found yourselves in, this year.

So with the sliver of hope you held fast to, you listed off the supplies in your sock, and avoided the man's piercing eyes as he watched you speak. When your spiel was finished, he shifted, and you pretended not to admire the way he moved- even the minuscule change in his stance seemed like a sight you were lucky to behold.

“I’ve only got these. Give me whatever they’re worth.” The guy laid two coins on your stand. They were barely worth handing over. And you’d been getting better at turning folks away, even given the circumstances, you had to eat too. But the thought of upsetting the tall brooding fella across from your stall made your stomach turn. So you gathered a reasonable collection of seeds and handed them over.

“There are too many here.” He glanced down to the bag, and then back up at you, like you’d wronged him. Like you, he had to eat too. So you added an extra few in, hoping some of the extra meant he’d surely have success. 

“Take them.” You pressed, sitting back on the stool that kept you in the measly shade.

The man sighed and tightened his grip on the small sack of seeds before turning away. He gave you a nod and the flex of his structured jaw before disappearing. You noticed his hair was a bit longer in the back as he drifted away, while you tried to memorize his every move in hopes you’d better spot him again one day.

The weather started to let up after then. Like your interaction with the handsome stranger set the world to spin right, again. How silly of you, dreaming of a face you’d likely forget about by the next burning summer. But even when a few gentle breezes passed by, the heat nearly sent your mind to melt out of your ears, and you seriously considered packing up your things and hiding away till winter came. 

The farmer you worked for was away longer each week, and your supply was running low. But even the most selfish and demanding customers seemed to understand though. Everyone was doing whatever they could, and most of the time that was nothing at all. In the beginning, you didn’t mind sitting around, waiting for someone to pass by. You were pleasantly occupied, and getting paid for it. But as the summer dragged on, and the community had taken to staying in, you loathed every new minute behind your stall.

Even when the barmaid brought you a cool drink, you could only smile at her thoughtfulness before regressing back to melting. Even when someone came by for some of the withering veggies you’d started trying to sell; you couldn’t be coaxed into feeling much more than dread.

Then he came back. The man with the icy eyes and choppy hair. He floated toward you with an all new vigour, like he’d known exactly what he’d come back for.

“Here.” He said, extending his long hand toward you. You straightened, and opened your palms at the command without question, though you had many.

“You gave me more than I needed, and we’ve had more than we ever had before. I must repay you.” His voice was full, and your palm was now heavy under the weight of a golden ring. An emerald set sparkling in the middle of the gaudy band, and your eye’s went wider the longer you admired the thing.

“This is a bit much for a few extra crops, don’t ya think?” You stammered and shook your head, and shoved the jewellery back toward the man who you’d lost hope of seeing again. As soon as your reach met him, the man grabbed your wrist with a lithe urgency. You watched as he took the ring from your grasp, looked back up to you, and slid the thing on your finger.

You gapped, watching the guy watch you, the feeling of his remaining grip warmer than all of summer, firmer than the ring he put on you, out of the blue.

“Isn’t it a bit early in the day to be harassing the townswomen, Kelly?” A distance voice cut in, from an officer high upon a trotting horse. 

At the man's word your mind spun a mile a minute. Your blood ran cold- and then it started to boil as you noticed the flash in the eye’s of the man; The Kelly who still held your hand like a prized flower.

“You’re the only one disturbing the peace, officer. Now do ya need seeds or shall we see you on your way, then?” You spoke sternly, shooting a glare to the officer. He grumbled and tightened the reins of his horse and turned to leave, keeping an eye on your interaction for a moment longer still.

“What’s your name?”  The man with sapphire eyes wondered, quickly taking back his hand yet standing still nearer than ever.

You told him and he repeated it, taking a dragging step back. And then another. You watched each other in the dry summer heat for what felt like forever.

“Ned.” He nodded. You smiled and watched him walk away with a fiercely beating heart, wondering why no one ever had a good thing to say about those Kelly’s.

__

A day passed, full of girlish bliss and silly daydreams bold enough to distract you from the heat. You wondered everything about Ned. Who you hadn’t thought of was the officer who seemed so eager to catch the guy in some kind of compromise. But it was the officer who came back the next day. He waited in line behind an elderly couple as you gave them what they asked for. And when they shuffled toward the closest indoors, the officer stepped up and seemed more keen on taking what it was he wanted than asking nicely for it. 

Before you could so much as ask how his day was going, the guy reached past your counter, grabbed your hand and yanked you eye to eye. 

“Nice ring you’ve got, here.” He glanced down to your finger in his vice grip, the ring from Ned placed proudly on the finger he himself adorned. “Too bad it’s stolen.”

“Are you implying I’m a thief?” You guffawed, trying with a sudden might to yank your hand away. Your strength was lacking, and the officer was quick to haul you away from your stand. You went fighting, cursing the man who dragged you down the block toward the police house at the end of the row. You didn’t care who might have seen from the windows of their cool shelters. You hoped somebody might have, in fact, and would race to your defence.

How dare he accuse you of taking what wasn’t yours.

“I know you saw as this ring was placed in my possession. How can you drag me in here and say I stole it?” You spat, fighting the officer’s grip all the way through the door of the jailhouse. He threw you toward the office with his name displayed on the door, but it might as well have been a cell.

“Oh, I know you didn’t steal it, las.” The officer grinned, giving your shoulder a harsh push so you sat in the chair across from his desk, as high and mighty as the horse he could usually be spotted upon. The officer leaned there, with a boot propped on the arm of the chair you’d been confined too. You gawked at the man in anger that boiled over your confusion.

“Ned Kelly stole the ring. Right from my very own pocket. He beat me bloody in a boxing match and decided on his own that my gold was his preferred prize for the attack.” He explained with a queasy smile. You started to sink in your chair, only attempting to distance yourself from the way the officer slinked closer and closer toward you.

“I want it back.” He grinned, right before you. He grabbed your hand in a gentle way that was equally as nauseating as his clawing at you had been. And then he regressed back to the only way he must have known, or prefered, ripping the ring from your finger in a way that caused you to subdue a shriek. You weren’t about to let your guard down. 

“And I’ve got it back.” The officer kept his slimy grin, leaning back against the desk and sliding the ring on his smallest finger. The jewel seemed so ugly now.

“I could have done that just as easily back at your stall. But I’ve brought you here because I just have this burning feeling that, when I ask you where Ned’s gone off to, you’re going to pretend not to know. And unfortunately, you can’t leave until you tell me.”

“What?” You asked through your teeth, sitting up with an all new rage sparking inside of you. 

“Tell me where that Kelly devil has run off too this week, and you can be on your way.”

“I don’t know Ned Kelly. Though it makes me curdle to admit to you I wish I did, he only gave me that ring in exchange for the seeds I sold him.” 

The office chuckled darkly, slamming his foot back on the chair you started to lean too far away from to hiss your honest truth.

“That game isn’t going to work.” The officer bent so his eyes burned right into yours and you knew he was right. You also knew if you lied, and gave away some random coordinates, that Ned most likely wouldn’t be wherever you imagined he might have been, and the officer would come back to treat you much worse than he was now.

“I don’t know where he is. Your ring is back on your finger now let me go.” 

“This was never about the ring, was it?” The officer cocked his head, and you realized there was no real way out of this.

“If it’s revenge you want you’re no better than a Kelly yourself.” You sneered. You’d come to reevaluate your mental image of the gang you’d only ever heard rumors about. You came to wonder if the officer was to blame for spreading most of them. But your insult was his final straw. His nails dug into your arm once more and he pulled you away from the office to a hole in the wall of the next building over. 

“You can’t do this!” You shouted, trying harder than ever to escape the man's grasp. He was strong enough to throw you behind bars, and fast enough to lock them before you could stand.

“I’ll find Ned one way or another,” The officer assured. “But you’ll stay here until you speak the truth.”

You wanted to cry but the summer heat had dried you from the inside out it seemed. You lingered for a while near the bars, hoping someone would pass through the barren land and you could talk them into breaking you out. And when the sun started to go down, a breeze came to chill the evening. What small hell, being falsely prisoned in the heat and finding no shelter in the night's cold. You grew tired of worrying and sat in the empty space watching the stars decorate the horizon. If you listened closely enough you could hear the sounds of the town coming alive in the distance. You could see flickers of lanterns and hear the ruckus from the pub, and even a few horses carrying people to parties that weren’t too hot to throw at this hour.

But the sound of trots became unmistakable gallops and as you tried to imagine what was happening, the horses seemed to stall somewhere near. You heard voices and the thud of feet on the ground and the shout of the officer whose voice was grossly familiar to you now. You stood to peer from the bars, hoping to catch a glimpse of the comotion, but no sooner than you rose to your feet, someone appeared on the other side of your cell. His hair was long and black and there were keys in his hand that he jammed into the lock. 

“What’s happening?” You asked, in a frightened hush. You didn’t know this man or why he’d chosen to break you out. And with the way the evening had gone, you were afraid of where it might have been going now. The man swung open the gate and waved you to freedom with a wild look in his eye. You hurried from the cell, but before you could turn in the direction of home, the sound of gunfire rang from just around the corner. 

You started to scream, but the man who’d freed you pressed his hand over your mouth and demanded you stay silent with one bone chilling look. What the hell have you gotten yourself into? As you wondered what was to become of you and what you might be able to do to decide your own destiny, the deafening quiet was broken.

“Get off of her. We’re done here.” Ned Kelly approached calmly, leading a speckled horse toward where you stood. The man with dark hair let you go and followed Ned’s command to get gone. But you stood, taking the sight of him in, trying to wrap your boggled mind over what was going on. You were much too scared to ask.

He was brooding as ever, his clothes seemed a size too small and his brow seemed permanently furrowed yet it seemed like the most beautiful sight you’d ever seen. 

“How’d you know I was here?” You asked, hardly having processed that you’d ended up where you had yourself.

“Someone wiser would have sold off that ring for something better,” Ned spoke, looming before you. Was his bold presence what shook the townspeople so? Was it only you who felt safe when he was near?

“You could have done the same." You pointed out.

"I gave it to you." Ned seemed to reason, in an endearing way that he didn’t even seem to realize.

"And I couldn't take it off then, could I?" You couldn’t help your small grin, considering everything.

Ned seemed to consider your words and then offered to take you home. You perhaps agreed too quickly, but you were on the back of his horse before you had time to second guess your eagerness. And though you longed to cling to Ned on the ride, you didn’t take your gentle hold on him for granted. You only hoped that once his horse rode past the mess of trees to your humble little home, that Ned would agree to stay for dinner. 

You talked the guy into leaving his horse in the stable near the woods, and promised you had more than enough of an evening meal to share with him.

__

Ned sat quietly in the corner of your place, a glass of water in his hand. Though the evening was chilled, your fire put on to cook dinner was reminiscent of the daytime temperature. You didn’t have to do very much but mix a few things in a pot and leave it to simmer. So when your task was finished for the near future, you turned your sights to the man you’d invited in.

“You saved me.” You said, walking toward the chair Ned waited in. Your statement was a sort of thanks and a question as to why all wrapped up in one. And while you sat in the seat at his side, Ned turned his head your way but didn’t look at you.

“I also got you into trouble. I shouldn’t have mixed you up in my way of things.” Ned countered, keeping his glass of water in a tight fist and letting his eyes travel up your figure until they locked with yours.

“You didn’t. I was already pretty mixed up with your way, myself.” You couldn’t help but admit you hadn’t stopped thinking about him from the moment he showed up that first day. When he came back, you were done for. And now here he was, in your home, his sapphire eye’s gazing into yours after he’d somehow come to your rescue.

You leaned in, and when Ned didn’t move away, you kissed him. Just a slow and sweet. He didn’t kiss back, not really. He just sat frozen, like you’d stalled time. You pulled away, hoping your blush could be excused but the temperature in this shack of yours. Just the heat getting to your head, again. You rose from your chair with a meek apology, and padded toward the fire to check on the stew. You killed the flame and scooped some of the meal into bowls and toted them toward the table. When you moved to refill the pitcher of water, your mission was halted. 

Ned’s fingers were around your wrist, gently yanking you closer to fill the space between the two of you. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, and you could feel his breath on your lips, his eyes fluttered away from yours like he didn’t really want to look away from you. His nose nudged yours as his free hand rose to your jaw, and then he kissed you. 

It was slower and sweeter than the first time, totally unexpected. You smiled when you realized this mysterious rumored neerdowell was hardly any of the things the rumors surrounding his name made him out to be.

Because even as you snaked your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, Ned’s hold on you reamied tender. 

“You’re not going to hurt me, Ned.”  You chuckled, taking one of his hands and pressing his fingers around your waist. “I trust you.” You nodded gazing up to the guy who searched your eyes with the slightest furrow of his brow. And maybe it was because your hands rested there but you swore you could feel some kind of weight lift from the guys shoulders. He leaned in for another kiss that traveled to your neck. You leaned into the wall and pulled him along too, and it seemed he wasn’t afraid to hold back after then.

His lips bruised yours and his rough hands trailed toward your chest and you already seemed to float closer to heaven while his touch had yet to meet your skin.

“Let me repay you for coming to my rescue.” You sighed, hooking a finger in the hem of his trousers. 

“Only if I’m to repay you in turn, and we might forever be in each other's debt.” Ned’s breath hitched in your ear, one hand daring to creep up your thigh below your dress. 

Dinner went cold as you pulled Ned toward your bed. You thanked him in more ways than one, and tugged at the hair that grew longer around his neck. You watched his brilliant blue eye roll as your hips met and soon forgot how to speak in the middle of telling him how best to use his hands. Yours stayed gripping the sheet and your mind wandered and made itself up. Even though you barely knew more than rumors about Ned Kelly, you learned the truth all night long, in a way. And if one day you’d come to find a reason to nod along with the townspeople while they gossiped about the Kellys; you prayed it might be because you’d become more than familiar with Ned’s mysterious ways

───※ ·❆· ※───

[elisajdb]

GoChi Week 2021: A Fulfilled Life: Part Five

GoChi Week 2021

A Fulfilled Life

Day Five: Jealousy @gochi-week

The marketplace outside Mount Paozu was always lively. Civilians in the surrounding villages came together to sell meats, dairy, fruits, vegetables and other varieties of food from their farms. Goku remembered coming to this place a lot after he married ChiChi. They bought or bartered goods here. When they didn’t have enough money, Goku traded many fishes he caught in the lakes of Mount Paozu for food farmers sold.

It was his first time at the marketplace since his revival after Majin Boo. He saw many familiar faces who were shocked to see him because it was well known he died seven years ago. Goku explained how he was revived but instead of the truth, many chose to believe Goku and ChiChi divorced and recently reconciled.

Today, Goku accompanied ChiChi, Gohan and Goten to the marketplace. Goku and Gohan carried most of the crates of food while Goten carried one.  

“How much more do we need?” Goku asked. The crates he carried weren’t heavy but if ChiChi buys any more crates of food, his vision will be blinded.

“We have to get more food now that you’re back, Goku. Don’t worry. This is the last one. We have to get eggs and milk from Kenneth’s booth.”

Gohan noticed ChiChi getting in line behind the one customer at Kenneth’s booth. “Goten and I can take these to the truck and wait for you and Dad. Let me get one of those crates from you, Dad.” Goku slid a crate of vegetables on top of Gohan’s load. It blinded Gohan’s view. “Goten, wanna guide me to the truck?”

“I sure can!” Goten got in front of Gohan. “Follow me.”

Goku laughed watching Goten lead Gohan through the crowds of the marketplace. As he waited with ChiChi, Goku thought about Kenneth’s booth. Goku knew each booth ChiChi bought or bartered food from. He never heard of Kenneth. “ChiChi, don’t you buy eggs and milk from Mr. Colb’s booth?”

“Mr. Colb died five years ago, Goku. His widow sold the farm to Kenneth and moved to Satan City.”

‘Oh,’ Goku mouthed. That explained that. It didn’t explain ChiChi and Kenneth’s greeting to each other after the customer in front of them left.  

“Hi, Kenneth!”

“ChiChi!” Kenneth opened his arms. “My best customer!”

Goku stared flabbergasted as ChiChi embraced Kenneth and allowed him to kiss her cheek. The crates in his hands were the only thing keeping Goku from separating them. If he dropped the crates like he wanted, they will spill on the ground and ChiChi will scream at him for spoiling their food.

Instead, Goku sized up the guy. Thick black hair, blue eyes, two inches taller than him and judging by the large biceps bulging from his rolled-up red plaid shirt, he was stacked with muscles and appeared to be very strong.

Well, strong by human standards.

Who is this guy?

“Still hiding your beauty in that bun?” Kenneth tutted. “You have such long and luxurious hair, ChiChi. When are you gonna let your hair down and let the world see how beautiful you are?”

Goku’s grip on the crate tightened and his eyes thinned. Who the hell is this guy?

“Oh, stop it,” ChiChi brushed off the compliments. “I may be your prettiest customer but I’m not your best customer. You are my favorite supplier. My sons and I owe you for many meals.”

“I have a soft spot for single mothers.” Kenneth turned his back on ChiChi. He bent to pick up three large crates. “Besides,” Kenneth went on, “you were my first customer and gave me a chance when the others didn’t trust me being the new guy and all. But I say we’re even with the meals you’ve cooked for me.”

ChiChi cooked him food?!

Kenneth placed the crates on the counter. “Your regular order plus something extra.” The bottom crate was marked ‘Chicken’. The middle crate was marked ‘Milk and Cheese’ and the top one was marked ‘Eggs’.

ChiChi patted Kenneth’s hand. “You don’t have to give me the chicken.”

“You have two growing boys,” Kenneth reminded ChiChi. “You need it.”

Seeing ChiChi touch Kenneth’s hand and Kenneth smiling at ChiChi as if he liked her like he likes ChiChi pushed Goku to act.

That does it.

“Who is this guy, ChiChi?”

Kenneth looked behind ChiChi at the new voice. He didn’t notice him until now. “ChiChi, did Goten grow up?”

“I’m Son Goku, Goten’s Dad and ChiChi’s husband,” Goku introduced himself. “Who are you?”

“Husband?” Kenneth looked from Goku to ChiChi. Her smile and slow nod confirmed it. Kenneth turned back to Goku. He scrutinized Goku from head to toe twice before snapping his fingers. “Oh, yeah. He’s the guy in those pictures in your house.”

“You’ve been in my house?”

“Whoa!” Kenneth picked up the subdued anger in Goku’s voice. He stepped back and put his hands up. “It’s not like that.

ChiChi put a hand over her mouth giggling. “No, no. It definitely not like that.”

Goku looked from ChiChi to Kenneth to ChiChi again. What was so funny? It was as if ChiChi and Kenneth shared a special little secret only they knew and he wasn’t privy to.

Only me and ChiChi are suppose to have special little secrets.

“Sorry, Goku,” Kenneth apologized. “I thought you were dead. I guess I misheard ChiChi. You divorced and got back together. Good for you two. ChiChi is too pretty and too good of a lady to be single forever. I’m glad you wised up and got back with her before someone else scooped her up.”

Like you?

“No one could take me but Goku.” ChiChi handed Kenneth his money and two bento boxes. “I made you lunch but I still owe you that apple pie and dinner so how about you come by tonight?”

I thought that lunch was for me. Wait, what about dinner? She wants to feed him again?!

“Sounds like fun,” Kenneth accepted, “but I’ll bring the wine.”

“Can we go now?” Goku was tired of the weird looks and jokes shared between ChiChi and Kenneth. He wanted ChiChi as far away from Kenneth as humanly possible and he didn’t want Kenneth in his house for dinner. He didn’t want this but he knew he had to accept it or deal with ChiChi later.

“I’ll help you carry the crates to your truck,” Kenneth offered.

“I can carry it.” He didn’t need Kenneth to help him and if needed to, Goku was ready to show Kenneth how strong he is.

Kenneth’s eyes went up and down Goku again. They settled on his biceps. “Well, you do look like you can carry them but the crates will block your view. You’ll end up bumping into someone and spilling your food. Let me--”

“I don’t need to see to avoid bumping into anyone!” Goku snapped. “Give me the crates!”  

While ChiChi stared speechless at Goku’s sudden anger, Kenneth cast a sly smile on ChiChi. “You never told me Goku had sass. I like it.” Kenneth picked up the crates and gingerly placed them on top of the ones Goku currently held. Goku didn’t flinch. His grip didn’t slip. If his face wasn’t hidden by the crates, Goku would stick his tongue out at Kenneth for thinking the crates of food were too much for him.

“Wow,” Kenneth stepped from the booth and circled Goku impressed. “You are strong. I would struggle with all the crates you’re carrying. ChiChi,” he winked at her, “you’ve got a strong and passionate husband. I approve.”

ChiChi agreed though his behavior towards Kenneth was puzzling. “I most certainly do but we have to get going. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Bye!” Kenneth waved. “Nice to meet you, Goku.”

ChiChi walked with Goku to make sure he didn’t bump into anyone but Goku focused on the Ki around him and knew which way to step and when to stop as they passed through the sea of people to the parking lot. When they reached their truck, ChiChi decided to talk to Goku about his odd behavior.

“Are you all right?” ChiChi asked. “You were rude to Kenneth.”

Goku gingerly set the crates on the ground. Now he was away from Kenneth, he could be blunt and demand ChiChi to tell him of her history with Kenneth. “Who was that guy?”

Yup. There was no doubt about it now. Goku had a problem with Kenneth. “He’s my friend. He helped out a lot when you were dead. Food he wasn’t going to sell, he gave to me because he knew I have sons to feed. I appreciated it because money was tight. I repaid him with lunches and dinner. He was even kind to fix things around the house. I invited Kenneth to dinner tonight because he replaced the light fixture in our kitchen and I never properly thanked him.”

Goku placed the chicken crate in the truck first. That explained why Kenneth was in their home. “What other things did he fix?”

“He replaced the ceiling fan in our bedroom and he worked on the truck.”

Goku angrily dumped a crate of vegetables beside the chicken crate. “He was in our bedroom?!”

ChiChi jumped back momentarily stunned at Goku’s anger and the sudden change of his eyes turning teal. “Goku, nothing happened.” ChiChi wanted to be serious but the idea of her and Kenneth was laughable. “I can’t believe you’re jealous of Kenneth. It’s kind of flattering you’re jealous but it’s ridiculous.”

“Well, it’s not flattering you had a man in our bedroom, you’re cooking for him and you’re laughing at secret jokes only you two know about.” Goku pointed at himself. “That’s only for us!” ChiChi covered her mouth to stifle her laughs. “This ain’t funny, ChiChi!!”

“Oh, Goku,” ChiChi sobered her laughter. “I guess it’s odd to see me laughing and talking to another man that isn’t old enough to be my father but if I can trust you to be faithful when you’re not with me, you should trust me to be faithful to you.”

Goku trusted ChiChi but he also knew he made mistakes as a husband that would justify ChiChi being with someone else. He didn’t want that and he didn’t like any other man laughing and touching ChiChi like he does. That’s something only for him.  

ChiChi wrapped her arms around Goku’s neck. Her laughter was subdued and her love for Goku was evident in her eyes as she gazed tenderly at him. “You don’t have to worry about Kenneth, Goku. There’s nothing going on between us. You’re the one I love and Kenneth is only a friend. Trust me. Kenneth doesn’t have romantic feelings for me.”

Goku traveled the world and universes and of all the people he met, he knew ChiChi was the one he could trust without a doubt and if she said there’s nothing romantic between her and Kenneth, he knew it was the truth.

“I believe you.” Goku pulled ChiChi against him. “I don’t have a lot of things that are mine, ChiChi, and I want you to only be mine.”

“You have that.”

After a tender kiss, Goku broke away and resumed loading the crates in the truck. ChiChi was pleased Goku trusted her but felt there was something he should know to remove any concerns about Kenneth. “Besides, I’m not his type. You are and he was obviously checking you out.”

“Whaaaa?”

[crimsonrae]

The Wiles of Men and Women

Chapter Four

Summary: Georgiana Stafford has just become betrothed to a man older than her father. Her last chance to enjoy society on her terms comes the night that court celebrates the birth of Princess Mary. She was prepared for just about anything, but she hadn't been prepared for him. Charles Brandon.

CharlesxOC,

Rated: Mature

A/N:  Here is Chapter Four. I’ve been re-watching the first season and Charles really is a little shit: Between thinking of what he had done to Buckingham’s daughter to make her beg, teasing Margret (though really she deserved and enjoyed it) and hearing him tell a paramour to ‘Get her husband to lick it off’ ... I’m like ‘I kind of want to smack you.’ So to clarify this is very early Charles right now - he’s about twenty-three/ twenty-fourish and Katerina: I would place about five years older than Georgiana. Thank you to everyone who liked and showed support. I always love hearing from you guys. 💕 I really appreciate it 😊. Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

If you would like to be tagged in my stories please add yourself to the taglist linked in my bio!!

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Big Bad Wolf

Katerina chewed on the inside of her cheek as she helped Georgiana ready herself. In truth, the younger girl hardly needed her assistance, but the finishing of laces and plaiting of hair was a good distraction from the conversation that the maid needed to eventually begin. It wasn't until Georgiana had tied a simple ribbon around her crown and picked up a cloak that Katerina didn't remember seeing in the Lady's trunk that she knew she couldn't put it off any longer.

"Lady Georgiana..." Katerina began hesitantly, not feeling embolden as Georgiana merely turned a sweet acknowledging glance her way. It was too trusting and made her gut twist with mild guilt. She silently cursed Charles Bandon's name, "When we go to the markets you need to be on your guard."

Georgiana frowned bemused, while she was an Earl's daughter, she had been to the markets before... not London's, but Wiltshire had its own section of stalls and shops. She lifted an incurious brow at her lesser, "Were you planning on stopping in a tavern or a brothel?"

It was Katerina's turn to blink in confusion, "...N-no, milady."

"Are we still getting herbs and a few bits and bobbles?" Georgiana pressed unconcerned as Katerina nodded, "Then what nefarious activity should I be on guard for?"

"Not a what really... more a who." Katerina edged uncomfortably as she refrained from fidgeting.

By this point, Georgiana had turned her full attention to her servant with an expression torn between amused and expectant. The last time she had seen someone look this uncomfortable it had been her mother as her father announced whom she was to marry. As that particular memory, her amusement became somewhat tempered, "A who?"

Katerina nodded, "It seems that Mr. Charles Brandon has taken an interest in you, milady. I believe he will seek you out at the markets today."

Georgiana felt a strange mix of emotions at the servant's words. She was suddenly terrified that Charles had discovered where his lost lamb had gotten to, but also excited? Nervous? Her heart was doing funny things in her chest while her stomach seemed to flutter in dread. She had no liking for any of it.

Feeling flushed and suddenly trembling, she attempted to keep her expression as placid as possible. She had told Katerina much about the man who had taken her maidenhead, but not his name and she was reluctant to give that particular detail away now, "Mr. Brandon? For what purpose? He knows that I'm engaged to Lord Somerset."

An almost pitying grimace crossed Katerina's expression, "Mr. Brandon cares not for such details... He has something of a reputation when it comes to the ladies of court."

Some part of Georgiana was wholly unsurprised by this pronouncement. She had heard a few whispers during tea and promenades with a few of the courtly matrons, but it was the way he had pursued and ravaged her that had already clued Georgiana onto that fact. Charles had been entirely too confident in everything he did that night not to have a few lovers. She had only been relieved to find that he wasn't married. She couldn't bear the thought of humiliating another woman in such a way... though she had hoped, perhaps naively, that Charles would feel the same.

Heart sinking in her chest, she stubbornly pushed her swelling emotions away, "Well, Mr. Brandon will simply have to learn that just because he chases doesn't mean he'll capture his quarry."

"Of course, milady." There was a pause as Katerina watched her young mistress flare almost defiantly at her unintendingly patronizing tone.

Then a thought seemed to occur to Georgiana as her gaze narrowed faintly, "Katerina, how does Mr. Brandon know I'll be at the markets? I haven't told a soul."

Katerina felt an embarrassed flush climb to her cheeks as she weakly uttered, "My apologies, milady..."

A strange stab of betrayal welled in Georgiana as she quickly connected the dots. She felt angry that her information had been given away so easily and wondered at what else her servant had imparted.

Shakily, she demanded, "What else did you tell him? Should I be waiting for more lecherous men to hound my heels now that I'm... I'm damaged goods. Should I expect Lord Somerset to break off our engagement? Will my father be storming through that door to vent his humiliation and anger at me?"

Katerina's emerald eyes widen in surprise as she softly shook her head.

"No, no, milady. It wasn't like that at all..." She sighed and tried to find the right words, "I don't gossip, milady. It leads to too much trouble, especially around here. Mr. Brandon knows this about me... he knows me too well." She said a little bitterly, "The only information I conveyed, was your whereabouts. Anything else he would have to get elsewhere."

Georgiana studied her a moment in an almost surly manner. Katerina's frustrated anger hadn't escaped her notice. She knew resentment like that and it brought a thin strain of concern to the surface as tentatively she asked, "You're angry with him...did he force you, Katerina? Did he hurt you?"

A rueful chuckle left the servant as she shook her head, "I'm angry with me, milady. Mr. Brandon can be quite persuasive when he wants to be and almost single-handedly determined. It's why I warn you to beware of him, be on your guard. You have yet to be exposed to his particular set of charms, but that should only give you armor against him."

Georgia nearly choked on an incredulous laugh that bubbled in her throat. Oh, she knew Mr. Brandon's charms alright... And so too, it seemed did Katerina. A different feeling of betrayal wound tight around her heart, but she knew it was silly to even feel it. Brandon wasn't hers, after all.

Pouting vaguely, she sent an uncertain glance to the fearful maid, "Only my whereabouts?"

"Yes, milady." Katerina stated soundly a feeling of quiet relief settled in her stomach as it slowly became clear that Georgiana wouldn't have her dismissed.

To her credit, Georgiana managed to force out a grudgingly sympathetic smile and retort, "He is rather handsome, isn't he?"

Katerina giggled, "If only he didn't know it, milady."

Georgiana hummed in agreement before her smile turned sly and she teased, "Well, we should go get you some of your tea then."

Katerina blinked in shock at the lighthearted dig but found another chuckle escaping as she nodded in agreement. Suddenly, she was rather looking forward to Brandon's encounter with Georgiana. It would be a show, of that the servant was certain.

       ༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺   ༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Charles was beginning to hate the markets.

Admittedly, the last time he had spent any time here was when he had been a boy. It had been a treat then, now his business tended more towards the smiths and cobblers than any of the food stores. He was finding it all very tedious and boring. He had waved off more than one vendor seeking his coin and quickly learned to steer clear of the stalls selling fish and hens – the stench would wake a dead man. Though a particularly good noonday meal was had, when he had discovered where the baker resided. Since then, he had been content to linger near its walls as he carefully scanned the milling crowds.

A little over an hour had passed and he had yet to see either Katerina or the Lady Georgiana. He was beginning to think he had been misled. On the verge of giving up his hunt, Charles wandered from the food stalls toward the blacksmiths. This trip was not to be wasted; he had been meaning to order a new sword for the tournaments and this was as good a time as any.

Of course, it was when he set his sights on new endeavors that his original one came into view. He found Kitty amongst the stalls catering to spices and liniments. Her fiery red hair made her a beacon in the crowd. Quickly, he stepped back amongst the shadows of the booths as he observed her bartering with a merchant for some herbs. He did another scan of the area but saw no courtly lady hovering nearby.

He frowned.

It was possible that Lady Georgiana had changed her mind and had simply sent Katerina in her stead. If that were the case then his time spent milling about had been wasted indeed.

Quietly, he sidled up to Kitty as a small jar of dried leaves was passed to her. She peered up at him in curiosity before a disgruntled frown befell her lips. He tried not to grin at her dour look. Kitty was always fun to tease – her unwillingly willing participation in his games never ceased to amuse him.

"Kitty."

"Mr. Brandon." His name sounded like an epithet from her lips.

He smiled beguilingly, "Where is your mistress?"

Katerina hummed dispassionately under her breath, though a subtle mocking gleam entered her gaze at his question, "She is here, sir."

Charles found himself narrowing his gaze at the servant, "Where, Kitty?"

"Use your eyes, sir." Katerina instructed almost loftily as she placed her jar into the basket she carried, "Surely, your sight is not so bad."

Charles felt his brow furrow as he continued to stare at her, but when she merely blinked at him, he knew he would gain no further help. Stifling an aggravated sigh, he once again looked over the crowds. The finery of court would have caught his attention, but he saw only fellow courtiers that fell into that role. Instead, he began to study every female with a predator-like intensity, all the while he could feel Kitty growing steadily more amused.

He was torn between storming off and demanding her assistance again when a voice chimed at Katerina's side, "Looking for your lost lamb still, Mr. Brandon?"

Katerina bit her lip as Charles's gaze swung around. Georgiana stood next to her with a perfectly innocent expression painting her mien, but that was momentarily lost to Charles as he took in her outfit. She was dressed not too dissimilarly from Katerina and bore no jewelry at all. Her skin was bare and her hair plaited neatly, her only accessory was a silk ribbon. Though a blossomed young woman, she looked every inch of her seventeen years at that moment.

Startled, he inclined his head as he barely remembered his manners, "Lady Georgiana... I almost didn't recognize you."

"I dare say you didn't." Georgiana replied lightly as she passed a parcel of fabric to Katerina, "Nor have you answered my question."

"No..., I supposed I haven't, milady." Charles agreed almost belatedly. He felt off-put and she... she was unsurprised by his presence, "I'm afraid that my lost lamb will remain lost."

Georgiana raised a brow, "How sad for you. Did you need Katerina for something Mr. Brandon? If not, we have more items to gather before the day grows too late."

Charles wasn't sure if Georgiana realized it, but a vague note of haughty disapproval tempered her tone. His lips twitched with a desire to smirk, but he held it at bay. It appeared that Kitty had divulged something of their tryst to the Lady – well that made things more difficult, "Actually, I was seeking your company, milady, but I'm sure you already knew that."

Georgiana tilted her head in acknowledgment, "Something may have been mentioned, though I fail to understand your interest."

Her sea-blue eyes glittered warily and a sense of familiarity washed over him as it had the previous two encounters that he had with the Lady. He swore he knew her and for a fleeting moment he wondered if she was his Charlotte, but her indifference to him had him reconsidering. His little virginal treat had been full of blushes and smothered giggles – he would be hard-pressed to pull those from the tauntingly affable woman before him. Still... it would be interesting to try.

"A beautiful young lady? New to court? I would be remiss not to take an interest." Charles answered genially and wasn't surprised when both women looked unimpressed. It brought a wicked smile to his lips.

"And that lady is engaged, as you well know, sir. Your interest is undue." Georgiana retorted primly and felt her mother beam with pride somewhere. She nearly gagged on her words, but she refused to let Brandon have anything that looked like the upper hand in this conversation. She wasn't sure if it was the fact that she knew he had already found others to warm his bed that pricked her nerve or the fact that the mischievous spark in his eye still sparked her interest. It now seemed intolerable that where he had once seemed dangerous and seductive, he now seemed cocksure and smarmy.

She was overcome with the desire to hit him.

Just once. If only to wipe the knowing smirk from his all too delectable lips.

"And where is your intended? Should he not be attending to you as a dutiful fiancé should?" Charles prodded lightly as he saw an opening in their little tête-à-tête. It was obvious to all that the engagement was arranged, this was no love match, and he sorely doubted that she wished to bed a man thrice her age.

A biting smirk answered him as Georgiana stepped away from Katerina's side and into his space, "As you know, Mr. Brandon, my fiancé holds an important station and has much to do. Though I'm sure his load would be lightened if his lessers performed their courtly duties with the same dedication that you seem to have in finding bedfellows."

A shocked bark of laughter tore from Charles's throat at her boldness, "Who said anything about bedfellows, Lady Georgiana? Surely, you don't think a man's - my interest is purely carnal? I wouldn't think a lady of your standing would have such indecent thoughts. I'm of a mind to demand an apology."

"An apology?" Georgiana proclaimed incredulously.

"For your indecorous assumptions to my character." Charles stated evenly as he turned a pointed stare to her companion, "No doubt influenced by other sources."

"Hardly, and do leave other sources out of this, sir." Georgiana retorted without missing a beat, "But please do tell, what were your saintly intentions?"

Despite her annoyed inflection, Charles could see that she was enjoying this strange battle of wills, and even more strange he was too. She was quick with her sharp words, but she hadn't strayed yet into recklessness. He wanted to push her there.

He allowed a patronizing smile as he answered, "Merely to offer my friendship and guidance, milady. Court can be quite daunting to those who have no experience."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at him and Charles wondered how much further he could provoke her before she gave in to her irritation.

Yet, she showed a measure of control that he hadn't expected.

"How kind of you." Georgiana drawled before gesturing to Katerina to continue to the other stalls and stepping back herself. He frowned as she began to make her parting courtesies, "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Brandon. The day grows long and I still have shopping to complete before supper."

"Truly? It looks more like you're running away, milady." Charles taunted and hid a pleased smirk when her back stiffened and she turned to him again.

Her eyes blazed at him as she imitated his mock politeness, "Running away? Oh no, sir, I'm merely letting a little lamb that I unwittingly snared free."

Amusement warred with outrage at her words. He had wanted her reckless, but now he was suddenly so very tempted to throw her over his knee or at the very least teach her to curb her tongue.

His smile turned sharp as he leered over her, "I am no lamb, lady."

"No." She agreed quietly as she registered how close they now stood to each other, "More a wolf in sheep's wool."

As if in agreement with her assessment, a low rumbling growl answered her words as he leant closer still, "I wouldn't bite...much."

His predatory gaze noted that she had begun to faintly tremble as he reached a gentle finger to brush along her cheek. Goosebumps painted her arms at his touch and the shuddering breath she took lighted a fire that traveled straight to his cock. But it was her greenish-blue eyes – eyes that shone with wariness and curiosity, also shone with heady desire. She wanted this. Good...the little minx wasn't nearly as unaffected as she would like to seem.

"I think." Georgiana started somewhat shakily as her soft hand wrapped over his, "I think you would devour me if given half the chance."

He let her pull his hand down from her face and studied her intently. He could see that she was on the edge, but if he pushed too hard then she would fall away from him rather than into him.

Quietly, he asked, "Would that be so bad, milady?"

Georgiana stared at him wide-eyed, "Maybe... it would be trouble. You certainly seem like trouble, Mr. Brandon."

"Careful, Lady, I may extract an apology from you yet."

"I-"

"Lady Georgiana!" Katerina called in the distance like a burst cork from a champagne bottle.

It yanked the couple back to the present and Charles could only watch as she slipped from his grasp.

She pulled her hand from his and he found that he missed its warmth, but he didn't follow after her as she slid back into the crowds like a lovely wraith. His dark blue eyes followed her as she scurried to Katerina's side and dared a timid glance over her shoulder to find him. Her curiosity, wariness, and desire still there, but now muted. His lust burrowed into his veins under that look and was not to be moved.

Yes... yes, he would devour her. The Lady really should know better than to run from a wolf.

       ༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺   ༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"Lord Somerset."

Charles looked up from his paperwork and abruptly moved to stand for a bow at the sight of the Queen. He hadn't heard her approach and was mildly surprised to see none of her ladies attending her, "Your Majesty."

She smiled politely and gestured for him to stand properly, "I did not mean to intrude, my Lord."

Somerset frowned with a passing glance at the plans for a tournament that the King wanted to hold. Another costly waste of frivolity in the Chamberlain's opinion, but he was not one to oppose the whims of his monarch. Especially not one as temperamental as Henry. He shook his head gently and offered the Queen a rueful grimace, "Your presence is never an intrusion. Is there something I can help you with, ma'am?"

"Yes, I am holding afternoon tea tomorrow with a few of the ladies of court. I would like it if Lady Georgiana were to attend." Katherine said simply with an expectant look, "It would benefit her to know her peers better, no?"

Somerset smiled at the Queen's graciousness. It would behoove Georgiana to become more familiar with the players at court. She would spend much of her time here in residence with him and having a few allies in place by the time of their wedding would allow for a smoother transition, "That sounds like a splendid idea, Your Majesty. I am to sup with the Stafford family this evening. I will pass along your invitation."

Katherine's smile turned a little more genuine, "I would be most grateful, Lord Somerset. I would have passed on the invitation myself, but it seems that Lady Georgiana is visiting the markets today. Preparing for the wedding, no doubt."

That surprised the Lord Chamberlain, Georgiana had shown only the minimal amount of interest on their impending marriage. Not that he blamed the poor girl, but he had been under the assumption that her mother would make the majority of the arrangements. His heart lightened slightly at the thought of her becoming more involved. It showed at least a cursory acceptance of her fate... He truly did need to spend more time with her.

Realizing that he hadn't answered the Queen, he smiled pleasantly, "I'm sure, ma'am. There is much to do before the month is out."

Katherine almost seemed to hesitate as she studied the Earl. She was not one to meddle in the affairs of court, unless those affairs somehow affected her and her family, but she would also be remiss not to speak plainly, "Yes, I can imagine. Lady Georgiana showed her grace and obedience well before my husband...but tell me, Lord Somerset, do you know if she is truly happy with this match?"

Charles was hardly surprised by her question, much like Henry he had seen her glimmer of disapproval at the marriage announcement, "In truth, your majesty, I do not know. I have only been presented with her grace and obedience, as well. She doesn't seem to have any objections."

"That is not the same as being content, my Lord." Katherine stated sagely, "She is young and still has much to learn of this world. I would like you to remember that."

A strange mix of chastened and vague amusement welled up in Somerset at the Queen's subtle lecture. A complacent expression crossed his features as he sought the words to placate her, "I shall, ma'am. My Elizabeth, God rest her, was a boon to me in many ways that I didn't expect of a wife. She was my friend. I hope for much the same from Georgiana."

Something softened in the Queen at his quiet confession. She nodded her head understanding, while she had barely known the late Lady Somerset, she had known of her integral role in her husband's work. Katherine could only hope that Henry would one day feel the same of her. Lately, the hopeful shine in the King's icy gaze had been replaced by resigned disappointment. She hated that look.

Drawing a breath, she decided her meddling in this particular affair was at an end, "I shall let you return to your work. Have a good night, my Lord."

"You as well, Your Majesty." Somerset intoned as he watched her sweep from the room.

He pondered for a brief moment over whether Georgiana could count the Queen as one of her courtly allies...

Previous Chapter         Next Chapter

[elizabeethan]

33: is Killian confident on every form of water?

Hi... remember this??? I have a couple more requests in here that i’m just getting to, sorry for the delay!!

this is from like 3 months ago lol but the request is for ice skating!! 

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Swan?” he asks timidly, his usual sense of cockiness suddenly melting away as Emma is sure he wishes the ice would.

“Of course it is. I’m surprisingly good at this.”

“The lass only just learned to walk, love.”

She rolls her eyes at his continued attempts to get out of forced family fun. Honestly, he was the one to suggest that the four of them spend more time together as their relationship blooms. “Come on,” she says, noting how far ahead Henry and Corrine have found themselves despite her short gait. “If your baby can do it, then you're definitely gonna do it.”

“It just seems rather dangerous to go out on thin ice wearing nothing but bladed boots.”

She chuckles at him, squeezing his hand and tugging him just a bit to pick up his pace. “The ice isn’t thin, it’s been approved safe by the fire station. And I thought you were comfortable with a blade?”

“One that I hold in my hand, yes.”

When they finally catch up to Henry and Corrine, him sitting patiently on the bench and watching as she seems to be attempting to build some sort of snow sculpture, Emma takes a seat and unties the laces of her skates so that she can separate them. “Sit,” she says to Killian, gesturing next to herself. “I’ll help you get them tied nice and tight.”

He grumbles something unintelligible as he sits beside her and begins to remove his modern but still somehow piratey boots before struggling to slip on the tight skates. He ends up stomping his feet into the snow, slicing into the fluffy white ground in an attempt to get them on all the way. “Here,” she says, reaching down and pulling the tongue so that it sits properly, and she sees him relax with comfort as the skates finally fit him.

He grumbles a thank you and begins to try the laces while Emma helps Corrine with her own, but he’s holding in curses and grumbling in annoyance in a matter of moments, and Henry huffs as he stands and glides onto the ice gracefully. “Bloody hell,” he mumbles into the cold air, his breath escaping in a puff of fog.

“Help,” Corrine says, noting her father’s struggles and pulling on Emma’s hand. “Help duddy.”

“I’ll help daddy if you sit on his lap and calm him down,” she barters, smiling down at her sweet, empathetic daughter and her seemingly endless desire to help people.

He sighs when Emma picks the baby up (able to balance on her skates in the snow better than she thinks he’ll be able to) from the ground and plops her into his lap. “Hi,” she says, turning to face him and potentially doing damage to his femoral artery with the blade of her left skate.

His face twists up as he moves her foot away from his leg, then says, “Hi, darling. You're going to teach me how to skate?”

“I skate,” she confirms, lifting her chubby, mitten-covered hands to squish his cheeks. “You?”

“Aye,” he mumbles out through his scrunched up mouth. “I suppose so.”

Once his laces are tight enough to provide the ankle support he needs, she slaps the top of his skates and grins cheerfully up at them. “Ready?”

“Me!” Corrine shouts, trying to get off of her father’s lap without thought for her current level of stabbiness.

“Are you sure it’s safe for her?” he asks as he rubs his thigh where she poked him.

��Killian, Henry and I went skating a million times in New York while I was pregnant with her. She was born for this.” Try as she might, she knows she won't be able to quell his worries for their child, nor his worries for himself.

He isn’t too bad at balancing, likely due to his centuries worth of practice standing on slick ship decks. She’s pleasantly surprised to see him even step out onto the ice rather than staying back and pouting like she half expected him to do. But she thinks that once he saw Corrine expertly gliding across the ice after only a few minutes of instruction from Emma and Henry, he knew he would never live it down if he didn’t try.

He lands on his ass several times, and quite hard. After just a few moments, he’s rubbing a hand over his lower back, and she feels bad about whatever damage he may have done. He’s an old man, as she often forgets, and his bones probably aren’t happy with the assault they’ve taken. It’s no matter, though; Corrine starts fussing over not being able to pet a dog that sits across the pond, and Emma knows it’s time to get and avoid a full blown tantrum. She may only be 18 months old, but she’s settling into her Terrible Twos phase expertly.

“Come on,” she says to him when he falls a final time, not even attempting to get up this time and letting his legs flop open in defeat. “We need to get you two some cocoa before you both combust.”

He grumbles something about not being a child as Corrine grumpily yet gracefully glides over to him, plopping herself into his lap in a way that instantly wipes the snarl from his face. “You mummy says we need cocoa,” he says softly to her as she makes herself comfortable. She can’t imagine how cold his ass is getting. “Would you like some?”

“With cream,” she insists, her fascination with whipped cream coming out of the pressurized can a new one.

“Of course,” he confirms, helping her to stand and struggling up himself before they can struggle their way off of the ice.

When their skates are off and they're heading back towards Granny’s, Corrine giggling away as Henry chases her along the sidewalk, Killian takes her hand in his and gives a gentle squeeze. With a glance up at him, she sees a soft smile dancing over his lips and a joyous sparkly in his bright blue eyes. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asks him, squeezing his hand back.

“Oh, it was awful,” he says seriously. “My arse will be bruised for a week.”

She snorts and bumps his shoulder with hers as Corrine and Henry round the corner to Granny’s, disappearing through the door and likely claiming their favorite booth. “You’ll have to ice it.”

“Ice was the cause of the problem, love. I think what I need is some tender love and care.”

“Is that so?” she asks, turning to wrap her arms around his waist and pull herself close to him, grinning up as he gives his rear a hearty squeeze.

“Swan!” he cries, squeezing her back and tickling her softly until she giggles. “Very rude,” he complains against her lips.

“You're right, I’m sorry,” she says, kissing him back and letting her hands slide up and under his jacket. “I’ll have to make it up to you after--”

They're interrupted by a forceful and urgent thumping sound, and when Emma breaks away from him and looks up, she sees Corrine’s irritated face and her tiny fists slamming against the window beside them.

[calpops]

impact | a.i.

In which Ashton meets you for a promised coffee in the afternoon and you end up lost in his world of the record shop until the moon begins to shine.

Word Count: 1k

previous part - collision

Copyright © 2020 calpops. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted by anyone else on any platform in any format (translations included).

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Late afternoon brings Ashton to the bakery across the street from his record store. The sun sits behind the line of buildings and the sky tinges with a glow that summers past white clouds. Ashton is all grins and bounding steps as he crosses the street and opens the bakery door. He spots his friend and Calum’s new romantic interest behind the counter and gives them both a small wave which they reciprocate in kind. Ashton doesn’t need words to order; Michael is well aware of his usual and sets to work on fulfilling it. But Ashton doesn’t head for the table he usually does or linger at the corner of the counter so he can make a quick pick up and escape back to Music Mayhem. This time his sights are set on you tucked into a booth with a book in your hold and wandering eyes searching for his. He breaks into a quick pace and nearly throws himself into the booth after you find him and give him a smile and inviting nod.

Having met you in a collision of falling books, broken bindings and promises of coffee the day before Ashton couldn’t get his mind off you all the night previous. You were soft spoken in the bookstore; but words fell from you in a worried rush of soft whispers and panicked eyes. Ashton found you intriguing and your offer to pay him back for a damaged dollar book unable to be denied. You brighten as Ashton settles on the other side of the booth and runs a hand through his hair. You quietly welcome him by closing your book and setting it to the side. Ashton’s gaze lingers on the cover and a new grin curves on his lips. It’s a book about music theory and it makes his interest in you intensify.

“Good read?” He asks and you nod with a humble look at the book. “You play anything?”

You shake your head no this time. “I’m not very musically inclined but I do enjoy learning about it.”

Ashton’s beaming at that. Music is his world.

“You should come check out my record shop then,” he starts and has an explanation on the tip of his tongue but gets cut short by Michael bringing two orders over.

Ashton’s usual coffee and pastry is set on the table in front of him and a hot chocolate with cinnamon is placed in front of you. You both take timid sips of the hot beverages and settle into a conversation about the record store. Your interest doesn’t falter and your questions keep coming; Ashton revels in it all, feels that light and airy hope from the day before coming back to him. He takes you in; notes the way your eyes squint when you fall into thought, the way your fingers never really settle even when wrapped around the mug. You’re fascinating in every sense. Laughter fills the date and when mugs are empty and Ashton’s pastry is picked at into oblivion you both linger. Ashton doesn’t want to be the first to leave; doesn’t want you to be either. He goes out on a limb, a dangerous feeling of falling teetering with every word.

“Y’know, I just got new stock at the shop. I could show you some instruments. Maybe some new bands.”

You’re nodding before the end of Ashton’s sentence and keeping him afloat; ensuring he doesn’t collide into rocky grounds from the fall. Ashton’s breath catches at your nod but quickly restores itself as you both gather yourselves to leave. Ashton stops to pay for the drinks even though you insist you should; reminding him it was your offer to make up for a damaged book. He waves you off good naturedly and brings you across the street. Calum mans the desk and only gives a cursory glance to both of you as Ashton leads the way to the back of the store.

“Just got this in,” Ashton announces and gestures to an old guitar. “Actually bartered for it from the antique store next door.”

He watches the awe flicker across your face and feels his own joy lighting up his features. Rarely does anyone take an interest in his world past a surface level of modern radio pop or easy oldies. He finds your fascination and craving to know endlessly amusing and endearing.

“Wow,” you say and Ashton hears how breathlessly you marvel at the old instrument. He watches your hand come up slowly but settle back at your side—too scared to touch.

“It’s from 1910; needs some restoration but it’ll be a beauty once it’s fixed up.”

“It’s already incredible,” you say and turn to face Ashton, meeting hazel eyes and dimples that accompany a smirk.

“Violins are pretty timeless. They add so much to a composition,” Ashton explains and lets his fingertips trace the grain of the wood. “I couldn’t pass this up when I saw it in the window the other day.”

Conversation comes easy from that point on. You roam the aisles and ask questions which Ashton is more than happy to give explanations for. He shows you his favorite records; tells you which ones he has at home and you both end up laughing when customers need to make a beeline past you. Ashton sees the way your eyes go wide and a flash of embarrassment crosses your face but he always waves the customers off with a laugh and directs them to whenever they need to go.

You mention a band Ashton has never heard of; challenge him with an album that doesn’t even sound familiar. You both set off in search of it and come up empty in the near endless expanse of records.

“I’ll find it,” Ashton promises—never one to turn down a challenge or new music.

“We’ll have to listen to it together. If you ever do,” you reply with a slight giggle.

Closing hours come around quickly and the desire to stay together lingers once more. He offers to drive you home and feels his heart soar when you accept. You don’t live far away but the prospect of even mere moments more with you lights Ashton up.

The moon is out and a perfect indicator that time has slipped past in a quick and easy haze. The drive takes only minutes and all too soon your departure is imminent. As Ashton bids you goodbye with suddenly shy motions and uncertainty of how to proceed he contemplates the day with you. He makes sure you get inside okay and heads back to his car as thoughts chase him with every step. He gets sucked back into the feeling of falling and shudders out an excited breath as he gets behind the wheel once more and fully realizes your impact.

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