#also has some wonderful implications which I do enjoy... I am leaning towards it

[jazzy-art-time]

Discussion with The Cove about changing Ulbrecht's design to be full sawsbuck led to some doodles. Bonus: his sister Annie (they have fangs/tusks like... waterdeer. even tho literally nothing else shows waterdeer I just wanted the teef ok.)

[no-droids]

Whenever You Want

Part Fourteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: Listen there is some dirty smut in this one yall okay like I was blushing when I wrote it, it has a very stark beginning and theres a pagebreak afterwards if you would prefer to skip over it. Smut includes oral sex (female receiving) rough sex, sensory deprivation, butt stuff (ass to mouth, anal fingering/penetration) so PLEASE LOOK OUT FOR IT PLEASE. Also there is jealous/possessive mando in this, season 1 Karga makes another appearance, and some angst/fluff towards the end

A/N: Nothing much today yoditos just love you all

***

Din said he’d meet you here.

You’re currently sitting across from Greef Karga in a cantina on Nevarro, a closed shield next to you and a blaster tucked into the back of your waistband, hidden underneath your shirt.  You’re barely even looking at him, though—your eyes are attached to the door by an invisible string, forcing your gaze back to it no matter how much it bounces around the room.

You don’t know where Din is, you haven’t seen him in hours.  But you do know that when he left, he was moving slower than you’re used to.  You don’t think anyone else would notice, but you sure did.  Not that he was obvious about it—you only picked up on very subtle hints.  Leaning up against things just a bit more than he usually does.  Taking slightly longer exiting the ramp of the Crest than his normal strides would carry him.

He didn’t say what he was going to do—just that he needed to find someone before meeting with Karga, and you accepted it.  But truthfully, you didn’t want to.  You were worried about him—still are, actually.  But for all intents and purposes, he was speaking and acting like himself, showing no real signs of exhaustion other than the smallest instances you described before, so you didn’t really have a leg to stand on.  He’s been through way worse, and you know it.  You just… find yourself worrying about him so much more than you used to, and you need to learn how to gain some control over that part of you.

The kid was still passed out from healing him and you remember Din carefully setting four pucks down in the sleeping baby’s sphere and giving his ears a gentle rub between leather fingers.  He turned back to you and told you to meet him at the cantina in three hours, but if it ended up taking him too long for any reason, to try your best to see if Karga will let you exchange on his behalf.

Admittedly, he didn’t sound too confident about it—the instructions were delivered with a tone that implied a doubtful, just-in-case scenario he wasn’t foreseeing happening.  Or maybe he just doubted the likelihood of Karga agreeing to do business with you, you’re not entirely sure.  All you know is that when he left, you were almost certain he wouldn’t be late, but you also took the time to grab the smallest blaster from his armory before heading out just in case.

Yet—here you are, three and a half hours later, eyes flicking between the door and Karga as you attempt to keep up polite conversation.  After turning down his offer of alcohol for the fifth time and still not seeing any glimpse of beskar coming to your rescue, you figure this may be as good a time as any to start the exchange.

During an extended break in the small talk, you slowly reach over to the corner of your booth and press a button on the face of the kid’s shield.  It hisses open and you completely miss the way Karga’s hand raises while three of his guards automatically reach for their hips.  The little green monster is still snoozing comfortably while you pull out the four glowing pucks Din left you and set them on the table one by one.

They scrape along the top of it as you slowly push them over to him, before sitting back in the booth and clearing your throat, flicking your eyes between Karga and his guards.  To you, nobody appears to have moved, so you muster a polite smile at him.

Karga smiles back, but makes no move to gather or inspect the offerings in front of him.

“Um…” you say after a moment, suddenly feeling your heart start to beat a little faster.  “Mando… Mando gave me permission to exchange on his behalf.”

“I believe you,” he drawls out in response, but the pucks still sit untouched in front of him as he leans back in the booth and studies you.  “Mando has always had a… let’s say, a frustrating penchant for disregarding the pillars of our code.  My apologies, young lady, but I’m afraid that I cannot accept these from you.”

Your voice comes out quieter than you’d like it to sound.  “Why not?”

“It is… unlawful,” he answers after a moment.  “Our organization operates under strict rules.”

Does it?  You blink.  No, it doesn’t.  You’re nothing to the Guild and you’ve sat next to Din quite a few times while Karga talked, listening to him drunkenly boast about return rates and out members by name.  You’re not sure why he’s barring you like this, but you’re also not self-assured enough to put practically any spine into it whatsoever.  “I’m… afraid I don’t understand.”

“I cannot legally do guild business with individuals not recognized as members in an official capacity,” he sighs, sounding grave and almost apologetic about it, but you don’t know him well enough to know if he’s a good actor or not.  “There’s nothing I can do for you besides provide you with my company, not until Mando decides to show.”

Well now that doesn’t make any sense, and you’re starting to worry that for some reason or another, he isn’t going to show.  Though it was incredibly well concealed, you’re well aware that Din was still lingering in the final recovery stages when he left the Crest earlier and all you have to go on is his word that he’d be here.  Something could’ve happened.  Something could be happening right now, you need to push.

“People pick up bounties for extra credits all the time,” you mumble, still way too fucking quiet about it.  Maker, you’re not even sure if he could hear that over the sound of the cantina.  Speak up, speak up.

“Yes, but those quarry are listed on the New Republic’s most wanted database,” Karga acknowledges diplomatically, educating more than he is arguing, before uncorking the bottle of glowing blue alcohol in front of him and beginning to pour himself another shot.  “They’re fodder.  Up for grabs—names, last known locations, and biometrics published for the entire galaxy to read.”  He tilts his head down at the four metal pucks on the table without removing his gaze from the gradually filling glass.  “Those pucks are different, they’re commissions.  Tied specifically to Guild contracts.”  Karga clunks the bottle back down again and corks it, pinning you with a stare.  “For all I know, you could’ve murdered a member of our ranks and come to collect payment for his bounties.  Can’t have that.”

Your blood suddenly turns to ice at the implication, eyes wide and your heartbeat rocketing as you look from Karga to the three guards casually stationed behind him.  “You—You think I murdered Mando?”

“No,” he says, easily and in the very same breath, before throwing the shot back and wiping his mouth with a grimace.  “Not sure I’d care too much if you did.  It’s not my rule, but I am required to follow it or risk losing my position in the Guild.”

Shit.  Shit.  What do you do?

You’re blank, left quiet and feeling increasingly unsure of how to proceed.  Karga, however, seems completely unbothered and even appears to be enjoying himself and your company.  He gives you another smile, this one a lot friendlier and more genuine than the one earlier, before setting his elbows on the table and leaning forward.

“Look, I want to help you,” he admits, keeping his tone light, “but my hands are tied.  Just relax and share a drink with me until he gets here, it’s not a problem.”

Fuck, you don’t like this, and a quick look around brings another reminder of Din’s continued absence.  Your chest feels tight, the anxiety starting to compound and make you jumpy.  It’s been too long—it’s been at least forty minutes or so of waiting by now and something just feels wrong about this.  Not having him next to you feels wrong enough on its own, but when he specifically told you he’d be here?

You clench your jaw and try to work up your nerve.  Karga is a nice guy, right?  He knows you by name, he knows who you are to Mando.  And while you never really thought about the bounty hunter’s omnipresent protection as being anything other than metaphorical, you suddenly realize that… it might be literal, too.  How much sway do you actually have here, you wonder?  You’re not stupid, you’re not going to try anything stupid, but maybe just another question won’t hurt?

“Well, um… how do you become a member, then?”  You ask him, and you watch as he leans back in the booth, raising both eyebrows at you.

“Excuse me?”  He asks, though there’s a genuine amusement in his voice.  Stunned that you’d even say the words aloud.

“I have four bodies,” you tell him shortly.  You’re still quiet about it, but his thoroughly entertained astonishment is beginning to rub you the wrong way.  You don’t want to be part of the Guild, you don’t want to be here, you’re doing this out of growing necessity.  “One of which I dragged through a blizzard on Hoth by its ankles and put into carbonite myself, so please just tell me what I have to do to get you to take them.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, shaking his head like you’re just not getting it.  “New members are only accepted if they bring in an S-level criminal from the database or if they complete a commission that was granted to them by someone of my station—neither of which apply to you.  If you cannot present me with any sort of reasonable argument for which they could, then I’m afraid this is not a favor I can swing.”

“I was sitting right here,” you return, suddenly finding your voice.  If Karga wants an argument from you to get this to happen, then you’ll do it.  You just need to finish this exchange, go back to the Crest, and scan around for Din’s signal.  “When you first gave the pucks to Mando, I sat right here and you pushed them over to this side of the table—I was present for the commission and now I’m here to complete it.”

He shakes his head.  “But I didn’t give them to you, I gave them to Mando—”

“Yes, but you only wanted to give him three,” you immediately point out.  “The last one, the one I told you I put into carbonite—you said you threw it in because you liked me, it could’ve been for me.”

Karga suddenly stops and blinks at you for a few seconds, and you bite your lip, wondering if the logic will hold.  It’s flimsy as fuck and you know he could very easily rip it apart if he wanted to.  It could’ve been for you but it wasn’t, he gave it to Mando.  You also purposefully leave out the fact that you’re also the reason Mando only gave him three bodies in the first place; your only goal here is to complete this transaction as quickly as possible and leave.  You don’t like the fact that it’s taking Din so long, and you also don’t like the fact that Karga seems so keen on keeping you here with him, no matter how many reassurances he provides.  He said he wants to help you?  This can be his chance to prove it.

After a few extended moments of consideration, Karga finally shrugs like he really couldn’t care less before reaching across the table for the pucks and beginning to stack them in his palm.

“What is your last name?”  He asks, turning behind him to gesture for one of his men with a jerk of his head.  The bodyguard exits the cantina without another word and your eyes flick back to Karga’s.

“Why does it matter?”  You ask uncertainly, watching another guard approach with a holopad as he shrugs once more.

“It doesn’t, but we need something for our records,” Karga explains, grabbing the device as it’s tapped against his shoulder without removing his gaze from yours.  “I can just use Doe if you don’t feel like sharing—most of our members tend to prefer anonymity, including your companion.”

Your eyebrows furrow even as your heart continues to pound, wondering how they can afford to be so lax about some things but take others so seriously.  “You have him down as John Doe?”

“First name Man,” Karga grunts in response, finally breaking eye contact to begin navigating through pages on the holopad.

“Ah,” you say shortly, knowing you’d probably find the joke funny in other circumstances.  You’re not out of the trenches yet, you still feel the worry tugging hard at your chest.

“Very well,” Karga announces with a sigh, pocketing the pucks in his leather overcoat and then handing the holopad back to one of the men flanking him after a moment.  “Someone is collecting the carbonite plaques from your vessel as we speak.”

You give him a nod, taking a deep breath that you hope is slow and subtle enough to not give your anxiety away.  He helped you out, you’re halfway through this.  Now comes the exchange.  Now it’s his turn to give you the credits and four more pucks, that’s how this should go.

Only, Karga leans back in his seat and cocks his head at you.  “Unfortunately, I believe we have found ourselves in the midst of yet another predicament.”

Your heart continues to slam, praying you haven’t somehow majorly fucked things up by getting this far.  Din still isn’t here, why is he so fucking late?  He nearly froze to death and you handled a dead body just to make this meeting on time, where the fuck is he?

You raise an eyebrow at him, willing the building panic not to show on your face.  “Have we?”

“You’re lucky credits are attached to commissions instead of rank within the Guild,” he prefaces, pulling out a large handful of them to begin counting, and your eyes flick around the cantina while you know he isn’t looking, “or else you’d be getting about half of what I’d normally give him.”

Heart galloping when you still don’t see any sign of him, you just decide to keep extra quiet as you watch Karga divvy out a sizable stack of credits, hoping your prolonged silence will protect you somehow.

“The question now becomes…” he lifts an eyebrow at you while sliding them across the table to you, “how many pucks do I give you in return, hm?”

Fuck, you don’t like this, you’re trying to make it crystal fucking clear that your intentions do not extend beyond the perimeter of this table.  There’s no you to be found in this deal, you’re just an emergency proxy in Din’s absence and you only inserted yourself in the situation to accomplish that task.  “I told you I’m only here to exchange on Mando’s behalf, that’s it.”

“Be that as it may…”  Karga glances around the cantina like he’s thinking extra hard about it.  This is a made-up problem, you both know there’s no predicament here.  He knows you didn’t kill Mando, he knows there’s no real reason to be giving you such a hard time about this, and you clench your jaw as he still seems to take his time considering it.  “Tell you what, young lady,” he finally turns back to you.  “Do me the honor of sharing one sip of this fine spotchka with me and I’ll give you four pucks to pass along to Mando.”

Okay.  Okay, you can do that, if he really cares that much.  Karga gestures for the closest droid to come by with a glass for you, but you just grab the bottle in front of him and uncork it without thinking too much, balancing the glowing blue liquid with two hands and diligently taking a small sip of it before setting it down again.  Appearing satisfied with your demonstration of upholding your end of the bargain, Karga grins and reaches into another pocket.

“Four for Mando,” he pushes four pucks across the table, “same rate and return as last time, as promised.”  You nearly deflate in relief as you quickly gather them up and begin dropping them into the snoozing baby’s shield along with the credits, but then Karga reaches back and pulls out another puck, pushing it over to you.  “And one for you.”

You blink at him, frozen in place.

“Lowest level, lowest pay.  Not even a criminal by New Republic standards, just a missing person,” he goes on to say, but then quite suddenly… 

Quite suddenly you’re absolutely fucking horrified.

You don’t want it.  Everything inside you surges up to scream that you do not want that puck.  It’s a waste of time, even if it’s an extra job—it’s too much trouble, too much fuel for such a small reward.  You already know good and well that Din won’t want to bother, getting this extra puck would be considered a detriment to him.

“What if I don’t want it?”  You ask, sounding nervous and vaguely out of breath as you look down at it.

Karga scoffs.  “Of course you don’t.  Nobody wants these, why do you think I’m trying so hard to pawn one off on you?”

Shit.  This is not at all how you expected any of this would go.  You know he’s not really asking, even if his tone and continued courtesy implies it’s only a request.  There’s an expectation attached to this, and it appears you take too long pondering an offer that isn’t actually voluntary.  Karga stares at you and your clear apprehension for just a few seconds more, before finally giving you an ultimatum.  “You said you’re here on his behalf.  You either take all five pucks now or Mando only gets three next time, your choice.”

Oh.  Oh, no.  This is a lose-lose; three pucks means more fuel and less credits, five pucks means more fuel and less credits.  It’s not like you have any real bargaining power here—almost everything he’s done for you today has been a favor of some sort and you’re well aware that things can always get worse.

Still, you take a deep breath and try your best to throw around whatever weight you have left in one final agreement.

“Give me your word you’ll go back to giving him four from now on, no more hassling or hard time constraints and we’ll take it just this once,” you tell him, trying to conjure and put power behind your words even though you’re unsure if they’ll stick.

“Deal,” Karga readily agrees with a smile, reaching his hand across the table.  You have no choice but to meet him in the middle and clasp it, unable to feel anywhere close to good about your performance here.  It was clunky and insecure and even though you just barely succeeded in making the exchange overall, you’re massively disappointed in the specifics.

But then Karga’s eyes quickly flick over your shoulder.

“Ah, Mando!”  He suddenly calls out, and your hand nearly snatches away from his while your body goes rigid.

Oh, this isn’t good, this is not good.  Well, it’s good that he’s here but it also really fucking isn’t.  You don’t even turn your head; you sit completely straight and still while the cantina falls to a hush and heavy footsteps begin to approach behind you.  You fucked up—you fucked up, you didn’t wait long enough and you feel the sharp regret instantly twist in your stomach.  He said he’d be here, why didn’t you trust him?  Your anxiety and stress compounded and spurned you to act too quickly, you made the deal a few fucking seconds before he showed up.

And, as Din eventually comes into your peripheral, taking his time leaning his rifle up against the table, you immediately realize that you should not have worried.  Recovery isn’t even a word in his vocabulary right now—he’s more intimidating than he’s ever been, more powerful and certain and dangerous while he lowers himself into the seat next to you than he’s ever felt to you before.  Everything is so quiet now that he’s here; you feel like even just swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat turns into an audible gulp.  The man sitting across from you may own this cantina and every material good under its roof, but the one sitting by your side feels like he steals the literal air from the room just by walking inside it.

Yet, in spite of the daunting presence of the Mandalorian, Karga beams and tips his glass at him.  “I believe you’ve arrived just in time for your favorite part of the conversation, friend.  The farewells.”

You stare wide-eyed down at the table as Din leans back into the booth and very slowly extends his arm behind your shoulders, saying nothing at all to him.

The testosterone is radiating from him to the point of near suffocation, you can taste the alpha in the air.  Your heart slams in your chest at the unspoken claim he just made with a subtle movement, and though you’ve never been one for masculine displays, this one weirdly feels… good right now.  You know it’s primitive and crude and you’re not a piece of meat to be fought over, but it doesn’t feel like that at all.  It’s the immediate feeling of security that serves to heat your cheeks, the fact that you’ve been a nervous mess trying to be extra brave this whole interaction and then suddenly you have the backup of an entire army contained within one single suit of armor next to you.

If you weren’t internally panicking at how badly you screwed this shit up, you’d probably be going fucking feral for him right now.

Karga says your name and your gaze snaps to his, feeling like you can’t breathe.  “My associate has collected the plaques, nothing keeps you here any longer.  It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Still, nobody at the table moves.

After a moment, you carefully glance up and to the side at the sharp, metallic profile of his helmet.  Maker, you can’t explain it—it’s like you feel terrified but not really for yourself, if that makes sense.  You’re upset with yourself for not having enough trust in his word, absolutely, but something in Din’s demeanor tells you that he’s going to be considerably less understanding of how Karga handled this situation than the way you did.

The helmet slowly turns down to look at you, and you bite your lip while carefully placing your hand on his thigh brace under the table, letting him feel your fingers brush against the bend of his knee.

He turns back to Karga after a few seconds, still not saying a single word, until eventually Din’s arm is lifted from behind your shoulders and you feel his leather fingers gently clasp your hand, before he starts to rise from the booth and pull you along next to him.  You both stand, and he silently presses a button on his vambrace without dropping your grip, urging the kid’s shield to follow along behind him.

“Um, goodbye,” you just barely remember to tell Karga as Din begins leading you away, apparently not waiting for the polite farewells he arrived in time for.

“Wait!”  A voice calls out just before you can make your exit, and Din pauses just in time for Karga to extend that damned fifth puck out for you to grab.  Right in fucking front of him.  “Can’t forget this!”

Fuck.  Great.  Thanks.

Blood rushes to your face while you go to reach for it, taking the puck and then placing it in the open shield along with four others in a way that you hope is casual but you know isn’t.  You close the lid on it and then squeeze Din’s hand slightly, but he stays rooted to the spot for a few more seconds, having watched the entire exchange play out.  Though you obviously wouldn’t be able to read his facial expressions even if you could lift your head to look up at him, you can’t will yourself to do so right now.  You’re too disappointed in yourself and nervous—you just stand there silently as he looks back at Karga, staring at your feet and praying he doesn’t do anything brash.

After too many moments of uncertainty, you squeeze his hand again and slowly begin to pull on it.  Without needing much pressure at all, he goes where you go, and you end up being the one to lead Din out of the cantina by the hand still tangled with yours.

*** 

The walk back to the Crest lasts an eternity.

Neither one of you say anything at all to each other the entire way there, and you know he’s not mad at you yet, but you’re worried.  You feel incredibly self-critical right now and it’s really not helping that he seems even quieter and more wound up than usual.  You don’t know if it’s because he already figured out that you just handed him extra work or if it’s because whatever made him late to the cantina also altered his mood, hit a reset button and reminded him of the way he used to be, the armor he’s wearing.  Was there a confrontation, you wonder?  Is he okay?  He seems like he’s… extra Mandalorian right now, there’s not really a better way to describe it.

He doesn’t drop your hand, though.  As you pass through the markets and shanty huts lining the streets, Din holds onto you.  Shoulders tense and strides heavy, but his fingers stay tangled in yours.

Regardless, you keep your mouth shut and eventually the Crest comes into view.  The ramp drops to the ground and the three of you make your way up, and you have enough foresight to carefully drop Din’s hand and lead the baby’s shield over to the unused cot built into the hull walls, closing him in a safe quiet place to sleep and continue building up his strength again.

You turn around to see Din press another button on his vambrace.  He stays with his back to you as the ramp slowly closes, but as soon as it latches up against the hull and locks into place, he nearly whips around and suddenly he’s right in front of you, gloves cupping your face.

“What happened?”  He asks sharply, the helmet looking you up and down.  “Are you alright?  Why did you look so scared?”

You reach up to rest your hands on his, blinking up at him and not knowing what to say.  How are you going to tell him?  He’s gotta waste extra fuel and time on a bullshit quarry because of you, what are you going to say?  You don’t even know if it’s last known location is nearby; he might have to fly to some remote, desolate corner of the galaxy just for a handful of credits because you couldn’t wait a fucking hour for him.

“I, uh…  I-I’m sorry, I just…”  But it’s nearly impossible to form a coherent thought when he’s this close to you and sounding fucking sincere, genuinely concerned about you while you’re stuck worrying about how to break the bad news to him.  “Oh, stars, um…”

“Did Karga fuck with you?”  He asks in that same sharp tone when you don’t finish your thought, but you’re so absorbed in your own conflict that you barely even hear him.  “Because I can go back right now, the cantina is just—”

“Okay wait, please—” You suddenly speak up, “before I tell you, just… please keep in mind that I did save your life two days ago, so…”

“Sweet girl,” Din rumbles slowly, a subtle warning for you to hurry up and spit it out.  His fingers tighten just slightly on your cheeks, still so gentle but needing you to communicate with him right now.

Tell him, you just need to tell him.  If he gets mad, then he gets mad, but at least he’ll know at that point and you won’t just be springing it on him out of nowhere.

“I fucked up,” you breathe out, eyebrows pulling up in the middle as you tighten your own grip on his hands.  “I’m so sorry, I fucked up and you were late and I got nervous and I didn’t wait long enough and I tried to make the exchange like you asked me to but then I had to take a fifth puck and I didn’t want to but Karga threatened to short change you next time around unless I agreed to take an extra one for the lowest pay just this once and I didn’t have any bargaining power and you showed up right after I agreed to the deal and I’m so so sorry—”

You cut yourself off with your own ragged gasp, not having paused once to breathe throughout the entire thing while your expression twisted up with regret more and more the longer he allowed you to speak.

Din stands there in front of you and doesn’t move, hands still attached to your face.

“Okay,” he eventually tells you.  Stunted words, like he’s trying extra hard to find them when yours just fell out of your mouth in a complete mess.  “It’s okay.  You did… good.”

The silence is tense and you’re becoming more and more anxious the longer he takes to speak.  He’s lying for your benefit, he must be.  When he drops his hands from your face and takes a full step back, you take the gesture as symbolic and nearly launch into panic.

“Maker, I’m so sorry I didn’t wait for—”  You start to say, but Din cuts you off.

“Did he make you…”  His back suddenly goes a little straighter, voice finding a quiet edge through the modulator as his fingers subtly twitch at his sides, “…Uncomfortable?”

You pull back at the sudden change in subject and furrow your eyebrows.

“Who, Karga?”  You have to think about it.  Did he make you uncomfortable, or were you just uncomfortable already?  You might’ve just been scared because you were making it scarier than it really was, you can admit that’s a valid possibility.  “Um… no?  I don’t know, not… not really, I don’t think.”

“No?”  He asks, taking a small step forward.  “You don’t know?  Or not really… you don’t think?”

You know you can only see the blade of his visor, but something makes you feel like you’re looking right in his eyes.  You even go back and forth between where you’re pretty confident each one is, trying to read his intentions right now.  It’s like he’s purposefully trying to keep space between you even though he looks like he wants to move closer, fisting his hands at his sides when he looks like he wants to touch you.

“No, he just… lowballed me towards the end of it and I got intimidated, but I’m also not…”  Your expression narrows in concentration while you try to find the words to explain yourself, wanting to be as honest as possible with him.  “I don’t know, I’m not like you.  I’m not that strong, but I’m trying to get better.  I think he was probably just being normal.  He did offer me alcohol a bunch, but I’m pretty sure he also did that last time, so—”

“And I didn’t like it the last time he did it,” Din says quietly, taking another small step forward.

You blink up at him, completely dumb.  This is what’s bothering him?  Is he really not upset with you at all for giving him more work?  It’s like the major fuckup on your behalf just went in one side of the helmet and out the other, he barely even acknowledged it other than the role Karga played.  He said it’s okay and you did good, which are like… five of the most common words in Galactic Basic, a Wookiee could probably find a way to say them.  How are you supposed to take that?  Were you just overthinking this whole thing from the very beginning?  You know anxiety tends to be irrational by definition, but has none of your panic from the past hour been justified whatsoever?

“Why were you so late?”  You ask him, but it’s not accusatory in the slightest.  It’s… concerned, worried about his well-being without having a real reason.  He’s clearly more than fine right now, he’s like a hurricane enclosed in metal and holding still in front of you.  Too much potential energy just waiting for a reason to be released, too much tension held tight and ready to snap.

“I’m sorry.”  He quickly reaches out to grab your hand and squeeze it, before dropping it just as quickly.  Fucking lightning quick, you’ll never understand how he can be so damn quick with all that extra weight strapped to him.  “It took longer than I thought it would and she’s not really someone you can rush.”  His response, ironically, feels very rushed, like he’s trying to address the tangent but also keep things on track, but something in the answer he gives catches your direct attention.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“Who is she and what can’t be rushed?”  You blurt at the same time, not even taking a split second to think about it.

Din stops short at the blunt question, staring at you in a silence that feels like it’s vaguely taken aback.

After a few moments of that… strangeness, of the two of you realizing that you’re both feeling slightly possessive over each other for absolutely no reason whatsoever, you start to feel… warm.  In another weirdly stupid, primitive way.  You know that letting those kinds of thoughts have their day in a relationship isn’t a good thing, but you can’t explain it.  Some deep-seated, prehistoric instinct inside you just goes fucking nuts whenever he gets in either provider or protector mode.  Now you understand exactly why he wanted to get you alone after you admitted to being jealous once before.  You totally fucking get it, you’re right there with him right now.  He hasn’t said anything, but you think he feels it, too.

“She makes things,” Din finally answers you, careful with his words and somehow managing to address your question while also sidestepping it, leaving you with only the smallest bit of information to go off of.  “Did he flirt with you?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly.  “Maybe.  He could’ve just been trying to be friendly.  What did she make for you?”

“She made it for you,” he responds, again not really answering the question but continuing to juggle two separate conversations for your benefit.  “Did he scare you?”

“For me?”  You ask, eyebrows shooting upwards.  Provider, that stupid cavewoman DNA whispers to your lower body, making your voice go a little breathless.  “You asked her to make something for me?”

“Did he scare you?”  Din repeats sternly, grabbing your hand and giving it a firm squeeze.  “Because I can go back, I swear—”

Protector, it whispers this time, and your knees nearly buckle.

“Everything is scary when I don’t know where you are,” you admit to him, knowing it’s the truth regardless of how self-deprecating it sounds.  The only times you’ve ever truly been brave was because of him or the kid.  Stabbing a Corellian and then immediately flying the Crest out to him afterwards, walking through a pitch black forest believing a dangerous criminal was hiding in it, dragging a dead body through snow and shoving it into carbonite, standing up for yourself and pushing a deal through when odds were stacked against you.  Though it’s nothing to him, it’s nothing, it’s leaps for you.  You’re slowly learning to find a backbone, and he’s the one inspiring it.

Din holds there for a moment, unmoving with his hand still clutching yours.  You can’t get a read on him but you know how you feel right now.  Achy.  Hot.  Needy.  Wanting him to come closer.

“Will you do something for me?”  He asks you after a prolonged silence.  His voice is quiet, but… incredibly restrained.  Controlled chaos—his body is rigid and he’s flexing muscles that aren’t necessary for just standing, feeling like a sprinter holding still on the starting blocks.

“Of course,” you breathe out.

Din lets go of your hand and tilts his helmet over at the corner of the hull behind you.  “Go turn around and face that wall.”

You freeze, immediately recognizing the undertone in his voice.  Heat ladles deep into the pit of your tummy, sends warmth pooling downwards.  He wants to do this here?  Right now?

“We’re—” you look around the enclosed hull, “Mando, we’re not in hyperspace, we haven’t even left the surface yet…”

He looks around too, taking a second to blankly take in his stagnant surroundings like he had absolutely fucking no idea, before turning back to you and not saying a word.  Maker, everything below your waist is already stirring, twisting hot and deep inside, but you’re trying to be the voice of reason for a second.

“What if somebody hears us?”  You whisper, and Din cocks his head to the other side.

“I can help you stay quiet,” he murmurs, and… fuck.  You don’t know what it means, but you immediately imagine his hand held tight over your mouth while he takes some of this stress out on you and you already feel yourself wilting at the thought.  Okay.

“Okay,” you breathe without needing anything else at all, before spinning around and standing exactly where he told you to.  It’s just a corner near the back of the hull, nothing else here to look at besides two metal panels meeting at a right angle, but that’s admittedly what makes your heart start beating quicker.  You can’t see him come up behind you but you can feel it.  Slow, measured, but so restrained.

But then he stops almost immediately, before the back of your shirt is suddenly being yanked upwards and you remember at the very last second.

Din carefully grips his blaster and then eases it out of your waistband, the metal sliding warm along your skin from pressing against it for so long.  You never told him you took it with you, and he’s so fucking quiet behind you.  You have no idea how he’s reacting to that piece of information you originally didn’t think twice about.

“Do you like carrying my gun around?”  Din’s voice murmurs soft through the modulator to you, but then the blaster is tossed uselessly to the side, skittering loudly across the floor of the hull.

“Yes,” you reply, beginning to shyly turn your head back to look at him, hoping to gauge his response.

“Don’t turn around,” he quickly interrupts you, pushing your shoulder back into position and keeping you facing the corner.  You blink at the metal walls in a bit of a daze but follow instructions regardless, feeling your heart pound at the sudden display of dominance from him.  He has a very valid reason for it and you don’t realize what it is until a few seconds later, but even if he didn’t and he was just telling you what to do for the fun of it… you’d still like it.

But then his helmet is carefully being lowered over your head and you shudder as your vision is replaced with a familiar black abyss.  Fuck, his helmet, why does he like it so much when you wear this?  Admittedly, you don’t have much time to contemplate—as soon as it’s fitted and secure, he spins you around and you have to just do your best to maintain your balance, not having any visual to help.

“Can you hear me?”  Din asks, and your clothes start to be ripped off of you.  Your shoulders tip sideways with how quick he is about it, feeling him pull the fabric off and hearing the soft sound it makes landing on the floor.

“Yes,” you tell him, but he doesn’t respond, continuing to strip you completely naked in the hull.  Once your upper body is bare and he’s yanking your pants and underwear down your legs, you try saying it again as you step out of them, louder for him this time.

“I can’t hear you,” his voice grunts after a moment.  You know he’s in front of you but you can’t really tell where, now that he’s not touching you.  “Scream.”

You take a second, not having hard evidence anymore but still very well aware that you’re parked close to a marketplace on Nevarro and multiple people are nearby while you’re wearing his helmet.  This is dangerous for him, and not sure if you should, but then an arm is wrapping around your back and a large leather palm rests directly over your chest.  Din repeats his last word very slowly and clearly for you, waiting to feel it under his hands.

Your sternum lifts while it rises with your deep breath and then collapses as you diligently yell as loud as you can into the helmet, feeling like you might deafen yourself with the trapped sound.

“Good,” he growls, suddenly spinning you around and pushing you back into the metal paneling.  “I can’t hear you, be as loud as you need.  Hit me or something, put up a fight if you want me to stop, alright?”

Arousal rockets through you and you let out a moan already, taking advantage of the noise suppression and beyond turned on at this point.  You feel like you’re buzzing with it, lit up with excitement and wondering with bated breath what he’s planning to do to you.

“Alright?”  Comes his voice from behind you once more, and you quickly jerk the heavy helmet in a nod for him.  You can put up a fight and you know he’ll stop, you don’t have any problem with that and the fact that he specifically made sure to wait until he knew you understood him makes you start to pant inside the hollow beskar.

But then you feel him flick a small switch at the base of the helmet and then everything abruptly cuts out and goes dead silent.

Nothing.  Nothing.  You’re standing in a pitch black room where no other sound exists besides your own labored breathing.  Just like the waterfall on Naboo, but you can’t speak this time.  Temporarily making you blind, deaf, and putting a proverbial gag over your mouth all with one powerful piece of armor.

You shudder and he kicks your legs apart before you can do much else, yanking your hips back while you just try your best to cling to the wall for stability.  You don’t know what he’s going to do, you’re completely isolated in here and the only way you can even tell he dropped to his knees is the hot glide of his tongue through your pussy from behind.

Oh fuck—you arch into position as best you can while hands wrap around your ankles to pull them apart, trying to make the angle better.  His tongue licks softly over your clit and each time is like an electric shock jolting through your body, making you twitch back and up for him, stretching and begging him to do it again.  You can’t see anything right now so your mind readily imagines the visuals instead, providing you with a third party view.  Din, fully clothed and face shielded by your thighs, eating you out from behind while you brace yourself against the wall, completely naked and at his mercy, head tilted down from the weight of his helmet and living for the moments he decides to drag his tongue across your clit.

Without warning, a sudden burst of sensation ripples along your backside and causes you to lift the beskar in surprise, but without being able to hear anything, it takes you a second to figure out that he just smacked your ass.  The realization comes more or less at the exact time he decides to flatten his tongue and follow the curve of you back and up.

You gasp into the pitch black and there’s a moment where you just hold utterly still for him, experiencing and processing the sensation for the very first time.  His mouth is soft and warm as he tastes you here, his fingers digging into the swell of your cheeks to spread you open.  You’re glad your face is hidden so he can’t see the shock in your expression, the way your mouth drops and your eyes close as you let him explore you this way.

His gloved hands leave you for just a moment while he continues gliding his tongue against you, along every single bit of skin he can reach, and then you feel a bare hand reach up between your legs and begin to rub slow circles around your clit.  His other arm pushes against your lower back and you’re forced into the corner even more, your naked breasts pressing hard against cool metal and feeling his hot mouth and strong fingers work you closer to the edge from behind.

You’re panting into the helmet, your hips arching back to feel that stimulation on your clit better, and as his fingers move over it slow and strong, you feel a soft vibration against your skin and you realize he’s moaning into you.  The knowledge sparks a different kind of heat through you and makes you suddenly go still and tense right here.  If he stays just like this for even just a few more seconds, you’re going to cum.

“Din, I’m gonna cum,” your voice warbles inside the enclosed steel—just as his touch decides to abandon your body.  You groan loudly in distress, completely alone without his hands or mouth on you anymore, but all he likely hears is the silence of the hull and the way your palm smacks against the wall with it.  You were so close, everything feels like it’s pulled up so tight and painful and it hurts—

A hand clutches your hip and then a thick cock is suddenly pushing up against your soaking wet entrance, going to alleviate that twisting discomfort.  Your eyes roll back and your whole body goes limp as he slowly eases forward and breaks you open, fitting himself deep inside where you love to feel him most.  Your hands claw down the walls with a swell of bliss as he pulls out and then starts thrusting—and fuck, you love this.  You love the way he’s trapping you up against the corner and making you see stars at the same time, the way he’s supporting your weight but crushing down into you, too.  It makes you go boneless and want to riot simultaneously, groaning loud into the quiet abyss as he gives you what you both desperately needed.

One of his hands sinks down between your legs to play with your clit again, while a slick finger presses up against your ass and you gasp as he slowly penetrates you there, too.  Din’s hips work steady and powerful behind you, pushing you into the wall with every desperate thrust, using the arm shoved between your legs to support you as well as stimulate, and you just feel yourself move into a different place.  You don’t have a name for it but it feels like hyperspace.  Silence so loud it feels suppressing, faster than anything light can touch, nowhere and everywhere, hurtling towards something you can’t see but know lies in the distance.  You can tell he’s still fucking the tension out of his body, you can feel him working another wet finger inside you and stretching the virgin muscles back there, but every sensation begins to slowly blur together in a wicked uprising of ecstasy.

You don’t know where you are anymore, just that his fingers keep rubbing your clit and you think he's trying to ease a third into you when your destination abruptly arrives.

You nearly collapse when you cum, contracting so hard around his cock and fingers that you cry out unexpectedly—and because of the helmet, you think it’s just as unexpected for him.  He stops moving—everything stops moving besides you.  Your hips stutter backwards into his stationary body, dragging your clit back and forth against the tips of his unmoving fingers and fucking him as best you can.  It shatters white hot and goes straight through to your soul, wringing pleasure and wetness between your legs in waves.

Your knees are knocking against each other when Din pulls out, his cock still deliciously hard and now soaking wet with your cum, and then they just suddenly decide to give up without warning.  You don’t fall necessarily, but you do slowly slide down the wall like a slug and Din follows you to the floor instead of holding you up any longer.  His sternum moves quick and heavy against your back as he breathes and then suddenly the same switch at the base of his helmet is flicked, and sound bursts into existence all at once.

He’s panting.  Harsh breaths behind you that match the rapid pace of his chest, and the ambient noise of the rest of the hull.

“Can you hear me?”  He gasps, sounding fucking wrecked, and you nod the helmet against the wall while gravity and exhaustion and his beskar chestplate squishes you into it.  “P-Put up a fight if you want me t-to stop, p-please—” he rasps out, almost the entire thing air and so close to cumming, and then his knees lift just slightly and the blunt head of his cock presses against your other entrance.

And, if you wanted, you absolutely could.  He’s got you boxed into the corner but he’s not constricting your movements, he’s given you every ability to struggle.  You could easily throw an elbow back against his side, push against the wall to shove him away, smack at his arms or even just flail against his body in panic—you could do one or all of those things to signal him to stop and you know he’d do it immediately, he’s asking you to.  You could struggle.  If you wanted.

Instead, you just grab hold of the beskar strapped to his thigh and drop the helmet to your chest, nearly vibrating with the thrill and preparing yourself for it.  You know he’s gotta be inches away from orgasm, you know from the tone of his voice that he’s right there on the edge and it’s not like it’s going to last a long time.  Thanks to him, you also feel like you’re just as slick and wet back there as you are between your legs, stretched open by his fingers while you came all over him.  You want nothing more than to give this to him, to let him be the only person in the universe that knows how you feel this way.

When you pointedly do not put up a fight and even go so far as to arch your lower back for him in presentation, Din curses and his fingers begin jerking back and forth over your sensitive clit once more.  It might normally be too much for you, but your body is sparking with lust and quickly acclimates to the stimulation, learning to burn and ache for it, too.  Fuck, it feels so good, you tense and melt into it at the same time, letting him ease you back up to that peak once more.

He pushes up against the tight ring of skin and you can’t fucking explain it—his fingers keep rubbing your clit and he’s slowly pushing into your ass and—

“I—I think I’m—” you suddenly lift the helmet to gasp out in surprise, forgetting he can’t hear you, “ngh—D-Din, I think I’m gonna c—”

He’s just barely able to breach the tight entrance and fit the head inside before he freezes—and even though everything happens consecutively, it’s all so rapid that it feels simultaneous.

Your hips could go forward, but they don’t.  Your body decides to send you backwards into him, pushing him inside nearly halfway all at once as your muscles lock down and just fucking strangle his cock.  Your piercing scream gets trapped in the silence of his helmet as you cum once more—painfully, madly and with every fucking part of you for him.  There’s maybe one or two mind shattering pulses of ecstasy before the rest of your body catches up and starts convulsing, and by then Din is already gasping and fumbling behind you, suddenly realizing what’s happening without hearing the sound of your ragged warnings and then ripping himself away just in time.

He punches out your name when he cums like you just fucking snapped him in half—his body hunches and the beskar digs hard into your back as warmth starts splattering along your skin.  You crumple while he shoves his hips up against your spine, riding and working the orgasm out of himself while yours just fucking obliterates you.  You think you whine his name—or a curse word or something, but it gets strained and your lungs lose air every time his powerful armored body humps you into the wall of his ship.

Finally he eases up and you just lay there and listen to the ringing in your ears.  Blissfully empty, still pulsing from cumming so hard and feeling like your bones just decided to stop existing and the rest of you was okay with it since you were already on the floor anyways.  You feel him shudder and twitch behind you, letting go of that last bit of tension until he too allows gravity to slouch his heavy torso over onto you.

You both stay like that for a while, until your eyes close and your everything below your waist goes numb.  Eventually you feel him shift and your head bobbles as the helmet is slowly removed, but a large palm cradles your chin to stop your face from slamming into the wall in exhaustion once it’s off.  You just continue to melt into the paneling like you’re nothing more than goo of a human being while he trades it back to its rightful place on his shoulders and tucks his cock back into his pants, before wrapping his arms around you and lifting you both up.  The floor and metal walls, once feeling like you and them were one, suddenly decide to disappear entirely as you’re hauled up into Din’s powerful arms.

He slowly carries your naked, fucked senseless body over to the fresher, and you squint your eyes open over his shoulder to see… he’s still got his rifle slung around his back while his cum is dripping down yours.  Not a single thing on him is out of place and you’re, well… a mess is a word that works.  Limp and doll-like, carried like your weight is practically nothing to him after years of having the densest armor known to the galaxy strapped to his body.

Setting you down is a mess, too.  At some point you think he just gives up and decides to return you to your humble floor abode with a patience and care unexpected from someone who just defiled you so thoroughly.  You hear the fresher door open and the faucet squeak, before he turns back around and crouches to your level.

“Stay here,” Din tells you lowly, his modulated voice coming gentle and warm through the sounds of water raining down against metal.  You don’t feel his touch directly, but your hair moves away from your face.  “I’ll be right back, okay—just stay here.”

Can do.  Easy.  He waits until you murmur a soft mhm to him before he leaves the tiny compartment, and then you soon hear his heavy footsteps ascending the ladder to the cockpit.

***

You don’t think you fall asleep, but the powering up of the Crest’s thrusters make you realize your eyes were closed.  Opening them barely qualifies as a squint though; you look around to see steam slowly filling the fresher, the water already running hot and welcoming in the small room.

You know you need to shower but you’re so fucking exhausted, you feel like you can’t even move your body.  You also know you can just do the same exact thing in there as you’re doing in here, you just need to muster up the energy necessary to get inside it and then fall back asleep.  He set you down in the small little space outside the shower door and then got everything set up for you, you can at least stand up and take a few steps.

Unfortunately, you might pick just about the worst time possible to plant your hands on the ground and work to struggle upright on all fours like a newborn animal.  The steady rise through Nevarro’s atmosphere pushes gravity down harder than you’re expecting—is he trying to fly quickly or are you just that dead-limbed?—and then of course, by the time you do manage to fight it and successfully get on two wobbly legs to hold yourself up, the subtle shift of the hyperdrive kicking in nearly knocks you back down again.  You stumble and grab the walls, bracing yourself against them and looking down at your knees in exasperation.  Come on, work.  Move forward.  Come on.

You’re glad he’s not here to witness this monstrosity, honestly.  Just opening the door and taking a few steps into the fresher is a feat—while you’re not in any pain and he didn’t leave any marks on you, you just feel… steamrolled.  Ran over by a truck.  Only having the strength to keep your feet beneath you as you finally move under the water and close the door behind you.

Oh, but this is wonderful.  This was such a good idea, he’s so fucking smart.  The shower falls warm and lovely against your body, wetting your hair and immediately heating you down to your bones.  You don’t move really at all—you kinda just stand there and slouch, closing your eyes against the spray and slowly breathing the mist into your lungs.  It feels so nice—not really restorative even though you like that word, it would imply the water provides you with any energy whatsoever.  It just feels like a comfort, a relief and sedative for your already wildly fatigued body.

You haven’t been in here for more than a minute or two when knuckles tap gently against the metal walls of the fresher, before the natural bass of Din’s unmodulated voice murmurs from somewhere beyond it.  “Hey.  Keep your eyes closed.”

How did he know?  You figured you’d be way ahead of him.  You’re standing but slumped over, wanting nothing more than to just say fuck gravity and pass out right here.  The walls are too cold to lean against now that you’re all toasty from the heat and steam, so you’re just unconsciously swaying on your feet, trying to balance the precedence of sleeping versus not falling over.  You don’t even comprehend the sudden flip of the light switch overhead beyond the fact that it makes it easier to snooze without being so bright behind your eyelids.

The door eventually opens at the very same time you realize you never answered him, but you just commit to the silence at this point.  It’s easy, you like it.  Soon you feel warm hands touch your shoulders, slowly spinning you around while you follow and hang your head, your neck not wanting to support it any longer, and then suddenly a bare chest is pressing up against you and powerful arms are wrapping around your body, and you can just lean all of your weight into him while your head rests right here on his shoulder.

He holds you without moving for a long time, keeping you just like this—your ear pressed against his skin while water rains hot and comfortable down your back.  Knowing you’re facing one of the walls, you crack your heavy lids just the slightest bit and finally notice the tiny compartment is dim and shrouded—the only light source is a single one coming from somewhere in the hull beyond the partially closed doorway.  It’s dark and quiet and you can barely see anything besides the metallic fresher walls and unfocused droplets chasing each other down Din’s naked skin.  Just you and him, flowing water with a sheet metal backdrop.

You think you spend an eternity like that and yet you still find yourself wanting another when he finally shifts, reaching over you to grab a bar of his generic soap but making sure to use the arm whose shoulder you’re not currently resting against.

It glides slow and hypnotic down your back, dragging up over your sides and then back down the curve of your spine.  He’s so sturdy and he doesn’t say a word while he does it, lathering it along your body and rubbing it into your skin.  His bar of soap, not yours.  They started out almost the same since you picked them up at the same vendor, but there’s just a slightly bolder and sharper scent to his that you recognize.  How the bar is far larger than yours because of how often he’s gone away.

Your eyes droop and you feel the water trail over your lips, dripping down your chin and pooling the dip of his collarbone.  The only other time you two shared this fresher was terrifying and he’s rewriting the memories right now, whether consciously or not.  Hot water, not freezing cold.  Standing upright and supporting you.  Heart beating strong under your ear, taking care of you this time until you can care for yourself.

You… you just worry so much more now, it’s becoming an issue.  You didn’t realize how much until you nearly lost him, and you know in your heart that he’s just going to go away again.  Throw himself into more danger, tempt death as always, risk his life for mere credits while all you can provide in return is this.  Skin to skin contact.  Someone to hold.  Someone who knows him, who knows the way he struggles between reaching out for a softness that life has always denied him and clinging to what is rough and familiar.  Someone to remind him that there’s still gentle and forgiving things in this galaxy that won’t disappear when he’s gone, and that he can always come home to them, as long as he can manage to find his way back.

Something sad tugs hard at your chest.  You want to tell him not to leave.  Again, again—you want nothing more than to beg him to stay.  You don’t have anything better to offer instead; if he asked you how it would work, how you imagine your lives would go if he wasn’t hunting quarry on a constant timetable, you’d be hard-pressed.  You don’t know.  But you know what you want to say, because it’s two words you shouldn’t say but always find yourself needing to say regardless.  

Don’t go.

But, instead of two words, you give him three.

Instead of asking him not to leave you again… in the haze and comfort of his arms, you think you just tell him that you love him.

And… you also don’t think the water falling down on the two of you is loud enough to cover it up this time.

It’s not ideal, you know.  You know.  From his point of view, he just got finished releasing all sorts of pent up tension on you, overwhelming your body with the strength and power of his in a way that normal people wouldn’t take as an expression of affection.  But you know him.  You know that he finds it much easier to express the things he feels in a physical way, which is why there’s a bar of soap against your back right now instead of his voice in your ear, telling you all the things you’ve always wanted to hear from him in return.  You know that sex is how this all began and it’s likely just the closest link between roughness and sweetness that he can really put his hands on, something that can fit him equally as well as it fits you.  Love is different, it’s thrilling and scary.  Even to someone like him, who lives everyday of his life surrounded by thrilling and scary things, who’s seen more bloodshed and suffering and pain than you can ever even imagine, you know that it’s scary.

Din doesn’t say anything back to your confession, and truthfully, not a single part of you was expecting him to.  It wasn’t said so he could say it back.  It just is.  Some things don’t need explanations, they just are.  You’re okay with that.

But, you eventually come to realize that he always waits until you’re just on the very edges of sleep, holding out until your blurry vision and fading consciousness can trick you into thinking you only imagined it.  You won’t ever figure out if it’s purposeful or if he just needs that long to find what he wants to say.

Another soft, lilting sentence in a language you wouldn’t be able to translate, even if you could pick out a single word.  It sounds so beautiful though, regardless of how mysterious and far away its meaning feels.  There’s something hidden underneath.  You ache to know what it is.

But you’re so tired.  You just whine softly against his shoulder, not being able to transform the thoughts into sentences anymore but hoping he understands regardless.  He can’t just resort to bearing his soul in Mando’a all the time now, especially when you’re always on the verge of sleep when he chooses to do so.

But at some point, his arms subtly tighten around you and the pressure is one of the only things that’s keeping you awake anymore.

“I won’t ever ask you to,” he says to you, the quietness of his baritone getting lost in the gentle spray and your looming slumber.  “I’m…  not allowed to ask.  I can’t.”

Your expression twitches just the slightest bit against his shoulder in confusion, wondering distantly what word or sentence you must’ve missed from before that would make him make sense.  Was that a translation?  Or a continuation?

But then your wet hair is slowly moved away from your nape and his head tilts down, face pressing into your neck and voice lowering until it’s nothing more than a breath against your skin, nothing more than a confession that he couldn’t ever say out loud with his full chest.  It’s a secret he only ever wants you to know, a truth he’s choosing to admit to even though you could ruin him with it.  You have no idea how much, you won’t know for a long time just how much power he’s giving you by telling you this one very simple thing.

“But whenever you want to look,” Din finally whispers, the only version of I love you too that a Mandalorian knows.  “You can.”

[yesimwriting]

Tranquility

A/n about time i wrote something for my privateer,, my love, Nikolai Lantsov

Summary: You and Nikolai are masters of being a couple without actually dating, and the only thing threatening that is the way Nikolai gets after having a nightmare. 

--

Tranquility. So rare for a world on the cusp of war. I guess that’s what the difference between a world at war and a world only boarding on it, the occasional glimmers of goodness, peace. I shift cautiously, careful to not disturb Nikolai. He is tranquility, especially in the few moments in which he allows himself to rest. Not long ago, I found his trips to my bed in the middle of the night strange. But now I only think of the oddness of it when I can’t fall asleep and I find myself enjoying the peaceful lull of his even breaths more than I should. I think a lot of things we do are more indulgent than they should be. 

Nikolai only comes to visit me when the bags under his eyes become noticeable and his humor falls flatter than normal. I tell myself he takes my comfort because he trusts me to some extent and I give it to him willingly when he seeks it. I’m not fully innocent. I take his peace, his touch and warm sentiments, when they are offered to me. But now I’m bordering on something else. Something much more devastating. 

This isn’t something I can afford to think about, to weigh on. Not now when war is on its way and Nikolai already has so much to worry about. Perhaps I’ll mention this to Alina and she’ll manage to give me some type of perspective, but that isn’t something I should do now. When the world has ended or is made safe, then I will sort through the significance of the way my heart stalls or speeds up for him and him alone. 

I should just try to fall asleep again. If I do, when I wake up again Nikolai will either already be gone because of his duties or he’ll make some kind of joke about how fortunate I am to wake up to such a sight before trying to coax me back to bed. I shouldn’t want that.

Ugh. He’s so pretty, I hate it. It’s unfair--one cannot expect someone to have someone like Nikolai dote on them, playfully or otherwise, and not catch some type of connection. Even in sleep, with his golden hair disheveled, parted lips, and fluttering eyelids he’s unfairly attractive. I sigh, the irony of the situation twisting my stomach--if he knew my thoughts his ego would bask in them. 

As if he can feel my conflict, his defined eyebrows draw together, his placid expression turning harsh. I tense, watching as that look only hardens. Is he...okay? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s had some kind of nightmare. Nikolai’s lips press together, and then he makes a noise. A sad, discomforted sigh. 

The remnants of my drowsiness disappear at that. I place a hand on his shoulder thoughtlessly, shaking him once. “Nikolai.” I keep my voice low and soft. His expression stays hard, “Wake up, it’s not…” He lets out another broken sound. I shake him a little more determinedly. “It’s not real.” 

Nikolai’s eyelids flutter once more, and he’s pushing himself upwards, sitting up and breathing harshly. My hand falls off his shoulder, but I think it’s better this way. He needs space to realize that he’s safe. 

Taking two shallow breaths, Nikolai turns his head. I watch him carefully, resisting the instinctual urge to help him, to comfort him and chase away the darkness that wants to engulf him. 

“Y/n?” His voice is so fragile a part of me doesn’t recognize it as his. 

I nod my head once, folding my hands in my lap to avoid reaching for him. “You’re okay. It was just a dream.” 

His gaze flits from my face to the ruffled blankets draped over me. He’s silent and still. Two things he should never be for a long period of time. Nikolai shifts slowly, as if still trapped in a daze. I let his hand take mine from my lap and pull it towards him. He squeezes my hand once, bringing my knuckles to his lips. I inhale sharply as he exhales, warm breath burning my skin. And then his lips brush against each knuckle. I let him, fighting not to let myself be reduced to a puddle. 

Nikolai lifts my hand, coaxing my palm open before placing it on his cheek. I brush my thumb down his cheek. He lets out a breath, the sound is soft yet it leaves my heart raw. 

I don’t say anything as he moves his hand down my arm, fingertips leaving my skin electrically charged as he always does. He pauses once his hand is on my shoulder. I let him grip me harder than I normally would. It feels like I am an anchor, weighing him in place so that the dark cannot take him away from me. 

My lips part, but I have no words to offer him, not when I don’t know the extent of his torment. Nikolai’s hand brushes past the sleeve of my nightgown and across my collarbone. I swallow once, dropping my gaze to avoid the sharpness of the look he’s giving me. 

“You’re heavy sometimes,” I keep my voice low, “I wish I could--” 

“You do,” his voice leaves no room for argument. The tone is filled with a tension that he has never used on me. “You do everything.” 

“And you are everything.” His expression softens at my words. It feels like a reward in a way. 

Nikolai moves forward, the bed makes a noise as he rustles the sheet. I don’t bother asking what he’s doing. He’s always touchier than usual after a nightmare, breaking even more social rules than normal. I let him place his head in the crook of my neck while ignoring the warmth that pushes itself into my chest as he adjusts himself against me. I hesitate before placing my hand on his back even though I know he’d never reject me. He lets out a breath at the additional contact, adjusting himself so that he’s even more against me. I move my hand up and down his back.

The urge to ask him about what his dreams are about bubbles in my chest, but I ignore it. If he wanted to speak about it, he would. 

“Things are easier with you.” His voice is so delicate it’s almost hard to bear. His hand presses into my side and my breathing stiffens as a result.“I’m glad you’re here.” 

I meet his gaze as he tilts his head upwards. “Of course I am, how could I ever resist someone as wonderful as you?”

The corner of Nikolai’s lips tug upwards, a sign that he appreciates my attempt at humor. “You’re not wrong, darling.” I roll my eyes as he grins, ignoring the way my stomach tightens as he presses his face into my shoulder to hide his amusement. “You’re the wonderful one.” 

I smile slightly, sarcastic retort dying in the back of my throat as something in Nikolai shifts. His eyes have taken on a simple, dark quality. I’ve seen this tension in him before, but I’ve never understood it. Nikolai tilts his head slightly, regarding me with more intensity than I know how to deal with. He shifts closer until I can feel his breath on the edge of my jaw. And then I feel his lips brush against skin. Testing, cautious. I don’t move. He must take this as a good sign because he then presses his lips further up my jaw. Again and again, always gentle, always fragile--always more welcomed than it should be. 

I close my eyes, indulging in the feel of his touch, and then I feel him touch my cheek. The contact is feather light as my eyes flutter open. He’s close in a different way now, lips two centimeters away from mine. 

This means nothing to him, this is nothing to him. It is just a way to push through pain he refuses to share with me. “Nikolai.” It’s meant to be a warning, but it comes out as a breathy sigh. “Nikolai…” A little stronger, he pauses, face a centimeter from my face. 

“Y/n.” My name is soft grace on his lips. 

My eyes shut. “You can’t--you can’t kiss me just because you need to be distracted.” 

His eyebrows draw together and then he straightens. The distance between us leaves me colder than before. “Do you really think that?” 

I press my lips together. “We should just go back to sleep--” 

“Y/n,” he sighs once, “Is that what you think?” 

I stare at the blankets, gripping the fabric. “Does it matter?” 

“Yes.” His voice is hard, losing all touches of irony. “It matters.” I stay silent, avoiding Nikolai’s gaze. “Out of all the reasons I want to kiss you, being distracted isn’t even on the list.” 

My head snaps in his direction. What is he implying? “What?” 

“Y/n,” his hand is on my arm, warm and tempting, “I want to kiss you because when you smile it feels like all the bad goes away. I want to kiss you because you bite your bottom lip when you’re thinking and then that’s the only thing I can think about. I want to kiss you for the same reason I come to your room whenever I want to rest. You’re my tranquility.” My eyes soften at his words, my mind racing at the implications of them. “You’re biting your lip again, darling, and it’s torture.” 

On instinct, my lips part slightly. He doesn’t move closer or farther away. I exhale slowly, trying to push away the electric current the potential of this moment is stirring. Nikolai’s hand moves up my arm and settles on my cheek. 

His thumb brushes against my cheek, making me melt. “I want to kiss you because when I’m with you all of the bad, all of the uncertainty disappears.” 

Nikolai leans forward slightly, breath warm near my skin. “Is that all?” 

If his touch wasn’t so enticing I’d roll my eyes at such a blatant attempt to get a compliment. But his touch is all consuming, especially when he moves to run his thumb across my bottom lip. “No--you’re also ridiculously enticing, but something tells me you don’t need me to add to your ego.” 

He grins, shifting impossibly closer before finally letting his lips meet mine. The contact is everything I’ve ever needed, his lips warm and inviting and eager. I kiss him back easily, melting into him like that’s where I’ve always belonged. Nikolai pulls away slowly, drawing out the kiss and letting his teeth graze my bottom lip.

“For the record, you’re the only ego boost I need.” He smiles lazily, hand not leaving my cheek. “You’re my peace, y/n,” he exhales flatly, “Please remember that.” 

There’s something strangely sleepy yet revered about his tone. “Of course I will,” I hum, letting him rest his head against my chest, “You’re my peace, too.” 

“Sometimes when I dream I see you and then I lose you.” Nikolai’s tone leaves my heart sore as he adjusts against me. 

“You’re not losing me,” I whisper, eyes fluttering shut. “Ever.” He exhales gently. “Get some sleep--you never get enough rest.” 

He squeezes me once, pressing a quick kiss to my collar. “Whatever you want.” 

I half roll my eyes, too tired to to call him out on his teasing, the lull of sleep strengthened only by the weight of him against my chest. 

 --

general tag list: @theincredibledeadlyviper, @grishaverse7 @benbarnes-supremacy  @tranquilitymoon @kaitlyn2907 @lunamyangel @christinawxxx @deceivedeer @real-mbappe @tonks33

[illuminatedquill]

Nevertheless, Episode 9

More Thoughts/Analysis

“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.”

- E.A. Bucchianeri

Jae Eon’s Self Sabotage

Chekov’s Gun is the dramatic principle that details within a story will contribute to the overall narrative. You might have heard of this before in its simplest form: if there is a gun shown in Act 1, it absolutely must go off in Act 2 or 3. In episode 9 of Nevertheless, we have this scene right at the beginning:

Yes, that scene. Park Jae Eon sees Yang Do Hyeok standing off to the side as he waits outside Na Bi’s apartment to retrieve his stuff. Na Bi doesn’t know Do Hyeok is nearby. Jae Eon makes the calculation in his head and manipulates his way inside Na Bi’s apartment, knowing exactly what it looks like to Do Hyeok. It’s petty revenge for seeing Na Bi and Do Hyeok together on campus from earlier.

This is the gun. And it backfires on Jae Eon big time. Throughout the entire episode, his acts of sincerity towards Na Bi seem genuine and heartfelt, yet his action in that one scene undermines anything he attempts. It doesn’t work; to his mounting frustration, Na Bi and Do Hyeok continue to talk and meet as if nothing happened.

(We know that’s not the case as seen from Do Hyeok’s alone time but I’ll talk about that later in this post.)

It’s a ticking time bomb and it goes off at last in the rain scene. Nothing is working for him. He is desperate not to lose Na Bi. And he goes off in a drunken rage on Na Bi after she returns home on that fateful rainy night.

And he loses her. The gun goes off. Everything sincere he did turns rotten in Na Bi’s eyes after he reveals his actions. Actions have consequences, always rippling forward and affecting change in moments not yet experienced. He ruined his chances because of his petty cruelty towards Do Hyeok in the beginning. His sincerity only extended towards Na Bi and it was only to get her attention once more.

Jae Eon lost. Not so much to Do Hyeok, as he lost to Na Bi, who cares about him deeply. He underestimated her feelings towards Do Hyeok, assuming, like so many other viewers, that he was an an irritating distraction that refused to go away.

He can’t fathom why Do Hyeok still seems to like Na Bi after seeing them enter her apartment together. Is he really that incredible a person? What makes him so special?

Well, let’s talk about it.

Do Hyeok’s Crisis Playbook

We see from Do Hyeok’s time alone after his initial visit to Seoul that he is taking it pretty hard; I can’t really blame him, considering what he saw that night. His struggle is open, honest, and raw; like Na Bi, it affects him to the point that he can’t focus on his work (anyone seem to notice that Jae Eon’s work never seems to be affected by his feelings?).

It’s jealousy and insecurity eating away at him. Just like Jae Eon. He’s also desperate not to lose Na Bi but doesn’t want to do anything untoward or overboard because he’s afraid of ruining their friendship. Once again, his consideration is for Na Bi and how she feels, but he cannot ignore what he saw and how he feels about it.

So, what is our favorite Potato Boy to do? Park Jae Eon already made his move by staging that whole scene of him and Na Bi going into her apartment together. How does Do Hyeok fight back? What’s his playbook in this time of crisis?

He doesn’t fight back. And that’s how he stays in the game. Do Hyeok is not a player like Jae Eon; there isn’t a manipulative or deceptive bone in his body. Do Hyeok does what he always does and doubles down on his sincerity, on the strength of his feelings, and his faith in Na Bi.

Do Hyeok doesn’t play the game Jae Eon tries to involve him in. He always lays it all out on the table with Na Bi so there is no room for misunderstandings. That’s one of the reasons why their relationship works so well; they talk more. Not just about feelings or romance but about school or their day to day life. What they’re building now is something that can last a lifetime.

So he talks to her about it. And admits his jealousy. She wasn’t even aware that he had seen them and yet it sounds like he’s the one who is apologizing (even though he never let his hurt feelings show in his conversations with Na Bi, DO HYEOK YOU ARE TOO GOOD). He lays himself bare to her once more. We don’t see Na Bi’s response other than her shocked and guilty expression, which is annoying because it would definitely be interesting to see how she reciprocated his frankness.

(Underrated super cute scene between them in this episode; when they meet up at night and bring drinks for each other. It’s even the exact same drink. I was grinning like a maniac.)

But Na Bi is familiar with Jae Eon’s game. And when she finds out how badly Do Hyeok was hurt by Jae Eon’s actions (and how he involved her in it) Na Bi finally is snapped to her senses and severs the thread still binding her and Jae Eon together.

Na Bi’s choice isn’t shown as a redemptive or heroic moment. It never was supposed to be. Although I’m sure a lot of us were cheering in that moment, her moments of unrestrained grief alone afterwards are the sobering reality that love, as always, comes with a price.

Nabi’s Choice (The Review)

This is a follow up to my earlier post before episode 9 came out. So, now we see what Na Bi decides and, maybe, how it will all play out in the next episode (barring any last minute twists).

First, let’s address the still ongoing criticism I see regarding Na Bi and Do Hyeok’s relationship: lack of passion, no romantic vibes, blah blah blah. I wrote at length in a previous post why that isn’t true - at least on Do Hyeok’s part (one of the reasons why we don’t get internal monologue from Do Hyeok is because what else is he thinking about other than Na Bi?).

Na Bi, on the other hand, is still ambivalent about her feelings towards Do Hyeok. Episode 9 provided more clarity for her stance towards Jae Eon - he’s the dog shit she stepped on and was promptly wiped away in the grass - but Do Hyeok is still a mystery. Yes, she’s friendly, she cares, and genuinely enjoys being with him but the spice, the passion is missing. And that is kinda important for a romantic relationship.

Well. Look no more. Na Bi has spice for Do a Hyeok and it shows not once, but twice this episode. Where’s the passion? Jae Eon fucked around and found out. Very kind of him. Turns out Na Bi, like all of us who like Do Hyeok, will not tolerate any Do Hyeok slander and I am 100 PERCENT here for it.

There’s a scene shortly before the climatic rain fight where Na Bi is having another meeting with her assistants: the junior (does he have a name? Jin-su?) and Jae Eon. The junior talks to Na Bi about her and Park Jae Eon: the usual tired gossip of whether or not they’re dating. Na Bi waves it away like dandelion fluff.

And then the junior mentions Do Hyeok. “What about the noodle shop guy? Ever since the camp meeting, people have been saying there’s a higher chance you’re dating him.”

And Na Bi just . . . we’ve never seen this from her before, even when she broke up with Jae Eon in episode 5. Her whole demeanor turns ice cold and her voice is wicked sharp as she proceeds to shut down that avenue of questioning. The junior physically leans back from the force of her anger and wonders aloud why she’s so upset (you’re talking about her love life as gossip, idiot, why do you think she’s so upset). Jae Eon walks in and doesn’t see the foreshadowing; he just hears Do Hyeok and it feeds his jealousy.

There it is, everybody. Evidence of Na Bi’s feelings for Do Hyeok and what he means to her. Her protectiveness over him and her refusal to let him be involved in the drama surrounding herself and Jae Eon. Her desire to be the better around him; not because he asks (and he would never) but because his feelings for her make her think she might be worthy of such a love.

And then there’s the rain scene. Na Bi and Jae Eon, vulnerable in the rain. Na Bi admits to her faults in the relationship, how she brought this upon herself. No, she hasn’t been nice or good this whole time; in fact, she’s been kind of terrible. But Jae Eon revealing what he did and how it was to hurt Do Hyeok wakes her up and convinces that the time has come to end this “game”. It got Do Hyeok hurt because of her inability to end it with Jae Eon and good people don’t let that happen to people they care about.

So Na Bi ends it with Jae Eon and chooses herself. At last. And to do so, she has to cut out this malignant tumor of a relationship and, God, does it hurt so much to end it, but she gets it done and takes the first step to being a better person for herself.

The cinematography in this drama is top tier and we see her situation presented so viscerally. She’s alone, in the light, but it’s not a warm, redemptive light; it has a sickly, yellow tint and is surrounded by darkness.

But she’s still there. She still made it.

One Last Observation, I Promise

Last thing I noticed from this episode that I want to talk about: the professor’s critique of Na Bi. She specifically mentions that a good artist can inspire others and Na Bi, whether she realizes it or not, actually does do that.

Na Bi helps Do Hyeok with his videos, giving advice that helps boost their popularity and making them better.

Jae Eon is inspired to make the butterfly bracelet for Na Bi and gifts it to her.

The difference between the two? Do Hyeok actually thanks Na Bi for her help and points out that it was her influence that made his videos better.

Jae Eon obviously means his gesture to be romantic and sincere but he again fails to talk about why he’s doing it. The implication is there but Na Bi needs more than some vague nonsense.

Communication is at the heart of this episode and how, without it, relationships stagnate and fail. Bit Na + Gyu Hyun and Soljiwan couple - their relationships only progress because the couples voice their concerns and fears to one another. And instead of being rejected or being hurt, it allows their partners to reassure them and move forward with their relationship.

Why do Na Bi and Jae Eon fail? They. Don’t. Talk. Na Bi is stuck inside her head and Jae Eon relies on vague gestures and sexual chemistry to express himself.

Why do Na Bi and Do Hyeok succeed? Because they talk. About everything. Their dialogue is clear and honest and sincere without any hidden meanings or motives. And you see why Na Bi is rapidly moving more and more towards Do Hyeok and not Jae Eon.

(The preview does raise some questions about how it will all end but I don’t think the show is going to pull a bait and switch and have Na Bi end up with Jae Eon. I also don’t think it’s likely they’ll have an open ending, either. I’ll talk about that in another post.)

My next post will be what I envision to be the best version of a Na Bi and Do Hyeok endgame and what I mean by that since Na Bi shouldn’t be dating anyone right now. So, look forward to that.

Until next time, everybody. Thanks for reading this long ass post. Hope you enjoyed it.

[chil2de]

How are you today? If its alright with you, can I request a Atsumu x fem reader where she has a super tomboy style and ALWAYS wears baggy clothes, but one day atsumu comes over to hang out and the only outfit she has left is kinda a tight fitting shirt and for the first time ever Atsumu realizes just how curvy his girlfriend is

sorry if thats to specific! feel free to ignorethis!

warning - miya atsumu x reader

hiii! i’m doing okay anonie, thank you and i hope u are faring well!!! so um this ended up being a LOT longer than i expected pls forgive me it was supposed to be a cute lil drabble but now its like uh 2k words aJdhfhhd, i really loved this idea!!! don’t worry ab it being too specific i actually like that and it helps give me a general idea about the req

well whilst this isn’t tooooo nsfw there are a few small themes in the beginning + swearing since i write atsumu like that and implications of sexual content ig at the end but aside from that? just some fluff for our fav king. characters are aged up and i am unsure how it would work but call it anime logic and enjoy! thanks for requesting! (okay rereading the ending is lowkey smut why am i like this)

“b-cup.” atsumu huffed with confidence. he took a large swig out of his water bottle, nodding his head wisely in affirmation.

“really? i’d say c-cup.” suna chimed in, his half-lidded gaze narrowing.

“nah, it’s b-cup”

“what the hell are you two talking about?” osamu interjected, concern and disgust thick on his features as he came over carrying a few towels.

“(y/n)’s bra size” suna nonchalantly responded, his eyes flicking up for a few seconds as he accepted the towel from osamu.

“‘tsumu i knew you were messed in the head but, suna? have you caught his germs?”

“fuck are you making it sound like i have some viral disease?”

“you don’t?” suna snorted, plopping down onto the floor to sit cross-legged.

“why don’t you just ask her?” osamu’s gaze flickered onto yours from across the court. you felt your ears burn from the way the three of them were staring at you.

was something on your face?

a bug? dirt?

“huh? like i’m supposed to say, hey baby girl, what size are your tits?”

“i’m still saying b-cup”

“c-cup”

“i think b-cup” osamu joined in, watching atsumu screw his face at him

“you goddamn hypocrite-“ “who’s being a hypocrite?” kita inquired with a half-hushed tone, making his way over with a few protein bars

“oh my god i’m going home” atsumu groaned, resting his palms on his knees as he stood up. he beelined towards you, his exhaustion painted his lazy smile beautifully. he still had the energy to turn around over his shoulder and flip his middle finger up at his team whilst his right hand snaked around to your waist.

somewhere around your waist. it took him a little bit of digging through all the fabric.

it didn’t matter to him, though. as much of a jackass as he might’ve been, he never judged you for the way you dressed. even if it meant that sometimes you looked a lil bit homeless, at the end of the day- he still had that glimmer in his eyes whenever he saw you.

you would be his favourite baby girl, no matter what.

“is that my shirt you’re wearing?” he hummed, glancing down to look at it.

it was, in fact, one of his shirts. it was matte black in colour, with a small dip that would showcase atsumu’s collar bones. it was a little bit faded from the many wash cycles it endured throughout its lifetime, but he would always notice the small tear in the bottom right section of the fabric.

“sorryyy, i know you just washed it but it smelled so nice. also, wow, did you put on deodorant? you actually smell like a man it’s kinda creepy”

“i always put on deodorant you dipshit, you’re always crying about how pretty my face looks so your nose doesn’t pick up the scent. it’s verbena citrus, buy your own because i know you’ll try stealing mine so i’m putting a padlock on that shit.” atsumu scoffed, digging his fingers into your sides to tickle you as you walked. you squirmed, swatting him away as you dug your hands into the pockets of your joggers. they were not atsumu’s, unfortunately, for you found out the hard way that you would literally have to drag the excess fabric behind you like some train dress or bundle it up and fold it, which, in retrospect- did not look too aesthetically pleasing. you settled for your own joggers and favourite high-top sneakers to match.

“you know you’ll say all this but give me your deodorant anyway, right?” you stuck your tongue out at him. he rolled his eyes, ruffling your hair.

“hey.” he called out, causing you to direct your attention towards him.

he nudged your arm with his elbow.

oh.

“give it here.”

you uncurled your left hand out of your pocket, zipping it up to make sure the contents inside didn’t spill. atsumu slid his right hand away from your waist and opened his palm up, intertwining his fingertips between yours into a tight lock. he grazed his thumb over the back of your hand, giving you a small squeeze.

“that was the cheesiest and most corniest thing you’ve done and i hated it” you made a mock gagging sound, averting your gaze.

you could feel the blush fresh on your cheeks, heart pounding in your chest like it was about to explode.

“wait, you thought i was holding your hand because we’re dating? i’m just doing it because i know your dumbass would get lost” atsumu snorted, throwing his head back in laughter.

well,

you could still see the light blush tinting his cheeks. and it wasn’t the sunset.

“mmm, should i wear this one- wait-“ you grabbed the shirt, folding it upwards as you took a small whiff. well,, you did wear it yesterday… yeah, you did put it in the laundry basket,,, no, it didn’t smell toooo bad, but..

you groaned, tossing it back into said basket as you furrowed your brows in concentration.

you heard the doorbell ring which only caused you to panic even further. you just needed a shirt. literally any shirt. you were about to cut your freaking pants out and sew them together to another pair for a shirt.

since it was a friday, you had atsumu walk you halfway home. you only lived a street away from him, and the apartment was conveniently built on a fork between the road down to his house and the supermarket. hence, he dropped you off and went to the store all by himself like a responsible adult to grab some snacks for the weekend.

“it’s open!” you called out, leaning your jaw back as you shouted in hopes for your voice to travel further.

in that moment, just in the corner of your eye- you saw a familiar flash of black.

you swooped the fabric up, quietly humming in pleasure when it smelled like laundry detergent and fabric softener.

you lifted the shirt over your head, struggling to pull it down for a few seconds.

you admired yourself briefly in the mirror.

it was a casual t-shirt. it reached down to the middle portion of your arms, though it was significantly less baggy than all of your other clothes. you liked to sleep in it during hot and stuffy summer nights, but rarely found yourself using it otherwise.

it’s not like you didn’t like these kinds of shirts.

but when given the option to look “stylish” or comfortable, who wouldn’t pick comfortable? that’s what was important to you above all. clothes that made you feel like you were constantly in bed were a godsend from the heavens.

“hey dipshit, i spent twenty minutes jumping stores for you but no one sold any (favourite drink) so i got you-“ atsumu halted in his steps, the grocery bags curled around his fists were suddenly forgotten and discarded as he caught sight of you through the doorframe.

you were clad in a pair of old white shorts and a black t-shirt, complimentary of the fact that everything else was currently in the laundry machine. atsumu could outline every single damn crevice and dip on you, and he burned that shit so deep into his retinas that he would still see it when his eyes were closed.

he felt his breath hitch, something deep inside him resonating, growing feral like hunger.

he still stood by what he said,

baggy clothes or not, you were beautiful.

but he wasn’t expecting this

“so you bought what?” you inquired, twisting your torso halfway to greet him as you finished brushing through some knots in your hair at the vanity.

“huh?”

“you said there wasn’t any (favourite drink) so you got what? did you fall and crack your head open on the way here? cause it looks like it”

you could feel your heart squeeze, body temperature increased twofold as icy hot waves wracked every inch of your skin. there was a cold sweat that rolled down the back of your knees.

“shut the hell up, i hate you” atsumu grumbled, forcing himself to turn away from you and stomp off to the kitchen with a pout.

“jesus christ give me strength i hate this woman, where the hell does she get off thinking she can get away with looking so good like that” atsumu mumbled incoherent curses underneath his breath, shakily unloading everything he bought out onto the counter and stuffing the groceries into cabinets and the fridge.

“‘samu, i hate you but dude i need twin telepathy, give me strength so i don’t deck this woman right here right now” he cursed, gritting his teeth. his self-control was about to fly out the window.

“you okay?” you popped your head through the door, leaning into the kitchen.

he could see the outline of your prominent collarbones, the way the shirt still fell a little bit and hung loosely off of your frame. he could see the start of your stomach.

god, it should’ve been illegal the way he wanted to grab your thighs. he wondered for a second what it would look like with his fingerprints etched into your skin there.

“want a few tissues and some lotion?” you snorted, nestling up beside him to help. you gazed at him, watching him keep his eyes narrowed on the packet of pistachios he was fumbling with.

you thought it was cute.

“listen- if you’re not ready yet then i’d suggest that you find something else to wear cause holy shit if you don’t get away from me right now i swear i will not restrain myself-“

“i’m ready” you hummed, giving him an innocent smile. you toyed with your hands behind your back, fiddling with them as butterflies swept your abdomen.

atsumu snorted, eyebrows creasing in confusion. he turned to face you, setting the pistachios down.

“alright i’m not saying this to boost my ego, but, what did you say?”

“i said i’m ready”

you watched his brain stir, gears ticking and turning like clockwork.

atsumu let out a low sigh.

“yeah, yeah. well, then.”

his right hand slammed against the wall, caging you in. he leaned into you, looming over you as his half-lidded eyes burned holes inside your soul. you felt the air tense and switch around him, carnal desires swirling behind his gaze. his chest was so close to yours, practically flush, save for the tiniest gap. you could literally feel his heart hammering.

he was so invasive, so close, yet so respectful. he still kept his distance, just n case you changed your mind.

“are you sure this is what you want?” his voice was hot and slick against the shell of your ear, voice husky and octaves deeper. you could feel the sexual tension dripping from him.

you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your forehead against him.

“i’m sure, ‘tsumu.”

a loud chuckle ripped from the depths of his chest. it was so hearty, and fuck, it made you clench.

atsumu swooped you up all in one swift motion, hands hooking underneath your thighs as he shoved you against the counter. he sent everything clattering and thudding in the process.

“don’t say i didn’t warn you, doll.”

[shreddedparchment]

Pseudo Princess Epilogue

08/21/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader          Word Count: 6,172

Warnings: fluff, talks of sterilization/infertility

A/N: I did promise a surprise. There were some interactions that I wanted to touch on that I couldn’t fit into the last chapter and this just felt right to write. I hope y’all enjoy. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

“What have you decided?” You wonder, adjusting Joseph in your arms as they begin to tire.

“We’re going to adopt.” Nat’s smile is genuine and yet, you find there’s a sadness in her eyes that breaks your heart.

She looks at Joseph and stares at him for a moment before reaching across the small space between your chairs to caress his little cheek.

“May I be honest with you?” You hesitate but know that you need to say this in order for that sadness to leave her eyes.

Of course, her sadness is her own and you might only help relieve it. You cannot chase it away for good.

“Of course.” She takes her hand back to place over yours.

“I am so glad that you have decided not to see the witch.” You sigh. “After having lost all of you for over a year, the thought of losing more time knowing that I would have had it…”

“I know.” Nat interrupts softly, tearing her eyes down to her hand in yours. “James is the same. He told me to choose what would make me happy and for a moment I considered very much going to see her, but the forced look of detachment on James’s face was heartbreaking. I don’t want him to feel as if his opinion does not matter to me.

“If we cannot both be of one mind in this choice then it is a choice that I cannot make. We were both decided on adoption before I remembered the witch’s offer so, adoption is the only choice my heart can bear to make.” Nat’s feelings are genuine, and you can see the decision has lifted weight from her shoulders.

“You have known that you could not have children for years. Is this really what you wanted. Having them naturally?” You probe, already knowing her answer. “You know that Bucky does not and has not cared if you could give him natural born children.”

“Why do you know me so well?” She huffs a small laugh. “I wanted to give him the life he deserved.”

“The life he deserves is the one he chooses, love. And he chooses to be with you, just as you are. For him you are not lacking in anything.” You point out, remembering the look of utter worship he gives her every time they’re together.

“I know.” Nat nods, smiling wide albeit a little resigned. “I don’t think I’ve ever truly accepted that and that’s why I became so fixated on giving him a child born of us both.”

You scoot closer to the edge of your seat, adjusting the sleeping Joseph in your arms. Now that you’re closer, you can wrap one arm around her back a little, bringing your face down and closer to her own.

“We all love you, Nat. Just as you are. Any child you raise would be lucky to have you as a mother. I know I’ve said it before, but I cannot impress upon you the sincerity of what I say. Trust me. You are perfect to us. If not the world, then to Bucky and myself. And isn’t that enough?”

Her eyes begin to water, and you have the sudden urge to hug her. Before you can, the door to your sitting room opens. Quickly you wipe away the two tears that roll onto Nat’s cheeks as Peter freezes, his eyes wide with surprise. He’s still got his arms extended, feet still in mid-step.

“Oh,” He gasps. “I’m…I didn’t know you were in here your Majesty. I’m so sorry.”

“Peter!” You exclaim, happy to see him.

His face changes, a wide smile replacing the look of shock on his face.

“Hi.” He replies simply, moving towards you as you rise to your feet and with Joseph carefully balanced in your arms, you wrap Peter up in the other.

“It’s so good to see you. When Steve told me you’d left for Father’s castle I was saddened to be denied our reunion.” You chuckle, trying to keep Joseph as still as possible despite knowing that he will not wake even should you need to grab a sword and fight some random attacker.

“I’m sorry, I had to deliver Steve’s invitations for the feast he has planned for when the estate is completed. Only a few weeks now.” Peter says proudly as you pull back to get a look at his face. He seems to be getting taller still. Just over a year and you’re shocked by his growth.

He’s much bigger in muscle mass too.

“Invitations, sure.” Natasha teases, fixing him with a knowing look.

Peter seems to deflate by her implications which raises many questions in your own head.

To allay your confusion, he leads you back to your seat and helps you to sit.

“Morgana and I have actually parted ways.” He says simply, his voice serious but not melancholy.

“Oh.” Nat exclaims, exchanging with you a quick look of concern. “I hope that it was nothing that cannot be mended?”

Peter takes a step back and reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“She is much happier with our engagement at an end. If I am honest, we have been growing apart the last several months. She has been busy undertaking King Stark’s training and I have been busy in the villages with minor disturbances from remnants of Hydra and their various factions.

“Our friendship is just as strong as it ever was, but I don’t believe romance will be a part of our future.” Peter sighs upset despite his words of assurance.

“Last I remember your romance was only just blooming.” You lament, hating to have lost out on the beauty of their love growing.

Now it’s gone?

“Yes.” Peter smiles. “I had high hopes for us but I’m certain this is the right choice for us both.”

“Is this a choice you both made?” Natasha wonders, worried for the young guard.

“We spoke about it at length and we’re sure that it’s for the best.” Peter nods. “Do not worry. We are both perfectly fine.”

Containing your frown is out of the question but he does look as if their choice is one of certainty and you can’t exactly contradict them if they have found what is right for both of them. Even if it’s a shame that you won’t have Peter as a brother-in-law.

With no choice but to move on, you let Natasha take Joseph from your arms as she moves him into the crib nearby.

You have one in here and one in your bedroom.

“So?” You begin, sitting back with a small grimace at the pain in your back. “What brings you to my sitting room? I know you did not come to see me since you didn’t know I was in here.”

As Natasha tucks Joseph in, she waits with observant eyes as if she’s still trying to decide if Peter has told you both the truth about him and Morgana.

“I was sent in to fetch your sewing basket. His Majesty said that he wanted to show it to me so that I’d know what to buy.” Peter explains, his brow furrowed as he observes the grimace on your face and the strange way you’re sitting.

The flowing gown you wear—slate blue around the shoulders down to the constricting bodice where it shifts and mixes with the peony pink fabric beneath the sheer top layer that then flows down to end in that same soft pink—puddles around you, soft to the touch.

It’s finer than anything you’ve worn in a while and the corset you’re wearing now forces your back straight once more.

You’d forgotten how uncomfortable the clothing you'd worn as Queen of Broklin could be. It was a hybrid of both pleasure and pain as the soft fabrics felt cool and heaven in touch but the stiff undergarments to help you fit into such fine dresses were forcing your body to readjust again.

The attempt to slouch and lean back against your chair in search of comfort does not go unnoticed by your once personal guard. Now rehired as you have returned.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” He worries, taking a step closer. His fists open and close as if he’s warring with wanting to reach out and help.

Everyone has been so attentive, so careful with you these past few days after your reappearance. It isn’t even so much that the clothing is too uncomfortable. The corset is tight indeed, but you were so malnourished when Steve found you again that your body had rejected all the rich foods that he’d sent for.

It wasn’t until Natasha thought to bring you simple unseasoned fish, vegetables, and plain water instead of wine that you managed to eat and retain the nutrition. Slowly they added saltier meats and seasoned vegetables and after five days of no missed meals, you were feeling stronger and more like yourself.

The only thing that weighs heavily on your mind still is your son. So much smaller than your daughter was at his age, or so Steve says.

Your husband cried into your chest for that first torturous night. Blissful yet painful. You were all so happy to be back together, finally you were all complete. The piece of yourself that you’d felt was missing had returned in you both, and still it was not enough.

It was excruciating to see your baby girl so grown. Walking, however clumsily, and talking. Her eyes when she sees you are full of confusion. There is no recognition there. Your heart breaks for the bond that you’ve lost.

For Steve, it was the sight of you and Joseph so feeble. So hungry for care and safety. The jumpiness that you’d developed once more having to watch your every step with Phin and the other village men who’d seen an easy target in an orphaned single mother.

He was devastated to know that you’d suffered the birth of your son alone. He hates to know that you fed on rats in your most desperate hours to keep your little one fed. It tears you apart to see him so agonized over it only to see that even through your efforts your son needed a doctor’s care.

Your body is not strong and because of this, everyone has been vigilant with the slightest change in your mood. Steve and Nat especially. Peter has been informed, clearly.

You meet his eyes and offer a smile.

“No. Not exactly. It’s been over a year. I must adjust again, that’s all.” You explain, refusing to give in to their worries about your health.

You feel much stronger already after less than a week. Your son is also more comfortable and seems to fuss a little more now that he has the energy to do so.

Natasha steps towards you, running her hand along the center of your spine.

“Perhaps I laced you too tightly? Once Peter leaves, I can adjust it and give you some relief.” She offers.

“I’m alright.” You smile, resisting the need to grimace again.

Turning back to Peter, you try to distract them.

“Why have you been tasked with the purchase of a sewing box?” This does the trick and both of them forget your discomfort.

“Oh, well his Majesty wishes to tell you himself. I will tell him you’re here and return as soon as I have what I need.” Peter takes a step back, the eagerness to complete his task pulling him away.

“Very well. Hurry back.” You smile at him fondly, a fond lilt to your words. “I have missed you.”

Peter nods, the corners of his lips turned up as he turns and shuts the doors behind him.

“If you aren’t feeling well, Steve will want to know.” Nat frowns, her hand still resting on your back.

“I’m perfectly alright.” You chuckle, reaching back to take her hand and remove it from your spine. “I would like to take a walk.”

You rise and despite yourself, groan as your body stretches. After so much time sleeping in a lumpy bed of hay, a soft plush mattress feels too firm and soft at the same time.

“Y/N…” Nat chastises.

“My body is sore. I’m not used to these soft beds anymore. They feel good when I first lay in them but after a few hours of sleeping my body becomes stiff. It will pass in time, Nat. I promise. I’m alright. Truly.” You walk away from her as you speak, refusing to be stopped and move towards your baby boy to tuck the blanket in around him.

His little crib is the same one that Maggie had slept in when she’d been an infant and your heart fills with warmth that Steve was right and that you would indeed have use for it once again.

Joseph shifts, his little fists flexing open and shutting once again as he coos then sleeps on.

“Will you stay with him?” You whisper, though you don’t need to. Joseph has slept through the worst storms.

“As you wish.” Nat sighs, moving to sit in the chair she’d placed beside him in case you’d wanted to sit down with him.

“If he gets hungry-” You fret.

“I’ll bring him to you.” She promises. “Go, enjoy your walk.”

You leave her in good spirits, feeling free in the safety of the estate walls after so much time spent looking over your shoulder.

Naturally, you allow your heart to lead you and you find yourself at the door to Maggie’s nursery. You can hear Samuel with her, his laugh mixed with her occasional little scream of excitement.

Slowly you open the door, pressing your hand against the wood to keep it as quiet as possible.

You spot them sitting on the floor amongst a pile of pillows that have been strewn across a large thick blanket. The windows on the far side of the room have been thrown open to allow a gentle breeze to cool the room.

Sam holds a luxurious doll made of soft fabric against his leg, his body relaxed as he leans against the wall beside a small shelf full of other toys made of wood and clay. There are other dolls too.

In front of him sits your toddler, her hands wrapped around a large green leg.

With a gasp you push the door open and stop to find Hulk sitting on the other side of the room taking up almost all of it. His arms are casually resting against his knees as your little girl giggles and reaches around to pinch Hulk’s massive calf.

He growls and she laughs again. Then Hulk laughs, and claps his hands twice shaking the entire room.

“Ha-ha!” He says with amusement in his eyes. “Princess laugh funny.”

You look to Sam, uncertainty gripping your chest and he rises then hurries to meet you by the door.

“Your Majesty.” He bows his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t be alarmed, they do this often. He won’t hurt her.”

“Queen Flower!” Hulk shouts, raising his hand to wave then points down at your daughter. “Look! Little Princess laugh funny.”

He lifts his massive leg, taking her with it as she sits on his foot and hugs him tighter. As he drops it, she giggles once.

“Do thing, Princess! Make Hulk angry again.” He orders her and like an obedient puppy, she reaches around and pinches his leg again.

Hulk growls. She laughs. He laughs and claps.

The sight, while frightening at first, fills you with joy.

Your little girl has been happy! You’re so grateful to all of them.

“She likes Bruce too, but she and Hulk have this connection that’s hard to argue with. We can’t keep them apart for long.” Sam explains.

“I’m glad.” You nod.

“He takes care of her. When she cries, he gets upset and won’t stop slamming his fists until she stops. That’s how this began.” Sam gestures at them as they continue to play.

“She was crying?” You fret, watching your little girl for the telltale signs that she had been shedding tears.

“She misses Steve. She cries at least once every time he has to meet with anyone for an extended period of time with affairs of the Kingdom. They’ve been attached at the hip since you disappeared.

“I think he clung to her so tightly because he sensed you in her. He was happy to be with her but he knew that something was missing. We all did, only most of us assumed it was Margaret.

“Steve even insisted once that it wasn’t her and that there was someone else that should be at his side. But he went to sleep and we ignored him. We assumed he was merely distraught. When he woke the next morning, he seemed to have forgotten his theory and we thought we were wise to move on.” Sam smiles, shrugging his shoulders as he fixes you with his sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

You and Steve haven’t talked much about your time apart that does not involve the children. Hearing that he'd felt as lost as you had during your separation eases the small bit in your heart that still wonders if Steve is truly in love with you.

“It’s of no importance.” You assure him. “We are together again now. That’s all that matters.”

“Maggie, look who’s here.” Sam calls to her, waiting for her to exclaim in delight at the sight of you.

While you know better.

As you expect she turns to look at you, her little eyes searching your face for recognition and it comes slowly. It isn’t the recognition of a mother yet but she still releases Hulk's leg and with unsteady feet rises and wanders over towards you.

“Hello my sweet flower.” Your heart expands at least fifty sizes—no, a hundred!—as you squat down to be closer to her.

She stumbles as she reaches you but falls into your arms with a giggle that you echo as you wrap your arms around her and lift her to your lap.

She's still so small. A baby. Your baby.

“I was just about to go take a walk in the garden. I want to see all the pretty flowers that your papa planted. Would you like to come with me, little flower?” You wait as she watches your mouth when you’ve finished speaking.

Her own moves silently as she reaches up to fidget with her ear as she thinks about it.

You’ve spent as much time as you can with her these past five days and because you’re in her places of home—her Papa's bed, his presence every moment that he can spare, at his dining table right beside him, in the bath while he sits with her in his lap and the two of you talk.

You’ve bathed her with you and tucked her in. Kissed her cheeks and chastised her when her tantrums grew insolent.

You have made yourself a thorn in her side but a place to seek comfort too.

So, when she turns back to you and places her little hands on your cheeks before wrapping them around your neck, you are ecstatic.

Sam helps you to your feet as Hulk rises and grumbles.

“Queen Flower steal funny baby. Hulk hate Queen Flower!” He says passionately before giving a great hurumph and springing through the large open window.

You watch him go with your mouth slightly open. Maggie turns to wave as Hulk disappears and Sam shakes his head.

“Ba-ba-ba!” Maggie calls out after him, her little hand limp as she swings her arm up and down.

“He doesn’t really hate you. He tells all of us that when we take her.” Sam relays and you’re surprised to feel a wave of relief that Hulk is also just throwing a tantrum.

“I’ve left Nat with Joseph while he sleeps. Will you tell her to bring him down when he wakes? I’d love to have them together. She’s still unsure of him I think.” You’ve noticed your little girl is jealous when Steve holds your son and you want them to love each other despite their time apart.

“Of course. Enjoy your walk, your Majesty. I’ll send a guard down for you as well. Steve would not like you two out in the gardens by yourselves.”

“Thank you, Sam. Are you ready my princess?”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been nearly four hours of warm morning sun spent with your daughter in the fragrant peony garden that Steve had built in the estate gardens.

Waves of pink sway in the sultry summer breeze and Maggie’s little legs falter as she inches towards you, her small fist rubbing sleepily at her eye.

She’d spent the morning running after you, giggling loudly before screaming with excitement. She’d fallen many times, then risen and continued the chase. You’d let her catch you and fall to the ground to embrace her before she squirmed from your arms to indicate your turn to chase.

Her adorable antics were topped when she managed to crawl underneath your skirts, painting the bottom her dress—which once again, matches your own just as they had before you’d lost time—green as she rolled around on the soft pea-green blades of grass.

When she tired you two sat in the shade of a large oak giving you a much-needed respite from the blazing sun. She was up after only ten minutes, however. Energetic baby that she is.

All the while, at the edges of the tall blue hydrangea and wine butterfly bush, just out of sight is your guard. Five men circling the outside of the long garden. Out of sight so that they do not disturb you and Maggie though often you catch them peeking over the hedge to catch glimpses of the little miss.

She’s just as popular as she was before you lost her.

Halfway through your walk, Natasha joins you with Joseph. A blanket spread out beneath the oak where she’d sat with him while you played with Maggie.

Stopping, you admire her as she walks towards you. She’s the spitting image of her father and when you’d once thought her lips resembled your own, you can now see that she’s turning into Steve more and more every day.

“Muh-muh-muh…” She mumbles, and your heart skips a beat. “Muh-muh…”

As she reaches you, she lifts her arms towards you, her little rosebud lips fixed into a cranky pout.

“Oh, my sweet girl.” You gush, ducking down to pick her up before you cradle her against your chest. She’s heavy compared to Joseph but you don’t care. You will suffer through aching arms to hold her close.

She immediately lays her head on your shoulder and wraps her arms around her neck again, her eyes closing as you caress the back of her head tenderly.

“Were you attempting to call me ‘Mama’?” You whisper, but she’s already asleep.

With her dozing, you move back towards the oak where Joseph lays on his back playing with his feet.

“Are you hungry?” Natasha wonders, already pushing up onto her knees and grabbing her skirts in preparation.

“A little.” You confess, but I can wait until Maggie wakes before we head back inside.”

“Would you like Steve to kill me for not feeding you?” Nat walks to meet you and then reaches to caress Maggie’s head as she stops beside you. “I’ll see what I can find for us. Will you be alright with them both?”

She seems to really be worried about whether you can handle your children alone and perhaps if you were at your strongest you’d be offended, but you take her words for what they are—love for you.

“Of course I can.” You assure her. “Maggie’s asleep.”

She tilts her head quickly, looking skeptical before she turns and leaves for the house.

As you approach your little boy who has taken to a constant cooing, you wonder how you’ll manage to put Maggie down beside him when you hear a call from the garden gate.

“Y/N!” He calls, deep but vibrant.

His voice is like a siren’s song and you stop and turn without hesitation.

Steve. Your heart is suddenly pounding and you’re eager to see his beautiful face.

As you turn to look, he’s already close, turning his sprint into a jog. His lips are stretched into a happy smile. His eyes are bright, blue as storm clouds, but happy to see you. No, ecstatic. No, he’s full of life at the sight of you, looking as if he’s just quenched a terrible thirst.

“I’ve been all over the estate looking for you.” He gives one long inhale and a quick exhale of breath as if he’s only just catching it.

Had he literally run around looking for you?

“I’m here.” You return his smile. “With our little ones.”

Steve’s cheeks blush a vibrant pink before he takes a half-step towards you and leans in, wrapping his right arm around your waist as he rushes to meet your lips with chaste but hungry kiss.

There’s a need behind his lips that doesn’t equate to desire, and you wonder what it is that he’s searching for.

For you, the press of his mouth against your own sends rapid flutters from your toes to the top of your head making all of your thoughts fuzzy.

As he pulls away, he places both hands on either side of your face. His thumbs are a gentle caress against your skin. His eyes devour your confuddled expression, a look of amusement turning his lips up once more.

“I missed that expression.” He tells you and embarrassment makes you huff a small laugh.

“You’re impossible.”

Steve chuckles.

With your greeting out of the way, his eyes find the baby in your arms then the one on the blanket.

Joseph has also spotted him and has taken to kicking in excitement, his little eyes wide and his mouth a small o as he spews out more goos and coos.

“Did my princess fall asleep?” Steve reaches for her, expertly taking her from you she doesn’t even stir.

“We’ve been out here all morning.” You tell him and with your arms free, you quickly move to Joseph’s side, grabbing him and sitting him upon your lap so that he might look at his papa with more ease.

It only makes him kick faster and you chuckle as he squirms.

“I think your prince would also like your embrace.” You adjust him again, a sigh of relief escaping you after your laugh.

It doesn’t escape Steve’s notice. As he sits himself down on the blanket with you, he places Maggie beside him, stroking her chest to make certain she remains asleep.

“You’re tired.” He frowns but takes Joseph when you lean over and offer him.

He places him between his legs facing him, but when he whines and leans towards him with his little arms reaching, Steve picks him back up and gives him his all his attention while he waits for you to respond.

“We have been enjoying the length of the garden.” You explain, scooting closer to Maggie and moving the hair away from her little face. “Which reminds me, why was it that you made a peony garden even when you did not remember me?”

Steve turns to you, allowing Joseph to push against his lap with his little legs, then looks up towards the branches while he thinks.

As his mind wanders, you admire the sight of him. He looks regal in his short-sleeved cream-colored tunic, the neckline high with tan embroidery along the edge of the seam at the front. It leaves his muscular arms exposed, sinew shifting beneath the smooth golden peach of his skin as your son kicks and Steve keeps him rooted to his spot.

His hair is short once more, trimmed for the heat of the season but his beard is as thick as ever.

Brown trousers and dark brown boots complete his casually regal look and he has never looked so good.

“I don’t think I could properly explain it. The garden back home was full of them around Margaret’s—that is, your pavilion. I knew it as Margaret’s with my memory of you gone.” He fixes his words though you feel only the faintest of shifts in your gut of the old jealousy and resentment you’d felt at the mention of Margaret. “I had no memory of changing her flower for them, but I knew that the reason for it was vital. Then as time went on, I craved the scent of them. Maggie and I would spend hours in your garden. I think even she felt your absence. She was more peaceful whenever we were there where the flowers reminds us both of your pleasing scent.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself.

“What?” Steve turns to you, adjusting Joseph in his arms as the little one tires out and yawns. With his little head resting against Steve’s chest, he begins to drift to sleep. “Why are you always laughing at the things I say?”

You take a few more moments to let the laugh flow, then shake your head.

“I’m not. I’m just…I only began to use scented oils and soaps when I accepted father’s task to marry you. If you want a true example of what I smell like, think back to the moment you met me on the road just days ago.” You explain.

Steve thinks back, the small crease between his eyes deep as he tries to remember.

“You smelled like hay. A little bit like sweat and earth, but also like Joseph. But there was also the scent of peonies in your hair, despite what you say. Perhaps it has become engrained into your very being after soaking in so many baths with it.” Steve smiles, his eyes glazed over as if he’s thinking about it.

The shift of his lips is a little coy, and the pink tint returns with vibrancy to his cheeks.

“Why are you blushing?” You narrow your eyes at him, certain you know exactly what it is he’s thinking.

“I’m not blushing.” He shakes his head, a look of denial plastered across his chiseled features.

“You are. How can you think of me in the bath with our children sleeping right beside us?” You demand, your face fixed into mock shock.

Steve blinks, at a loss at your accusation because it’s probably true.

“What? I am not-I don’t-I haven’t-You don’t-” He sputters, flustered by your flirting.

You chuckle and refocus on your daughter, admiring the way she breathes as she sleeps while thinking with amusement about the amount of times you’ve bathed with your little ones since returning and Steve having joined you often.

“Your Majesties!” From the garden gate Peter rushes, one arm wrapped around a wicker basket, the other carrying a rectangular box sealed with twine.

That must be the sewing kit.

“That took you all morning.” You observe as he approaches then stops at the edge of your blanket and gives you both a quick bow.

“Yes, I wanted to be sure I purchased the correct one.” Peter explains, but Steve’s eyes are on the basket.

“What is that?” He gestures at it, then fixes his gaze on the young knight.

“Oh, Natasha sent me with a lunch. Cold meats and a few mince pies. There’s a jug of wine and a gourd of water in there for her majesty.” He holds it out and Steve takes it, placing it near you.

“Eat.” He says simply. “While you can do so comfortably with the children sleeping.”

He’s probably right. You begin to pull the food from the basket and portion it out onto two small wooden plates Natasha had placed in the basket.

“Where shall I put the kit, your Majesty? The den?” Peter wonders, holding the box with both arms now that they’re free.

“Yes, that seems-” He begins but then stops as the heavy sound of a guard’s armor approaches.

All of you turn to look in his direction.

Behind him follows a girl who looks to be about Peter’s age. Her beauty is undeniable though she walks awkwardly in the simple gray gown she wears. It isn’t anything fancy but probably the nicest dress she owns.

Still nicer than anything you ever owned before you married Steve.

Her hair is long, falling to her waist in a stunning number of braids. Her brown skin shines golden under the summer sun, her eyes a sharp inky black yet wider than normal with the nervous energy you can see flowing through her. Although her facial features are small, they’re also sharp, brows wide and angular.

“She’s finally here.” Steve exclaims, making to rise before he realizes that he’s still cradling Joseph to his chest and sits back down.

“Your Majesty, this girl says she is here for a job?” The guard offers, and gestures to the lovely young lady at his side.

“Yes, thank you. You may go.” Steve dismisses him and waits for him to depart before he addresses the girl. “Hello again, Miss Jones. You’re right on time.”

Miss Jones takes hold of her skirts and quickly ducks into a curtsy as if just remembering she should be doing so.

“I hope I am not intruding.” She says nervously.

“Not at all.” Steve nods. “This is my wife and Queen. You will report directly to her from this day forth.”

“What?!” You gasp, so surprised your smile vanishes. “Report to me?”

“I have hired Miss Jones to assist you with the children. She will be your second lady in waiting to assist you when and if you should need someone and Natasha is not around or has other things to do.” Steve says pointedly. “You shall do whatever her majesty requires but she’s awfully selfless and terrible with implementing her authority so you might have to read into her needs a bit more than I made it sound like when we met before.”

As all of you look back to Miss Jones, you find that she’s still in her curtsy, her legs probably shaking as she teeters from side to side.

“Y-you don’t have to keep bowing.” Peter tells her and she snaps out of it, nearly toppling over as she stands up straight.

“Right,” Miss Jones says, now standing awkwardly before she decides to give you all a tight anxious smile. “I will do everything I can to serve you with honor, your Majesties.”

Steve looks pleased and after a few more moments of considering the girl, you relax.

“Thank you.” You nod. “I will do my best to be as little a burden as I can be.”

“See?” Steve shakes his head and Miss Jones smiles a little more genuinely. “For now, I think you should rest. You must be tired after your journey. Tomorrow you may commence your duties but for now, Peter? Will you show Miss Jones to her quarters?”

Miss Jones curtsies again as Peter bows. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“Thank you, your majesties.”

For a moment they both stand there awkwardly, waiting for the other to walk. Peter gestures towards the estate and Miss Jones seems to turn but is uncertain if she should. As he begins to walk, she gathers her skirts a bit so that she might walk beside him with steady feet.

You watch them steal several glances at each other. Miss Jones especially watches Peter with an uncertain but curious gaze.

“Oh, this is for you.” Peter tells her and holds out her sewing kit.

“Thank you.” Miss Jones says, taking the box.

“I can carry it for you.” Peter offers.

“Oh…” Miss Jones hands him the box again and they walk on.

As they reach the garden gate, their voices are faint, but you can just make out what they’re saying as they disappear through the hedge.

“Your gown is lovely.” Peter tells her, nervous for a moment as he offers the compliment.

“Would you like to borrow it?” Miss Jones asks, her face serious as she awaits his answer.

“What?” Peter stops walking, fixing her with a dumbfounded look.

“A jest.” She tells him, stopping too.

“Oh.” Peter smiles and nearly laughs but continues to walk. “Right.”

Miss Jones smiles. “Yes. It wouldn’t fit you. Your shoulders are too wide.”

“What are you smiling about?” Steve wonders, pulling your attention away from Peter and Miss Jones while he lays Joseph down beside Maggie.

You offer him a plate of food, shrugging as your smile grows wider.

“Life has a strange way of giving us just what we need when we need it.” You realize, looking at all three of the loves of your life.

“Just as life brought you to me, do you mean?” Steve nods. “Yes. Just what I needed.”

[tsuumu]

beautiful stranger.

oikawa x reader

a short piece in which oikawa tooru approaches you on a idyllic evening. it’s a little awkward though, since you’re trying to die.

word count: 3.3k

tw: indirect and direct implications of suicide.

your warm hands stay gripped onto the metal rails in front of you, applying enough force to watch your knuckles turn white. you find yourself doing it over and over until your fingers numb from the continued pressure. alone, you’re mulling over mundane affairs. you’d rather not be thinking about them but find this loop all too easy to fall into.

the shadow of the railing casts over a large canal, its water sifting freely, far beneath you. it laps over itself, slithers of fish break the transparent surface as they swim. some of their scales rise to kiss the sunlight in opaque relfections.

thin layers of petals scatter the ground beneath your feet that have slipped from overhead trees and continue to flutter down freely. glowers of dying sunlight seep through the shapes of them as they fall.

in this moment, autumn is alive.

it’s really lovely right now.

you’re here, all caught up in chasing that feeling of peace. safety in an open space. you have to cope with that fact that tranquility never comes easily for you.

there’s nothing that should be leaving you as deeply unsettled as you are. you’ve learnt to largely ignore feeling so overwhelmed, though it stirs and resurfaces times you wish it wouldn’t.

what’s bugging you is that you can’t quite get a grasp on your own life.

for starters, everything lacks coherent meaning. to you, there’s something constantly missing every single day. nothing purchasable, nothing attainable through hard-work and any level of perseverance. truly, it affects you so much so that even just standing here, feet glued to the very spot that is undeniably ‘lovely’, brings you nothing but unimaginable sadness.

earlier, you brushed it away as an off day but you know that’s not true. you’ve been feeling like this all the time.

it is, therefore, not at all abnormal to wonder: can a person have such thing as an off life?

you really don’t like to think about things like this too much. once you begin to muse over deep naysay you find yourself snowballing.

solutions are painfully unobtainable and it’s generally as productive as chasing pavements.

do i really enjoy being alone? or am i obsessed with the sensation loneliness brings?

“you know, if you stare long enough, you might end up wanting to jump in.”

at once, your vision snaps up, taken aback by the additional voice. you hadn’t realised that during your mindless lamenting, another person had quietly joined you by the evening canal-side.

fair skinned, dark eyed, chocolate curls brushed neatly over his features and cowlicks that bob against the light gusts of wind.

a boy offers you a smile, before shifting his feet towards the empty space to your left. you can’t seem to process him, staring at the empty spot he’d been in seconds earlier.

you’re not supposed to be here right now.

“i was totally kidding by the way.” he adds. “that was really dark, sorry.”

you’re silent in return, eyes casting back onto the running stream. the water is shallow and the fall long, so jumping in would certainly prove fatal. you know all of this too well. it’d disturb the fish who are just here to live, though, it’ll only be for a moment. they won’t know any better.

you don’t really know what to say. it’s troubling that he’s here and hearing it out loud disturbs you, like a direct call out. at no point were you prepared for any kind of conversation prior.

the two of you stand there in complete silence. it’s not particularly awkward, you just don’t know why he’s approached you so easily, talking to you like he’s known you well enough to make outlandish jokes.

asking directly for his intentions seems rude, so you’ll put up with it until he leaves.

“do you always come here?” the stranger pipes up once more, though his focus doesn’t leave the water. you breathe in deeply.

“sometimes.”

“oh, i see.”

his palms lay flat and he pushes gently off of the rails, only to fall back onto them with all his weight. he does it again, repeating the process over and over at a steady pace. you stay hunched over, keeping your distance. he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest though, clearly absorbed in his surroundings.

“it’s like a set out of a movie, this place. seems like somewhere i’d ask my girlfriend to marry me.”

your tongue rolls around in your mouth.

yes. you think. his girlfriend would most likely be thrilled-over the top-squealing if he did. that’s entirely his business.

you really don’t care to hear of other people’s romantic endeavours.

is it out of jealousy? you don’t know. maybe.

this conversation is meaningless. you wish he’d go away sooner so you could have this time to yourself.

also, jealousy is an ugly word. you hate it.

he stops his movement with a exhale of air, tilting his head back to blink up at the warm sky. the last touches daylight mingle with the oncoming darkness, creating a deep tinge of orangey-yellow.

“when’s your birthday?”

‎a petal lands on the bridge of your hand, sticking to your skin.

“do you want my social security number?” you deject.

“what? no!”

“are you sure? really, i’ll give it to you.”

“no!”

“then why are you asking for my personal information?”

‎

he falls silent for a moment, before mumbling out a small: “just wondering.”

a tinge of guilt creeps over you at his apologetic tone. you admit, your answers thus far must make you seem like a completely unapproachable asswipe. you’re not at all. you just aren’t all that sure how to make small talk with strangers when you’re trying to part with the world by dinner time.

it feels like an unexpected guest at your very lonesome party.

“it’s (insert birth month).” you fold.

he purses his lips, face contorting a little.

“i see.”

he doesn’t continue down that path after your response. the both of you return to a mutual silence, staring into the portrait scenery ahead. the stream fills the soundscape pleasantly. fallen leaves have gathered at the base of your shoes, brushing over the tip gently with the turn of the wind. you observe them quietly.

“can i ask you another question?”

he seems a tad more timid now.

he definitely thinks you’re the type to blow up and give him an earful about minding his own business, doesn’t he?

you’d never raise your voice. in general, but also because it’d break the comfort of the scenery the world has so generously given you.

“sure.”

“do you believe in soulmates?”

‎the question is a little random but not impossible to answer by any means.

“no.”

“what?”

“i said not really.”

“you said no.”

“that’s the same thing.”

“...fair enough.”

‎he exhales out, sounding a little disheartened by your curt response. perhaps to him, you were a tough nut to crack; an ambiguity for him to understand. were all people like that? you weren’t playing hard to get, in fact, you’d answered every single enquiry he has had to offer. his efforts are amusing, though.

you raise a brow at him.

“i’m sorry, was that the wrong answer?”

for a moment, he doesn’t reply, stuffing his hands into his pockets, gazing down at the head of his shoe. pivoting his ankle, he draws small circles with the tip of his foot into the ground, into the dead leaves.

“not at all.”

“your expression says otherwise.”

“um, it was just a bit bleak, i guess.”

you let your arms droop way over the railing, fingers wading through the autumn air. you’d never really taken the concepts of soulmates to heart. it was romantic bullshit put out by somebody looking for a fantasy to indulge in. out of seven billion people, there could hardly be a singular person made for you. people aren’t born for other people. if that were the case, it wouldn’t be a rose-tinted fantasy. it would be suffocating. where’s the freedom in love?

“most people always answer like you these days anyway.”

“oh, sorry.”

he looks up at you, tilting his head.

“no, don’t be.”

back to a default mute, left with nothing but the faint chitter of overhead swallows and the odd rumble of cars passing by.

“tooru.” he states, after a while.

“what?”

“tooru. my name is tooru.”

“oh, okay.”

“oikawa tooru.”

‎your fingertips have become flushed. maybe you’d pressed a little too hard on that cold surface earlier. now that all your blood has come rushing back, the tingling sensation feels foreign.

his name slips of the tongue rather easily, don’t you think?

“nice to meet you, oikawa tooru.”

“it is nice, isn’t it?”

for the first time, your gazes meet properly and you offer him a crooked smile.

“i suppose so.”

off the side of the canal, almost right under the bridge, a small cluster of ducks have gathered. adult ducks tend to be considerably larger than its offspring —as is factual with any animal— so it’s easy for you to tell that there’s only one parent there, along with three of its ducklings.

people like to come to the canal to feed the ducks bread, though you’d heard somewhere that it’s actually quite bad for them.

you wonder. do ducks care particularly if one of its ducklings die? will it do something with the body, cry out, hurt?

or is grief exceptionally human?

“i don’t actually have a girlfriend, by the way.”

he sifts out his phone, tapping the screen and sliding it open. you watch him turn it to its side, before leaning over to take a picture of the depths below. you just watch.

“oh, okay.”

he doesn’t elaborate, focused intently on his current task. your attention returns to the shape of the birds, bobbing up and down rhythmically.

there’s only so much you can say about the canal. yeah, it’s beautiful. you don’t have the right vocabulary to describe the way it makes you feel. honestly, it feels abysmal to even try. you’re convinced though, that you’re in love with the way the water moves. you’ve always appriciated it whenever you walk past, told yourself jokingly that you could die there if you had to.

funny, that.

beautiful things tend to hurt in an unbearably amplified manner.

“say, tooru?”

“yeah?”

“if i climbed over the railing right now, would you stop me?”

you’re both fixated on the paddling now. his phone is back in his pocket, elbows propped up. he hums, taking his time to think over your question.

“most likely.”

your fingers meet one another and the tingling spreads to your palms.

“i’m thinking of jumping, actually.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

“my joke earlier...”

“yeah.”

his fingers drum rhythmically on the slender poles under the rail top.

“then i’d jump right in with you.”

the corners of his mouth tug slightly at your perplexity, supressing a chortle. he’s not laughing at you, though. it’s more a gesture of understanding. this tooru doesn’t know you at all, yet he gets it. he gets it all too well.

you get that he gets it.

tooru clears his throat. “bad day?”

“that’s an understatement.”

“well, you’re not a bad person for feeling the way you do.”

by now, the ducks have swam away, you can make out the general shape of them, melding into the distant, mute colours of the bankside. the sky look minutes away from being set alight. time has never been your friend, you see.

“i feel crazy for trying.” you’re rather blunt about it.

“fair enough.”

“…is that all?”

“well, do you want me to tell you that you’re not crazy?”

you lull into silence.

“i don’t know.”

with that, you shift to angle yourself so that he’s in your immediate peripheral, the thought of gawking at him seems ridiculous but you want to look at him. you find it hard to do it up front for some reason.

“i’m no suicide expert, but it’d probably be lonely doing something like that by yourself. wouldn’t it be comforting to know someone’s falling with you?”

your fingers run absently across the jagged surface of the rails, the old paint has been chipped away at, after all its years of protecting. in all it’s history, had anyone else hitched themselves over this very rail?

were they asking for the same answers as you?

god. that’s awful. you don’t want to think about that.

you catch each others’ eyes for a second but you resign quickly, focusing as hard as you can on the flecks of black on your thumb.

“that would be selfish of me.”

“not if i’m offering.”

you scramble to look anywhere else, abruptly turning. you’re facing away from the canal, stomach fluttering a little as you fall onto the rail’s length.

in all your time by yourself, you’d never been given an irrefutable reason to ‘be’. it’d always been a live-for-the-day type of experience. if a day is good, you’re utterly blissed out by it, totally in love with life. if it’s bad, you have little reason to go on. nothing particularly interests you enough to dedicate your days persuing it. fame seems tedious, looks are temporary, a six figure career sounds like emotional jail-time, or a slow, schedule-filled trek to death. whichever description sounds more sufferable.

you see, in essence, we all get off at the same bus stop. some journeys are simply shorter than others.

“you’re guilt-tripping me out of it.”

“i’m not!”

you’ve never stopped to ask yourself what it is you want.

death interests you, you suppose. though, you don’t see the reason to wait around and pretend to ignore it until one day it drags you kicking and screaming.

“oikawa tooru, don’t you have better things to be doing than offering to jump off bridges with strangers?”

that coy smile tugs at his lips once more. nothing you say seems to phase him. it’s like he knows you. he’s thinking: yeah, this isn’t anything out of the ordinary for them.

“should i? you look at that water like it’s someone you hate. or love. maybe both. i got curious.”

“curious?”

“yes. and quite frankly, you’ve left me curious. practically starving. you haven’t even told me your name.”

“my name doesn’t matter.”

“boo. that’s not true at all.”

his tongue pokes out, tugging at the corner of his eye. you shake your head, genuinely unable to hide your amusement, turning to him properly this time.

and really, it’s like the canal side and oikawa tooru were made from the same stardust. he blends right into the picture, as effortlessly pretty as the rest of it.

the strands of hair out of place, a little disheveled from the breeze. the scarf buried into his nose, glasses a little misty from the heat of his own breath but when they clear, you see his eyes all too well.

you’d like to tuck those strands into place, they’re bothering you just a little.

“(y/n).”

your brows furrow a little.

really, this could all very well be some sort of fantastical dream. as nice as it all is, it feels painfully unreal. boys don’t look like that on autumn evenings or offer to die with you.

that’s it.

tooru must be a figment of your imagination.

no. wrong. not a dream.

this is a corner of your mind you haven’t ventured into yet, psychologically, some kind of safety net. a sliced off piece of reality you’ve come to hide in because you’ve utterly lost your mind. he is nothing but a part of you that makes you feel at ease as you come to terms with your self-destruction.

god, that bothers you more. you are crazy.

your hand extends, reaches out all on its own.

you just want to know if he’s real.

oikawa tooru glances down for a moment, he’s probably wondering about you, what’s left you in such a state. though, he’s happy to slide his palm against yours, latching onto it. he shakes once, twice. a little more. tightens his hold a bit.

the weight of his fingers as they brush lightly against your palm is fantastical. he’s so warm. you can feel it spread through you from the pads of your fingers.

he’s very real.

tooru has rather pretty hands.

the contact makes you feel kind of delirious, a produce of being utterly touch-starved. just a simple touch. you’re embarrassed to say it but it takes everything inside of you not to start weeping or hold on frantically in case he does disappear, do something bizzare that’ll scare him away forever.

hey, tooru. are you made of honey?

“well, (y/n), i’m offering you my life right now.”

the sun has set foot on the horizon, plunging in ever so slightly. as a child, the thought of night scared you, feeling largely betrayed by the sun’s farewell. now, it’s a unique kind of comfort to see the moon. it’s as lonely as those who lay their eyes upon it.

“i don’t want it.”

his fingers slip downwards against the dips of your palm.

“you don’t?”

“no, i mean... i don’t want death. not right now..”

you don’t even want to think about it anymore. funny, how things like that work. you were so sure of it. today was the day. your dark rendezvous. weren’t you itching for it?

this bastard.

this man you’ve never met. he clasps onto your hand once and suddenly he stops your nauseating rollercoaster of thoughts and leaves you wondering if, actually, you’d like to see the canal-side again tomorrow, or in fifty years.

who are you really, oikawa tooru?

“no?”

“yeah.”

“then what do you want to do?”

“stay right here, i think.”

your fingers curl, maintaining your hold on him. you should be shy or awkward about this whole ordeal but so you’re desperate for that warmth to continue.

you both stand there, facing one another, hands extended. it’s a little robotic looking. you’re pretty stiff but very sure this is what feels right.

to you, existence is based solely on feeling your way through stages of life. that sickeningly sweet innocence of youth. childhood memories that to you, are dwindled husks of gold, valuable in some aspects but almost meaningless in others. to laugh or to cry allows an individual to create a deep-set connection to the environment around them. it is no longer passing scenery but a moment in your life you once lived through.

that’s beautiful, isn’t it?

unfortunately, emotion provides both a living fantasy and the potential for agony. life is not sweet, nor innocent. it is what you make of it.

it is what your mind is forced to make of it.

and as much as one wishes they were as coddled and loved as they were children, life beyond those years is lonely, difficult and more than you were ever capable of.

were you weak? perhaps.

but maybe people aren’t built for life. we’re all weak.

and realistically, if you are unable to clamber over one obstacle after another -established by those before you- you’re doomed to fall behind.

that will hurt. you will hurt unforgivably because self-worth is no longer a beautiful gift of internal discovery and love but another way to be measured and downsized externally. a practice that leads to hatred. a desire to die.

that’s really where it all began for you. a romantic, a poet at heart, living inside your own, kinder world. that is until reality knocked on your door, invited itself in, just to set the entire thing on fire and leave you as vulnerable as the day you were born.

you aren’t allowed to hide. it comes looking for you eventually.

your stance on life hasn’t changed, afterall, you’ve spent nights mourning over how much it can hurt to live. to fall asleep exhausted with yourself, only to wake up and do it all over again. what you do know, however, is that droning, lonely feeling isn’t there right now. that ongoing, battering ruckus inside your head has ceased. tooru, the strange magician, has left you thoughtless and a little dumb.

you like being this stupid. for once, there’s nothing intrusive prodding the inside of your head.

it’s frightfully quiet, actually. you don’t know what you’re feeling right now. how much time has passed since he’d made that awful joke?

his gaze is on your lingering contact, before lightly pulling you closer, twisting his wrist down so you’re holding hands. your gaze moves to the bankside. you feel comforted. maybe it isn’t death, maybe all you want is a hand to hold.

probably not. that is a stupid, sappy thought. you’re still fanatic about ending your life.

you were so close to doing it, without even really understanding what you were doing. the canal scenery is overpowering, numbing, if you will. without oikawa tooru, you may well have kissed those fishs’ fluorescent scales with your own two lips, as cold as ice with some unfortunate early-morning runner discovering you by twilight.

“we can do that.” he hesitates. “if i’m honest, i would have been pretty scared to jump.”

“yet you still offered?”

tooru hums merrily in confirmation.

“why?”

“because you’re cute.”

you can’t believe your own ears.

“what? seriously?”

“yeah. originally, i wanted your number but things took a small turn.”

you burst out in gutteral laughter, free hand back onto the railing for support. for a moment, you look at him, shaking your head in utter amazement.

“you’re a piece of work, tooru, you know?”

“yeah, i know.”

he smiles back at you. the shadows cast by the setting sun only make him all the more enigmatic.

now that you think about it, you can’t figure this guy out at all. it’s like staring at a wordless piece of paper and trying to find something legible.

“how do you know i won’t come back and repeat all of this tomorrow?”

tooru tilts his head ever so slightly, observing you. his eyes flutter down to your lips, speaking like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“because you told me your name.”

“what does that have to do with anything?”

“well, now that i know that, you’re no longer just a beautiful stranger.”

you understood now. he hadn’t just offered you his life, he’d offered you him. by living on, you’d accepted graciously. he knows that if you visit the canal side again, you’ll only remember this moment.

a bad moment that he, in all his glory, turned into a good one. the day you two first met.

oh, clever boy. he saved you.

though you must say, oikawa tooru, you’re very much mistaken.

you are the beautiful stranger.

a tear runs down your cheek, a little warmer than you could’ve expected.

one turns into two, slipping more and more. eventually, you’re standing over the canal, hand in hand with oikawa tooru, sobbing quietly as the water runs peacefully below the both of you.

[phoebenavarro]

the more things change

rarepair time! I have not known peace since mag117. feat backup archivist martin with beholding powers

the magnus archives, martinelias, 2100 words, warning for dubcon kissing

read on ao3 here

“Jon is in trouble,” Martin says as he bursts into Elias’s office. A few months ago, the concept of doing something so brazenly rude to Elias would have made him freeze on the spot. It’s funny how things change, Martin thinks bitterly, and how things stay the same. He’s still terrified of Elias, although now for completely different reasons.

“Martin,” Elias replies, “Come in. What can I do for you?” He glances up at Martin briefly before returning to his paperwork.

Martin’s brain stutters. He didn’t really think this through, and he didn’t expect Elias to be so nonplussed.

“Jon’s in trouble,” Martin repeats, some of his anxiety chased away by a need to do something slowly creeping back in, “and I’m worried,” he finishes, summoning back the indignation he feels towards Elias at all times lately.

“Did something in particular happen?” Elias asks, “Because ‘worried’ seems to be a constant state of being for you.” He sounds bored, and that makes Martin angry, angry that Elias clearly doesn’t care about Jon’s well-being, and deeper down, angry that Elias doesn’t take him seriously.

Martin scoffs, but he realizes he can’t really explain what actually brought him to Elias’s office. He clenches his jaw.

“I don’t know!” he grits out, “Jon was fine, on the bus in America, then he was at a rest stop and a woman came up to him and forced him into her car.”

That makes Elias look up, and his gaze is even more piercing than normal, like he’s trying to rip through Martin with his eyes.

“How did you know that?” Elias asks, his tone so severe that Martin folds in on himself.

“I-I don’t know!” he squeaks, and he frowns. He realizes he really doesn’t know how he knew that. “I just— I had a feeling, I guess…?” He trails off. Even he knows how weak that sounds.

“I don’t think you did,” Elias says, raising one of his perfect eyebrows at Martin, “You just knew, didn’t you?”

Martin stutters, trying to come up with some explanation, but he realizes that Elias is right. He just knew.

Fuck, Martin just knew. He sinks into the chair across from Elias, stunned. Elias’s face breaks out into a grin. He chuckles quietly.

“See, this is what I like about you, Martin. You don’t lie to yourself. Oh, you may spend all your time lying to everyone else, keeping them at arm’s length because you’re terrified they won’t like you if they get to know the real you, but you’re honest to yourself.”

Martin stares at Elias, thrown off-kilter by being told such intimate things about himself so matter-of-factly. He wonders if that’s how Elias sounded when he did whatever it was he did to Melanie. “W-what?”

Elias leans back in his chair, grinning. “You know, when I asked you to start recording statements, I never expected you to progress quite this quickly.”

Martin’s eyes harden. “Are you saying I have freaky eye powers now? Like Jon?” Of course Elias planned for this, wanted this, and Martin just went along with it. Elias stands and crosses to the other side of the desk, perching on it across from Martin.

“Not quite like Jon, no. Jon is the Archivist. I’m sure your own Becoming will be different.” Elias turns his gaze back to Martin, but this time it feels more appraising. Elias leans forward, and Martin feels cold dread pooling in his gut. “I’m actually quite pleased. This is a promising development.”

“R-right, but what does that actually mean, though?” Martin asks, trying to stay calm and refusing to think of the implications of him being able to just know things. Elias wants to knock him off balance, keep him a stammering mess so he won’t get any answers out of him. “Is this going to keep happening? Will I develop other… abilities?”

“Yes, it will keep happening as you get stronger. As for if you’ll gain more abilities, I don’t know, Martin.” He leans forward. “But I’ll enjoy watching.”

“O-Okay, but what does that mean? Practically? I mean, the Eye’s not giving me these powers out of the goodness of its heart. What do I have to do? Can I stop it?”

Elias smiles at him with an almost unbearable fondness, which Martin has never seen from him before, and it makes Martin uneasy. “I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do to stop it at this point,” he says, and Martin sighs. Figures. “You don’t need to be doing anything you won’t be doing already, just reading statements.”

“Right, as I become less and less human,” Martin spits.

“Being human isn’t everything, Martin. You’re not going to stop being yourself.” Elias’s smile turns cruel. “But maybe you’d like that, to stop worrying about being good and nice all the time. Doesn’t it get exhausting?” Elias asks conspiratorially.

Martin narrows his eyes at him, refusing to rise to the bait. “You knew about my CV the whole time, didn’t you,” Martin says. It’s not a question, but Elias answers anyway.

“Oh, yes,” he chuckles, “It’s why I hired you in the first place. It impressed me, honestly. Such a bald-faced lie, you were so terrified, but you barely even flinched. It was charming, really.”

“Charming,” Martin repeats skeptically.

Elias tsks. “Come now, Martin, I know you don’t think highly of yourself, but is it really so hard to believe that someone would find you charming?”

Martin seriously doubts that anyone has found him charming in his life. Cute, maybe, but charming? No.

“Why…” Martin begins, but he shakes his head, “It doesn’t matter. What about Jon?”

“What about him?”

“Is he in danger?”

“Almost certainly,” Elias smiles, “but he’s survived worse. You’ll just have to trust me.”

Martin starts laughing. “You— you cannot expect me to trust you, after you trapped all of us here, after you let Sasha get killed— for God’s sake, you admitted to murdering two people! And now! I’m getting monster powers because of you.”

Elias rolls his eyes. “Martin. Don’t start lying to yourself now. I gave you the push, but you embraced the Eye on your own.” He places his hand on Martin’s shoulder, his thumb resting against Martin’s neck in a possessive way that makes Martin’s heart skip a beat. “Your need to know more hasn’t been as fervent as Jon’s, but it’s there. You tell yourself it’s to help Jon, but really, it’s all you.”

Martin finds himself unable to move away, despite how much he wants to, almost hypnotized as Elias moves his hand up to cup Martin’s cheek. His breath catches in his throat. He has no idea the last time he was this close to someone, and even on his loneliest nights, he never thought Elias would be the next person to touch him like this.

Martin has no way of knowing if Elias is actually telling the truth, or if he’s just trying to manipulate him. Probably a bit of both, he thinks.

“I just don’t know how you can keep letting Jon get hurt,” Martin says, trying to push on like Elias is not tenderly cradling his face, “I mean, he’s your archivist, whatever that means. I’d think out of all of us, he’s the one you’d care what happens to.”

Elias sighs. “I don’t like it much either, but that’s how these things go. It’s necessary for Jon to grow into his potential.”

“So, what?” Martin stares at Elias defiantly, “You’re just going to leave us in the dark? Let us get killed? Do you care at all?”

Elias strokes Martin’s cheek with his thumb, and Martin shivers. “I am sorry about Sasha,” he says quietly, “I didn’t want that to happen to her.”

And Martin, God help him, believes Elias. Maybe that’s why he still doesn’t pull away when Elias’s other hand comes to rest at Martin’s hip, when he leans in to press his lips to Martin’s. Martin freezes as Elias kisses him, but Elias doesn’t seem bothered that Martin isn’t responding.

“What are you doing,” Martin breathes as Elias pulls away briefly.

“I thought that was obvious,” Elias quips, and he settles into Martin’s lap, straddling him. Martin makes a surprised noise, but he doesn’t push him away.

“Why, then?” Martin asks, looking at Elias warily.

Elias squeezes his hip. “Because you’re mine,” he says with a predatory glint to his eyes. Martin’s blood runs cold, and now he tries to push Elias away, but Elias’s grip on him tightens, and Martin can’t get the leverage he needs. “The others may also be tied to me, but none of them have embraced their roles like you have. It has been truly a pleasure to watch you come into your own over the years.”

Martin looks away, his eyes burning. He thinks about his younger self, when he started at the Institute. He had been absolutely terrified of Elias and the way he seemed to see right through him, but also because he thought Elias was gorgeous. He still does, he supposes, especially with Elias so close to him. They’re so far beyond that now; Martin wishes Elias was just a normal, intimidatingly handsome boss. Elias brushes one of Martin’s curls behind his ear before leaning in to whisper in it.

“Do you want to know what I think? Being trapped working at the Institute doesn’t upset you as much as you think it should. Where else would you go? You’ve worked here your entire adult life, and few places will be as open to your lack of formal qualifications. You want to be angry like Tim, but you’re actually relieved. For the first time, you’re not worried about losing your job. You hate the way reading statements makes you feel, but you love feeling useful. For Jon,” he nibbles on Martin’s earlobe, making Martin gasp, “And for me.”

It’s horrible, but what’s more horrible is how Martin doesn’t want Elias to stop. He doesn’t want Elias to stop touching him; he doesn’t want Elias to stop telling him all the awful things about himself Martin usually buries deep within.

Elias grips Martin’s chin and forces him to look him in his grey eyes. Eyes that are unusually warm, and Martin’s face is so hot that he’s sure Elias can feel it.

“Oh, look at you,” Elias croons, “You’re lovely.” And that is finally too much for Martin; it feels like Elias is mocking him, there’s no way he can be sincere.

“Stop,” Martin says, and it feels far too much like begging for mercy. Elias frowns.

“Alright,” he says, “But I do mean it, you know. You are lovely like this.”

“Get off me,” Martin says, and he tries to make his voice sound as commanding as possible, but it comes out breathy and weak.

“Is that what you want? Really?” Elias asks, idly running his hand up Martin’s flank.

No, Martin’s treacherous brain says, and Martin desperately tries to remind himself that the man sitting in his lap is a murderer. Elias grins like he heard that, and hell, maybe he did; Martin doesn’t know how his powers work. Martin doesn’t know what he wants at this point, clearly, only that the weight of Elias in his lap shouldn’t be as comforting as it is.

Elias presses one more chaste kiss to his lips before climbing off Martin with a contented sigh.

“Well,” he says, “I think this development is worthy of celebration, don’t you?” Martin stares at him, slack-jawed as he continues. “Would you like to get dinner tonight?”

Martin knows he should say no, should tell Elias to fuck off, and he should tell Elias off for kissing him and touching him like that on top of everything else, but. It’s an opportunity to get Elias alone and maybe get some answers out of him for once, and Martin can’t pass that up. He knows that’s giving into the Eye even more, and he can already hear Elias’s smug voice telling him just that, but he can’t keep living like this, constantly in the dark, not knowing what’s going on or if Jon has been kidnapped again. Martin’s going to get a stress ulcer at this rate. And well, if it’s true that there’s no way out of this for him, then at the very least he’s going to use this to help the others as much as he can. (Martin ignores the way he can still feel the ghost of Elias’s lips on his own, or how he doesn’t actually hate that Elias had kissed him.)

Martin shrugs. “Sure, if you’re paying,” he says, and he doesn’t miss the way Elias gives a genuine laugh at that. Elias acting so openly… fond of him will take some getting used to, but as they walk to the restaurant Elias has chosen, Martin finds himself thinking of ways to exploit that affection.

[timelordthirteen]

Desperate Souls 5/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit

Summary: A broke and heartbroken Belle French comes to an agreement with Mr. Gold to do a little modeling, just for him, in exchange for the money she desperately needs, but it isn’t long before they both realize they’ve made a deal they didn’t understand. Based on this prompt.

Chapter Summary: Gold surprises himself, and Belle, with a change to their deal, and later he exposes Moe's money troubles to Belle.

Notes: Work has been ultra shitty, I'm burned out (thanks, 2020), and my writing has definitely suffered. Sorry this took so long to get out. This is all Gold's POV so enjoy a tiny peek inside his head. Another unbeta’d mess.

[AO3]

Alastair Gold huffed and frowned down at the figures in his ledger.

He’d been doing far too much of that lately, specifically due to the fact that Moe French had failed to make the second payment on what he owed. There was also the matter of his arrangement with the lovely Miss French, which had gone fairly well after two weeks, despite the fact that in some ways his original plans had backfired.

He had hoped that she would either realize the substance of the deal she had made and renege in a fit of disgust, or that the awkwardness of the situation would temper his affinity for her sufficiently that he could finally put it aside. Neither had occurred. Worse yet, upon her early arrival in the first week, he had invited her to dine with him, and then, perhaps even more appalling, he had sent her home from her second visit with leftovers. It was entirely unlike him to be welcoming, social, or thoughtful towards anyone, at least not once he’d learned how to survive in the world, but somehow Miss French brought out a latent instinct to - care.

It was annoying to say the least, and he flipped the ledger closed with a huff.

He pushed to his feet and stepped through the heavy, fringed curtain that covered the doorway between the front of the shop and his work room in the back at the same moment that the bell over the door clanged. Abruptly, he stopped, planting his cane and leaning to the side to take the weight off his bad leg.

Belle French entered the shop, flakes of snow falling from her purple peacoat as she turned from the door, and Gold groaned inwardly. She faced him and flashed the same small smile that had graced her delicate features when she arrived at his house, and he momentarily mourned the loss of the wide, bright grins she used to give him when he came to collect the rent.

Sighing, he came forward and stopped behind the counter. “Miss French, what can I do for you?”

She walked up to him and lifted a plastic shopping bag from which she withdrew a square food storage container. “I came to return this.”

He shifted, drawing himself up stiffly, and then reached for the container, taking it from her outstretched hand.

“And to say thank you,” she added as he set it aside. “I, uh, I washed it.”

Gold inclined his head slightly, wondering why she hadn’t waited until Thursday to return it. It wasn’t as if he was in great need of it on a Monday afternoon. “You’re quite welcome.”

“I don’t suppose you do seconds?” she asked, eyebrows lifting as her mouth curved.

It took him a moment, but he realized she was joking, and he let out a short chuckle. “Ah, no, not usually,” he replied. “You would be the first to ask in any case, so I will take that as the compliment that I’m sure was intended.”

“It absolutely was,” she said, her eyes drifting to the container before coming back to him. “It was delicious, the best thing I’ve had since I had your beef burgundy.”

That made him grin. “Thank you, Miss French.”

She fiddled with the charm that dangled from the zipper of her purse and eased forward until she could peer down into the jewelry case to the left of the counter. Her eyes seemed to be searching for something, and he shifted sideways, abruptly drawing her attention.

“It’s not there,” he said, assuming she was seeking out her former engagement ring. “I haven’t decided what to do with it yet.”

“Ah.” She stepped back, and glanced towards the door, seemingly trying to decide whether or not now was an appropriate time to flee his presence, but then she faced him again and asked, “Do you cook often?”

Gold shrugged. “Usually just Mondays and Thursdays. There’s usually enough leftovers to get me through the rest of the days.”

She smiled. “Except for when you’re craving one of Granny’s burgers?”

“Yes,” he replied, nodding as his lips curved, “except for those occasions.”

“So I should expect your house to smell delicious every time I come over?”

The light teasing tone to her voice made his lips twitch in amusement as he barely suppressed a smile. In truth, the idea of sharing another meal with her was entirely too pleasing, and before he could think better of it he informed her that he almost always had dinner ready by six. The implication was there, but she gave him a strange look.

“Should you arrive by then,” he explained, “I would not be opposed to your company.”

Belle frowned. “Are you, um, are you amending our deal?”

He shook his head, sighing inwardly. “No, this has nothing to do with our arrangement. It is simply an offering of food, which I frequently have plenty of with no one else to appreciate it.”

She let his words hang for a long, awkward moment, and then nodded. “Okay.”

“Yes?” He asked, eyebrows lifted in obvious surprise at her answer.

“Yeah,” she said, adjusting the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder, “why not?”

He could think of a hundred reasons why she shouldn’t, but he swallowed them down. “Very well then.”

At that she smiled. “Have a good evening, Mr. Gold.”

“MIss French,” he managed, after she’d spun on her heel and begun striding towards the door. She paused there, and turned back to look at him right before she pushed it open and left.

A second later, he braced against the back of the jewelry case with both hands and slumped forward, exhaling heavily. He cursed quietly, chastising his weakness. Spending more time in Belle French’s company was both exactly what he wanted, and the last thing that he needed.

Wednesday morning found Gold once again pondering the matter of Moe French’s unpaid debt.

Valentine’s Day was this weekend, and he wondered if Belle had gone ahead with her promise to give her father extra money.. If she had, then she would have had to do so with the money Gold had paid her, and he frowned. Moe’s stated reason for borrowing money was that he wanted to purchase additional floral stock to cover the increased orders that such a holiday always brought.

What Gold couldn’t understand was why, if that were the case, Moe hadn’t used the money he got from Belle to pay off his debt. Surely Belle would allow her father a leniency that Moe knew he couldn’t expect from Gold, and borrowing from Belle to pay him made the most sense. It felt as though Moe had taken advantage of him twice, in a way, and it only made his mood more sour.

Pushing to his feet, Gold decided that a visit to Game of Thorns was in order, and several minutes later, he was hit by the distinct, and nearly overpowering, scent of fresh flowers. He stopped just inside the door, and waited, his gloved hands folded over his cane.

“Gold,” came Moe French’s voice, “what are - what are you, uh - can I help you?”

He flashed his teeth in a snide smile. “I certainly hope so, Mr. French, considering how much I’ve helped you recently.”

The statement hung in the air between them, the implication sharp enough to make Moe swallow as he fidgeted with a thick, black marker in his left hand.

“Uh, well, uh, now isn’t -”

“Papa?”

Belle’s voice called out from the back of the shop, and Gold’s eyebrows lifted as he stared at Moe.

“Papa, I have to get to the library, but I’ll come back later to help with the -” She stopped abruptly between a refrigerated case half full of bundles of red roses, and a tiered display of multi-colored carnations. “Oh… Mr. Gold. What are you doing here? The rent isn’t due for two weeks.”

She brushed her hands over the front of her black leather skirt, and then tugged the sides of her red cardigan forward. The motion drew Gold’s eyes to the front of the thin, white button down she wore. When he lifted his gaze to hers, there was the faintest flush to her cheeks, exactly as there had been each time she’d come to his house and modeled her delicate underthings. His lips curved, and he could see the way she physically recoiled, her hands pulling the sweater closed over her chest as her shoulders hunched ever so slightly.

It was interesting how different she seemed today in comparison to Monday when he had foolishly invited her to dinner. He attributed most of that to Moe’s presence, but he couldn’t help thinking there might be something else as well. Perhaps she had rethought his offer and would not be showing up early tomorrow night. The disappointment he felt at the possibility irked him, but he immediately redirected his irritation at Moe.

The grin that creased Gold’s face was vicious. “Would you like to explain, Mr. French, or shall I?”

Belle frowned and came to stand next to her father, her eyes flicking back and forth from him to Gold. “What’s going on? Papa?”

Moe drew himself up, seemingly bolstered by Belle’s support. “Going to shake me down in front of my own daughter, Gold?”

Gold’s head tilted in amusement. “Hardly. I am only here about what I am legally owed.”

“What is he talking about? Did you borrow money from Mr. Gold?” Belle’s voice was sharp and her arms folded as her focus snapped to Moe. He offered no reply, only a gaping mouth and wide eyes, so she turned to Gold. “What did he do?”

Gold licked his lips and met Belle’s steely gaze. “One month ago, your father borrowed $2,500 dollars from me, under the guise of purchasing more stock for Valentine’s Day. He made the first payment one day late, but completely missed the second.”

“What?” Belle’s eyes flashed with anger as she spun on her heel and faced her father. “Papa, is - is that true?”

“Have I ever lied to you, Miss French?” Gold asked, mildly affronted.

She ignored him for the moment and put a hand on Moe’s arm. “Papa, look at me.”

Moe shrugged her off and shook his head. “You don’t understand, Belle, I needed the money. I had -”

“But I was going to give you the money!” She blinked repeatedly and ran a hand through her hair as she turned away. She took a few steps towards the refrigerator case, and then shook her head. “If you borrowed from Gold,” she said, turning back, “What the hell did you need my money for? And where are all the flowers?”

“That’s precisely what I was wondering…” Gold’s lips twitched as he looked from Belle to Moe. The truth was that he might know exactly what Moe was doing with the money, but bringing that up in this moment wouldn’t achieve anything except further upsetting Belle.

“Your second payment is now five hundred, Mr. French, plus the remaining balance of the loan means you owe me thirteen hundred dollars at the end of the month.”

Belle took a staggering step, catching herself on the edge of the counter, and Gold squeezed the handle of his cane. She righted herself and shook her head, dazedly looking back and forth from him to her father and back again. Her expression seemed a mix of confusion and anger, and the glare she gave him was as sharp as it was cold. He rocked back on his heels, frowning inwardly. She had no reason to be miffed at him when Moe was the one who had lied to her.

“What did you need the money for?” she asked finally.

“Belle, please don’t -”

The look she gave her father abruptly halted his words and had him slumping forward over the cash register.

“What...did you need...the money for?” she repeated, pausing to point at her father.

Moe shook his head, giving her little more than a sideways glance. “Leave it alone, Belle.”

She sucked in a breath through her nose, her jaw tensing, and Gold sensed she was ready to explode, perhaps violently. He’d never seen her like this, and he was momentarily grateful that she was no longer directing any of it at him. He thought perhaps he should slip out and let whatever family issues there were work themselves out without an audience, but then she huffed and shook her head.

“You know what, never mind.” She turned and stalked towards the back of the shop, stopping in the doorway to look back.

Moe didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the bottom edge of the register, but Gold caught her gaze and nearly flinched. Her eyes were wide and appeared to be on the verge of tears, but in a heartbeat they narrowed at him, fixing him with a stern, lingering look. A second later, Belle disappeared into the back room, and a long moment after that a door slammed. Moe startled at that and looked up, letting out a heavy sigh.

“My my,” Gold muttered.

“You bastard,” Moe snapped. “This is your fault!”

Gold’s eyebrows lifted. “Exactly how is your failure to pay your debts on time, and be honest with your daughter, my issue?”

“You - you - you did that on purpose! Coming in here when Belle was in the back, you knew she was here and you - you -”

Gold stepped forward until he could lean on the counter. He braced with one hand and with the other shifted his cane up and jabbed Moe roughly in the shoulder with the handle. Moe staggered back, holding his upper arm as if he had actually been injured. Then Gold sneered and brought the cane down sharply on the top of the counter, rattling the old register hard enough that the cash drawer popped open.

“The full balance, Mr. French, by the end of the month.”

Moe looked aghast. “Where - where am I going to get the money?”

Gold tsked, lifting his cane and smirking at the way Moe recoiled, before letting it slide slowly back down through his gloved hand until the end thumped against the floor. “That’s your problem.”

“Bastard,” Moe spat. “Bloody monster!”

He shook his head, biting back the urge to throw his arrangement with Belle in Moe’s face. If he was going to be called such names, he wanted them to be duly earned. He wanted Moe to know that while he was lying and pissing away his money on God knows what vices, that every Thursday night he indulged his own vices in the manner of a very lovely lingerie clad Belle. Despite how much he would enjoy the look of horror that would no doubt contort Moe French’s face, the thought of embarrassing Belle in such a way was too distasteful. Not to mention it would spell the end of their arrangement, and he wasn’t ready for that to happen yet, certainly not when he might enjoy even more of her company if she actually came to dinner.

“As terrible as I may be,” Gold said, evenly, “at least I’m not stealing from my own child and then lying about it.” Moe slumped appropriately, and he added, “Five hundred by Monday, and you can have three full weeks for the rest. That’s my last concession.”

Moe hurled one last curse at his back as he left, a self satisfied smirk on his face.

It was after six when a furious Belle French stormed into the pawn shop.

The bell over the door rattled sharply, more of a clang than a ring, as if it was heralding her rage. Gold looked up from the receipts he was reviewing, eyebrows lifted, but otherwise nonplused.

“The shop is closed,” he said flatly.

Belle stalked towards him, her heels thumping sharply on the old wood floor. “The door was open,” she countered.

His eyes narrowed. “The sign says closed.”

She stopped at the counter, her arms folded, wearing the same glare she’d given him when she left her father’s shop earlier in the day. “Tell me everything about your deal with my father.”

His head tilted slightly. “I don’t believe you have any legal standing to -”

Her fist came down on the counter hard and swift enough to scatter the stack of receipts. “Cut the shit, Gold. I’m not leaving until I get the truth.”

Gold exhaled and leaned on the edge of the counter. “Very well. Moe came to me just after the first of the year, and requested a personal loan of $2500. He said it was to purchase extra stock for Valentine’s Day, which he assured me would result in him making a significant profit and thus having no issues with paying me back on time.”

She shook her head and scoffed. “And now that he hasn’t paid you, you’re what? Charging late fees you know he can’t afford? Extorting him for more money?”

Gold bristled. “I do not extort anyone.”

“Right,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Miss French,” he snapped, “let me be <>very clear. Everything about my business is fully legal and above board. I charge a full percent less interest than the local banks for the same loan. I provide the money just as fast, and in whatever form the borrower needs be that cash, check, or direct deposit. Yes, there is a late fee for failing to make a payment on time, the same as any of those banks would do, but unlike most of them I charge a simple flat fee, not a percentage.”

Belle swallowed, her arms shifting to wrap around her middle.

“Your father,” Gold continued as he turned around and unlocked the drawer of the large cabinet behind him, “knows full well what my terms are given how many times he’s borrowed from me.”

He faced Belle again and set down a large file folder stuffed with papers. “If you’d like to review the terms of any of the loans I’ve made to him, including the current one at issue, feel free. I normally keep all of this very confidential, but I’m willing to make an exception this once.”

Her eyes went wide at the size of the folder. Hesitantly, she reached out and flipped it open, gasping when she saw her father’s name on what looked like a very standard financial form. She had signed something similar when she leased her apartment from Gold. Her face paled and she sighed heavily, closing the folder.

“I believe you,” she said softly.

Gold took a breath, and then returned the folder to the drawer. He didn’t like confronting Belle with the evidence of her father’s lies, but she had been the one to start throwing accusations around.

“If he already had the money from you, then why did he need it from me?” she asked, shaking her head again. “I don’t understand what he’s doing.”

He sighed and met her plaintive gaze. “I’m afraid I don’t either, Miss French.”

“He has a massive stack of orders at the shop,” she continued. “That’s why I was there, I was helping him get them together when you showed up. But - but he clearly doesn’t have enough to fill them all, so he didn’t use the money to buy more flowers.”

Gold nodded. “I find that curious as well.”

Belle huffed and looked to the side where the jewelry case was. Her ring was still absent, and after a long moment, she asked, “Did you know?”

“Did I know what?”

She met his eyes with a stern look. “When I came in here that night, with my ring and my - did you know all this then?”

Gold exhaled and then nodded again. “I had already loaned your father the money, yes, and he had already missed a payment when you came to me. I also suspected he hadn’t used it for flowers, which was confirmed today. Though what he did do with it, I don't know.”

She frowned. “And you didn’t tell me, even though you knew that I promised to give him money?”

“Yes,” he admitted quietly. Hearing it out loud made him feel as though he’d done something wrong, that he had lied by omission, and a knot formed in his gut. The disappointment on her face troubled him even more. “I didn’t feel it was my place to tell you what your father was doing. It was his business, his responsibility to tell you.”

“But it was your place to take advantage of me?”

Gold’s lips curved. She was right, after a fashion, and the way she’d barged into his shop and confronted him, gotten him to admit what he’d known, was astonishingly brave. Few would have dared to do such a thing, but Belle seemed to have no qualms about calling out his actions for what they were. She was quite - amazing.

“Well, I could never resist a desperate soul.” he said, flashing his teeth. She recoiled a bit at that, and his expression shifted. “But, no, I was not using my knowledge of your father’s loan to take advantage of you. I would have offered you the same deal even if he owed me nothing. But, if you feel that way, and would like to terminate our arrangement -”

“No.”

Her abrupt response surprised him, and he waited in silence until she spoke again.

“No, I don’t want to go back on our deal.”

Gold’s lips twitched again, pleased by her answer. “Very well.”

She exhaled and took a step back. “I’ll, um, I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

He nodded once, and watched as she hurried back to the door of the shop. “Good night, Miss French.”

Wordlessly, she glanced back at him, and then slipped through the door.

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.30}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

"Yet. Right." Robin repeated in a sigh, then removed her wand from her hair when the bun started hurting her head. It did little to lessen the headache that was starting to drum through her skull, but shaking her hair out of the restraint at least took some of the tension away. Little victories like that were important too.

"Actually, we do have a few answers now." Snape said after a moment, after again watching gravity at work on untangling the mess of waves cascading down Robin's back. "Morgan did come in here, and he most likely was talking about the portrait today indeed. We still have to see about the earrings, in due time. Other than that, we now have an answer to a question that goes all the way back to the start of this term."

"What do you mean?"

"The night of the welcoming feast. Morgan brought it up himself today, which quite honestly is what made me draw the connection in the first place."

"Right… You mean the entire ordeal in the hallway which McGonagall brought to an end."

"Yes. During your encounter back then, Morgan wanted to hold on to your locket as a keepsake. That line of behavior would certainly make more sense if at that point he already was in the possession of the portrait, seeing as the locket is perhaps not the most obvious, but indeed the most palpable connection between you and the woman portrayed. He hardly would have known about the locket otherwise, seeing as it isn't the most noticeable piece of jewelry."

"You're absolutely right… I should've thought of that connection way earlier!" Robin groaned in annoyance at herself, astonishment at the fact, and concern at the implications. How Snape even remembered little details like that was incredible in its own right, but the fact that Morgan might have been after the locket because of the portrait was a revelation she hadn't thought would clear the picture of the past events in her mind quite so much. Things at last started making a little more sense. "My locket and the portrait are connected somehow, that much we already could tell years ago. But it makes me uneasy to think that Morgan has something to do with it."

"Likewise. Perhaps you should take it off for the time being, until the issue is solved."

"Yeah… The bracelet too, probably, sad as that makes me. It was the first thing you gave to me that I didn't have to return by the end of the week like the books I borrowed." She smiled up at him, a sad half smile that showed defeat more than humour. "But you were the first person who ever gave me anything for my birthday at all, who ever thought of me in the first place, and that's all that matters to me. I can live without a piece of jewelry."

"I really was the first to give you a gift for your birthday? In all of eighteen years?"

"Yes. The very best gift even, when you got Jorien and Cas to make me see the day as a real celebration worth having. But I have to admit, you asking Dumbledore to take the bracelet out of this room was also-..." Robin cut herself off in the middle of her sentence, then stopped in her track and stood glued to the spot. The nagging in her mind turned into a sledgehammer that tore down the brick wall that had obscured her sight before, but now that it was gone, she could finally see. Or rather, she could wonder.

"What is it?" Snape asked as he came to stand right in front of her, both concerned and curious as ever. That really was a good way to sum up both of their sentiments currently, concerned and curious. "Robin?"

"Wait a second…" She replied on autopilot, while her mind pondered a question that she finally decided to voice when she couldn't answer it herself. "When you wanted to give me the bracelet, did you ask Dumbledore before or after removing it from this room?"

"Before, obviously, because-…" Now it was him who stopped in the middle of the sentence, when he caught on to Robin's line of thought. "Because one cannot remove from this place what was left for storage here without the current headmaster's permission."

"That's what I thought." Robin replied with a long breath, then jumped into action to look around herself in a sudden spark of adrenaline, upon which she finally picked up a random book from a pile to her right. "Let's test that theory, shall we?"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, it-..." He didn't get any further, for Robin had crossed the remaining few steps towards the door, then opened it and tossed the book through the opening and out into the hallway beyond. She tried to, at least, for the book got caught in the air in the middle of the door frame, floating there for but a broken second, before it was catapulted right back into the room of hidden things at a speed that turned the harmless piece of literature into a lethal projectile. Robin was just lucky that Snape pulled her out of the way in an instant, otherwise the flying book would have taken quite a bit of work off Morgan's hands. They didn't have time for her timely end right now!

"You really are remarkable at putting yourself in harm's way." Snape huffed in concern-turned-annoyance when the loud clattering of the book's distant landing had subsided, and it was just then that Robin realized how desperately he was clawing onto her right now. She felt bad for repeatedly scaring him in an instant; first the thing with Morgan –which hadn't technically been her fault, but it still counted to worry him– and now this thoughtlessness on her end. Or rather the result of too much thinking, and too little care for the real world results in contrast to the intellectual gain of the endeavour. Why was she only ever truly scared of getting hurt by people, not by something she did to herself? It was one more thing to work on at some point.

"You're remarkable at keeping me out of harm's way in return. And to be fair, I didn't think it would do that out of all the things it could've done." She finally replied with a weak half smile as she looked up at him. No. Humour wouldn't do now, that much was clearly written on his face. She sighed in resignation. "I'm sorry. That was stupid of me, I should've known better. This whole day, the thing with Morgan… it has thrown me into an odd ambivalence myself. I'm absolutely terrified and at the same time all the adrenaline makes me act like I'm bloody invincible. But that's no excuse, it really was just stupid of me and I'm sorry."

"Coming that close to death doesn't pass by anyone without consequences. Neither does torture." He said after a few seconds of silence, with an expression almost as guilty as Robin's own. "It is only too reasonable that your behaviour is rather erratic, and even if I cannot say I appreciate it, I do very well understand it. If anything, I am surprised by how well you seem to cope with the situation."

"It's not the first time I've come closer to death than anyone should. Only the first time I know who the person is that wants to see me dead." She shrugged in return, but after taking one glance at the expression of prevailing concern on Snape's face, she rested her forehead against his shoulder and gave in to the urge to lean into him once more with a sigh. She knew that he didn't mind in the least… and the work that kept her on her feet might as well wait for a minute. "To be honest, it's currently less coping and more of simply repressing and pushing through. Just wait until tonight when I actually have the time to come down from the adrenaline… It'll be a nightmare."

"I will be there." He replied quietly, holding her closer against himself than his calm demeanour would suggest, then remained silent for a moment longer before speaking on. "Stay with me tonight."

"That must be a first." Robin chuckled quietly, but kept her eyes closed to enjoy at least this short moment of calm for now. "Usually I have to pretend to be asleep for you to let me stay over in your rooms."

"You are terrible at pretending, I can always tell when you do."

"Only because I want you to."

"I know…" He replied in as close to a sigh as his composure allowed. "And I know that I will not be able to close my eyes for even a minute tonight if you are not with me."

"Not without seeing all that could have been if things had ended differently. Without the shadows and ghosts and darkness. I know, all too well." She said, then smiled into the cloud of fabric around her. "And in addition to that, it's been way too long since I stayed over last, even though I always love to. Whenever it's possible. You know that."

"I do indeed."

"And I love you. Beyond what's possible."

"I know." His tone let on a hint of a smile, then he placed a fleeting kiss on the top of her head while his arms around her tightened their hold so much that Robin had to smile. He never said he loved her with words in return. He didn't need to.

"We should get back to work… It's almost time for dinner, and I want to check Morgan's office before then." She said after taking a deep breath to savour the comforting scent of him, of home. "I really have no wish to run into him again today. Especially not after just discovering that we are the underdogs in this entire issue."

"What makes you think that we are?"

"Isn't it obvious?" She asked as she pulled back at last, and fully snapped back into work mode as they left the room of hidden things behind to walk through the dark corridors of the castle again. "If Morgan had to ask for Dumbledore's permission to take the painting, then the old man must know why Morgan wanted it in the first place. He wouldn't have given him the permission if he hadn't seen through his reasons entirely."

"I agree."

"So Dumbledore knows why this is happening, he knows Morgan's reasons. He knows what Morgan is doing to me. He gave Morgan the permission to keep the painting, and he has let him proceed in what he has been doing to me for years now."

"Indeed. But we have been aware of that problem for a while now."

"Dumbledore never does anything that isn't to his own advantage. And if he lets Morgan do all that to me…" Robin sighed gravely, and looked up at Snape with the most serious expression. "I think Dumbledore wants Morgan to kill me."

"That is-..." Snape cut himself and his automatic response off in an instant, but he returned Robin's dark expression nonetheless for a moment while her words seemed to run circles in his mind. Finally, he seemed to find his own line of thought again. "While I do have to agree with your reasoning, there is still a lot speaking against the conclusion you came to. I am not saying you aren't right, but I believe there is more to it than that. You are leaving certain matters out of the equation."

"And what would that be?"

"Me, for example."

"You?" Robin frowned at him in confusion. "You'll have to elaborate on that."

"If Dumbledore wanted you dead, why would he have been in favour of the connection between you and me right from the start, and at every point since?" Snape quirked an eyebrow at Robin in return. "He is a brilliant man, I have no doubt he knew that we would end up where we are now long before we did. Thus he must have known that we would always stand two against one in the end. My involvement makes it infinitely more difficult to have you killed, which in return would make it unreasonable for him to encourage our relations. "

"You're right… That doesn't add up." Robin mused with a lingering frown. "Neither does the book he gave me, now that I think about it. Ensuring that I know more about the unforgivables than the person he wants to see killing me would be an odd way to prepare me for slaughter."

"Correct."

"What a fucking mess…" Robin groaned under her breath, then rolled her eyes to herself and at the ceiling before taking a deep breath to regain some composure. "So if Dumbledore doesn't want me dead, then why would he let Morgan proceed in trying to kill me? It's not like he couldn't put an immediate end to those efforts if he actually wanted to…"

"That we will find out. Morgan's reasons as well as Dumbledore's."

"With my luck, I probably have to die to prevent the world's impending demise or something likely unlikely… The most exaggeratedly dramatic thing we could ever think of, that will probably be my fate. Just for irony's sake."

"I will gladly see the world in ashes before I let you die."

"I know." She had to smile yet again, and couldn't resist to take his hand and give it a gentle squeeze even though they were in public. If one wanted to call a secret passageway from the seventh floor down to the fourth 'public', that is. "But whether it's the world we're saving or just me, I refuse to die before I graduate. I've put far too much effort into my essays and homework recently to let that all go to waste!"

Snape let out something that sounded like a snort and a scoff at once, and quietly shook his head to himself as they finally reached the fourth floor and crossed over into another corridor to continue their path towards Morgan's classroom. Robin was content with the reaction, and focused back on the matter at hand.

"How do we go on from here?" She asked in a whisper only, for who knew which prying ears might be nearby in a public hallway like this. "I mean… If we find it here, how do we go on?"

"We could confront the headmaster, for example. With a piece of evidence like that, not even he could deny his involvement in the issue. He might not give us the truth, but perhaps more leads to follow nonetheless."

"That sounds as close to a plan as we will probably get." Robin nodded, more to herself than to him. "In any case, McGonagall seems to know something about this entire thing as well, and I'm not convinced she's too happy about any of this either. She wanted to tell me, but the headmaster obviously asked her not to, and I at least can respect her loyalty. Too bad it is Dumbledore who is at the receiving end of it… She would make a good ally."

"Curious that you have taken a liking to Minerva after all."

"Oh, you know… If McGonagall can work with Jorien, who really isn't the easiest person to deal with from my own experience, she deserves some credit at least, if not my sincere respect."

"Funny." Snape replied with a not-smirk. "A while ago, she said much the same thing about you, for working with me."

Robin had to bite her lip quite hard to keep from snorting. They were in close proximity to the defense classroom, and loud noises like that were a no-go at this point if they wanted to successfully break and enter without drawing attention. So she settled for a soundless laugh, and a small smirk to follow it up.

"I'm glad someone recognizes the troubles of working with you at last." She whispered back softly, glancing up at Snape for but a second, which in return sufficed to take notice of the feigned glare and the not-smirk. Good… humour might do them good at this point.

"If anything, you brought the trouble into my life." He protested with a huff, while checking the corridor for anyone or anything that could observe them. Then he opened the door to the classroom with the same spell that sealed his own down in the dungeons. Robin was surprised, but very much pleased that he seemed to be doing all the breaking for now, and she only had to enter.

"I didn't bring trouble into your life!" She replied nonetheless as they walked into the room, after she'd closed the door behind them and locked it back up. It was no secret that Morgan never came to his classroom nor his office on weekends… Thus the risk of getting caught in here on this late afternoon really was minimal. "As far as I remember, you have far more trouble with people who are not me."

"That, for once, is true." He mused, but kept his eyes on the door to the office they were now approaching. "But you made me realize that I have trouble with everyone who isn't you. Before I met you, I simply thought the world was supposed to be cold and cruel like that, but then you had to saunter into my life and make me question every single thing I believed to know. You just had to show me happiness and thereby make everything that isn't you straight up unbearable, didn't you?" His sigh was dripping with so much feigned annoyance and the utmost irony that Robin couldn't help snorting at last.

"I won't apologise for bringing trouble into your life in that case." She smiled as she watched him working on the sturdy wooden door with spells she doubted were even suitable for the occasion. But she let him proceed anyway. "Seeing as the trouble only extends to people who aren't me."

"I did not say that, nor would I ever dare to." He returned a half-smirk, which made Robin roll her eyes with an even wider smile.

"Why is that?" She finally asked in an attempt not to laugh. They were breaking in somewhere… This wasn't the time for teasing and jokes, and yet they had chosen precisely this time to humour each other indeed. Oh well, why start being ordinary now, after all.

"I might have been surprised for a second, that you didn't consider breaking into my colleague's office as trouble, but then I remembered your liberal approach to breaking into places, which you displayed on multiple occasions last summer. Now, I am led to believe that perhaps you are trouble after all."

"And what if I am?" She raised her eyebrows at him with a small smirk. "Seeing as you've been causing trouble together with me all this time, I could say you're no better."

"You certainly are better at breaking into places than I am." He stated with a scowl at the still closed door, then quirked an eyebrow at Robin. "Would you be so kind to open the door now or is watching me fail too amusing for that?"

"It is quite amusing, but I'll open the door nonetheless." Robin chuckled at his feigned annoyance, then went to make quick work of Morgan's more than poor wards and locks. Thirty seconds later, the door was open, and a smug expression painted on her face as she looked up at Snape at last. "There you go. Anything else I can assist you with?"

"Do shut up, will you?" He grumbled, but Robin only had to snicker as they went to search the office. She knew that he was impressed with her knowledge of legal spells, and even more so by her knowledge of what was (in her opinion unrightfully) considered dark magic. That area didn't only extend to curses after all, and more often than not some of those unseemly spells served them better in their work than the school taught ones did. Either way, right now she knew that his entire dismissive demeanour was merely meant to humour her, and it really did serve that purpose wonderfully well.

After a good ten minutes of searching with as well as without magic, they had to realize though that the portrait wasn't here, nor was anything else that could've given them a clue about the current mysteries. Disappointed but not yet defeated, they locked the office door back up the way they had found it and made their way back out into the hallway. Unseen as ever. By now, it was about dinnertime, and thus they redirected their destination to the great hall instead of the dungeons.

"His private rooms will be a lot more difficult to search." Robin sighed as they reached the staircase that luckily was yet -or already- void of students. "He spends most of his time working from there, especially in the evenings. Or at least that's what I've heard. My information about him doesn't stretch beyond the gossip that makes rounds these days."

"We have to be certain he won't interrupt our search, or it would pose an ideal opportunity for him to justify another attempt on your life. Removing him from the castle shouldn't be a problem though, I believe I can arrange that without drawing too much attention to our goals."

"Wait, what? You can?"

"Years of knowing each other, and you still doubt me. Unbelievable."

"I wouldn't dare to."

He returned a small glare upon her sarcastic tone, but beneath the public facade of stony indifference, there was a layer of humour as almost always these days. Robin doubted that anyone but her had ever seen it though.

"In all seriousness, how soon can you get him away from the castle?" She asked after a moment, as they came to a stop in the hallway that led to the main entrance of the great hall on one end, and to the backdoor on the other. They usually went separate ways from here on, always careful not to arrive together at the wrong times and make the wrong impressions on the wrong people.

"An hour after dinner, perhaps a bit later. But in return he will be gone for a few hours at the least." He replied in certainty, and Robin wondered just how he was going to do that. Especially so quickly, after a day like this that hadn't been easy on Morgan either. She'd have to pay attention during the meal or simply ask about it later. After a few seconds, Snape added, "That should suffice to search his quarters, I believe."

Robin let out a breath in relief upon the prospect of a timely solution, then offered him a smile. "Great. I'll set up the dunderhead gang in the entrance hall to check when he leaves. That way we can be absolutely certain he's gone and not coming back. They can hold watch at least until curfew."

"I could always write them a note to have them stay out later than that, you know… At least I can for the girls. The Ravenclaws are out of my influence."

"I'm aware." She smiled at the memory of her own permission note to break curfew. Gods, that was long ago. "Perhaps we can send them up to the astronomy tower, from up there one can see the very foot of the hill. That would allow for a warning in time to make an escape. I'll ask Cas and Melissa; Jorien's got work with McGonagall, if I'm not mistaken."

Snape scoffed, then rolled his eyes in that lovely exaggerated manner. "Does Minerva ever give the girl a break?"

"Says the man who used to make me work every single night until four o'clock in the morning!" Robin laughed, then shook her head both at him and to herself. "Even on bloody school days!"

"You never seemed to mind." Snape protested with an almost sullen look, and if that was even in the realm of possibility, Robin believed he would start pouting if they'd been alone. Gods, that man was a mystery above all others.

"I didn't just not mind; I absolutely loved it even." Robin replied almost reassuringly, but with more humour than she could tone down. "But so does Jorien. She enjoys working with McGonagall, even if by far more normal hours than we do. No longer than midnight on Fridays and Saturdays and no longer than ten on school nights."

Now, Snape actually did snort for once, even out here in public. "We weren't even done with coffee at that time of night for the majority of the last years."

"We really are a terrible example though!"

"Are we, now? We usually are done working by midnight these days, aren't we?" He raised an eyebrow at her again, more teasing than serious, and Robin was sure they would miss dinner if they kept going like this. It had happened on more than one occasion.

"Well yes, we are, but for entirely different reasons!" She gave him a look, then a smile, then shook her head to herself as her cheeks tinted pink no matter how much she tried to prevent it. They really were done with work earlier than ever these days, as that left them with way more time for private matters afterwards. Not that those private matters didn't occasionally sneak into the lab or the office as well… they did get distracted quite regularly, even. But still, they tried to somehow keep school business and private matters separate now more than ever. That however did not apply for private studies, experiments or research, which they were more than happy to do in their very own kind of way, as they always had. Anyhow, Robin took a deep breath, then tried focusing on the matter at hand. "So, you get Morgan out of the castle as soon as possible, I bargain with Cas and Melissa, and you write them a note later for whoever has patrol duties tonight. Right?"

"Indeed. What reason for your request will you be telling the girls? And what are you willing to offer them in return?"

Robin scoffed, then smirked up at him in both humour and a certain smugness she didn't bother to hide. "What makes you think that they are going to do me the favour? The better question would be what they are willing to do for me if I set up a past curfew visit to the astronomy tower for them. Because they have always wanted to sit there and freeze their little butts off all night. They just don't know it yet."

"Clever." The not-smirk was back in an instant, as was the subtlest expression of pride. "As always."

"I'm trying my best." She replied with a softer smile. "As always."

"I know. I wouldn't be so confident in our plan under any different circumstances. Neither would I break into places for that matter, if it wasn't for you."

"Really?" She quirked an eyebrow at him in utmost doubt of what he was saying, and the smirk on her lips made him roll his eyes with a hidden one of his own.

"Dinner. Now. You can harass me later."

"Is that an invitation or are you trying to flirt with me?"

"Get out of my sight already."

With quiet laughter that resonated off the stones around them as a feather light echo, Robin gave him another look that said more than a million words could, then finally made her way down the remainder of the hallway and towards the main entrance with quick steps and a smile on her face. It felt good to laugh and joke again… but she had also learned her lesson today, knew perfectly well what was at stake, and that's precisely why she kept an ever careful eye on her surroundings now more than ever. They still were on a mission after all. A mission they were going to set into action now.

______________________________

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[generalfoolish]

Feel The Heat

Part Three: Architect

Rating: 18+ (minors take a hike)

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, implied drinking and driving (hey! don't do this!), some making out, mentions of sex but no actual sex, and some trauma reflection.

Word count: 3k

Pairing: Frankie “Fish” Morales x OC Juniper Collins

Summary: Idiocy continues. June and Frankie have a date, and a sleepover.

A/N: Hey babes! Sorry for this one in advance. She's not my best. She's also a hundred percent filler. We love her because she's necessary, though. I know it's a little shorter, but I have finals and a million other ideas keeping me from putting the work in. Also, I kind of like where I left it. Feel free to yell at me. Enjoy, anyway 💕

Masterlist | Part Two | Part Four

June took another sip of the wine, she had nearly drained the bottle; and she didn’t even want to know what number beer Frankie was on, but it was good. They had been propped up in the restaurant for long enough that the waiter stopped coming over.

“So what’s Fish about? I’m dying to know.” She asked brazenly, her cheeks tinged pink from the wine, and though her lipstick was long gone, her lips were stained red.

“Ah, I was wondering if you were gonna ask. It’s...not interesting.” He finally said, and they both laughed. “I like to fish, and the spot I go to has a bunch of catfish. I’ve been that way since forever, and in basics the name just stuck. Catfish, that is. The guys shortened it later to just Fish, which is...unfortunate.” June leaned forward on her elbows, and listened. She realized she was in trouble. This man could make anything sound interesting.

“Why’d they need to shorten it? Catfish is pretty easy to say.” She mused, more to herself than him. He took a sip of his beer.

“It was in spec ops, and it was just a mouth full during the shit.” He told her, glancing down. She took the hint.

“Do you eat catfish? I don’t really like it.” She admitted.

“What? No, that can’t be right. It’s great.” He laughed, and took another sip.

“Yeah, great if you love eating a muddy bottom-feeder.” She retorted, rolling her eyes.

“You like shellfish? Lobster? Because, I got news for you.” He said, smirking, and she laughed.

“Can you cook it?”

“Of course, I can.” He scoffed.

“Then I guess you’ll just have to cook some for me.” She teased lightly, the alcohol swimming in her mind.

“No way.” He said flatly. Her face fell, and he continued. “You want to eat it, you gotta catch it first.” She grimaced and shook her head.

“Not so much for fishing.” She explained, dropping her eyes from his gaze.

“What do you do then? Besides, follow my every movement.” He added playfully and she laughed.

“I took up gardening recently.” She reminded him, tilting her wine cup towards him. Samantha wasn’t too far off, he was pretty great.

“It’s a little late in the season, to start.” He told her gently. She squared her shoulders before letting them fall.

“Yeah. I had this great plan, until I thought about it at all. Day drinking has gotten me into more difficult spots though.” She huffed out a laugh. “See, there’s this grumpy farmer I wanted to impress. I wanted to...well, it sounds stupid now, but I wanted to prove that I wasn’t just a pretty face. I was going to bring you something I had grown.” She laughed, and wiped her eyes. “I didn’t think about growing seasons, or the fact that it takes a miserably long time for anything to actually grow.” He laughed with her easily, and she smiled.

“I can’t wait to see what you grow, and I hope you’ll consider me when you have to give most of it away so it doesn’t spoil.” He chuckled, but she could tell he was being earnest.

“I also write.” She blurted out. She was looking to change the subject before it got too deep, before they could get tangled in the implications, and the first thing that came to mind was something she hadn’t told anyone. Ever. The only person who knew she wrote was her publicist, and even she knew June under her pseudonym. She flushed, and tried to backpedal. “I mean it’s not a big deal. It’s really just like not a big deal at all.” He studied her face carefully, before speaking.

“Sounds like not a big deal,” He repeated, each word weighted. “But, if you ever want to tell me about it, I would love to hear.” He smiled and leveled his gaze at hers. She felt incredibly stupid for even bringing it up, but he had managed to give her a graceful out. She wondered if she shouldn’t tell him. She had no idea if this was even a date anymore, and she wanted the weight off her chest. She squared her shoulders again.

“Okay, you drug it out of me,” she laughed, and downed her glass. “I am a published author and no one in my real life knows.” She didn’t follow up. Her words hung in the air, heavy and bloated, before he cleared his throat.

“Why would you share that with me?” The confusion was apparent on his face, and it wasn’t what she was expecting. He looked incredibly touched at the gesture, as if she had just given him access to her most intimate secrets. She paused, and realized dumbly that she had. She had absolutely just revealed to him what might be her darkest secret; and as tame as it was, it was hers.

“I don’t really know.” She said flatly. She felt odd though, as she didn’t regret it. In fact, she felt relieved. “It feels good though.” She assured him.

“What have you published?”

“A half dozen novels about cowboys.” She told him, lamely.

“Cowboys?” He asked with a smile dancing on his lips.

“Cowboys.” She repeated with her own coy smile. “It’s a series, and it is not popular. But, I love it, actually.” She continued, a little bashful. “I lost money the first few years, but sales are actually picking up. I’ll never make my living that way, but I love it just the same.” Her cheeks were blazing hot, and  she finished in a whisper. He nodded, feeling that much closer to her.

The waiter came over to tell them that they should leave, and the pair laughed at how long they’d been sitting and talking. June was disappointed to bring the night to a close, but knew she had class in the morning. Frankie walked her to her car, and leaned heavily against it.

“You going to be alright to drive home?” She asked, watching him sway slightly.

“No.” He told her flatly, a chuckle following. “I’ll get a cab.” She rolled her eyes.

“How old are you? Get in, I’ll take you home.” She told him, pulling him around to the passenger side. He fought her a little.

“I’m out of the way, I don’t want you to have to back track.”

“Fine, we can go back to mine, and in the morning I’ll drop you by your truck. This is on my way.” The proposition was out in the world before she considered it. The words were hanging between them before she had a chance to worry the details out. It seemed simple enough, but the implications went deeper than she was ready to admit. Her worries were confirmed when she heard him suck in a sharp breath.

“I’d hate to impose…” He trailed, but she was already unlocking her car and shoving him in.

~~~

“Of course, I’ll take the couch, you’re my guest.” She told him, huffing in finality. He crossed his arms. Frankie had only barely agreed to the sleepover; he wasn’t getting bullied in the sleeping arrangement.

“No way. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch in your own home.”

“The couch is comfy, though. I slept there last night.”

“All the more reason you should get a proper night’s rest in your bed.” They glared at each other, and Frankie won. Or, so he thought.

“Fine. We’ll both sleep on the couch.” His laugh was sharp and loud, ripped out without warning. He wasn’t sure if it was the booze, but everything June had said had warmed his insides.

“That’s reasonable.” He agreed, and without thinking too much about the movement, he pulled her to the couch with him. He had meant for it to be smooth, and maybe a little romantic. Instead, it was messy and tangled, but when she landed face to face with him it was hard to argue his methods. He felt her breath on his lips, and he leaned forward, testing the waters, and skimmed his lips against hers. She responded in kind, pressing her lips to his with more urgency.

Frankie shifted June so that he was seated and she was straddling him. He pushed back into her kiss, and deepened it slightly. He ran his tongue against her lips, and when she parted them, he slipped his tongue in, tasting and exploring inside her mouth. He licked under her tongue, sucking it slightly, and managed to pull a soft moan from her. He pulled back for air, and noted how her pupils were blown black with lust, her bright eyes darkened. He wondered for a second if his own were so dark, and then she was on him again. She kissed and licked down his jaw and neck, before focusing on his ear. She nibbled the lobe, licked and sucked the sensitive skin around it.

When she pulled away, he almost whined at the loss. She was panting a little, and already swinging her leg off of him. He frowned at her movements, but didn't stop them. She sat heavily beside him, and pecked his cheek.

"Not that I don't want to continue...I just don't think it's a great idea. We've both been drinking, and it's a school night." The realization hit her like a brick wall. "Crap! Frankie! Do you need to get home to Liv?" He chuckled in response, which let her calm down a bit.

“No, she’s at a friend’s house tonight.” June breathed a sigh of relief, and Frankie felt his lips tug up. “Thanks for checking, though.” She nodded, and he just waited, not sure what she wanted next. He hoped it was more than making out. She cleared her throat and faced him, and he felt his smile fall. She looked too serious for anything light., and he braced for impact.

“The way I see it, Frankie, is we have two options here. One, we go upstairs, and I fuck you out of my system.” He inhaled sharply, and swallowed heavily. He could have laughed, if he wasn’t so shocked. “Option two, I go upstairs, alone, and tomorrow I take you to your truck. After that, maybe we can have another dinner...or maybe I’ll go fishing with you.” He did chuckle at her scrunched up face, this time. He considered her options for a moment.

“Why not a third, where both options play out?” He was teasing, mostly. Mostly, he assured himself.

“Well, that doesn’t work for me. I have had too many option three relationships take a nosedive, and I want to give this a chance. But, if you’re not interested in seeing where we could go, then let’s get on with the fun part.” He studied her face, etching every crinkle and freckle to memory. It was so intimate, he realized, being this close without touching. He wanted to take her upstairs. He didn’t really want to even take her upstairs, the couch was fine. She had been burning him since they had met, and he had had every opportunity to reach out and extinguish it. He hadn’t, and he knew why. He knew they could have something here. He had just spent hours with her, and he was already missing her presence. It wasn’t a choice he had to think hard about. He wanted to see her again. But, he wanted her tonight.

He leaned in and kissed her lips gently, pulling away before it could turn into anything more.

“Option two, please.” He noticed her eyes light up, but restrained himself. He could just kiss her all night, if she’d let him. He watched her leave the couch and disappear into another room. He took the opportunity to steady his breathing, and hopefully, calm himself down. She returned with an armful of blankets and pillows. He took them from her, and she stepped away, putting more distance between them than necessary.

“I have some old pajama shorts and a t-shirt from an ex, if you would like something more comfy to sleep in.” She offered, tossing a thumb behind her. He nodded as he made up the couch, not watching her disappear upstairs. She came back quickly and handed them off. He tried not to imagine who had left these behind, which option they had picked.

“Goodnight, Frankie. Kitchen is that way if you need water or anything. Bathroom is there, and I apologize for not having more sleepover supplies, it’s been...awhile.” She apologized, laughing. He waved her off.

“Goodnight, Ms. Collins. Sweet dreams.” He watched her retreat slowly upstairs before turning back to the couch. He was in trouble.

~~~

June tossed for a few hours before relenting. She’d never get to sleep otherwise, she told herself as she slipped her hand beneath her cotton shorts. No, she was too worked up, she reasoned as she made contact with her clit. She came hard in only a few minutes, thinking about how hard Frankie had been against her on the couch. She had been frantic, trying to slow them down, for her own sake. She was already falling hard for him; she didn’t need amazing sex to be the last nail in her coffin. She felt like she knew him, intimately, already. It was ridiculous, she kept reminding herself. It was someone who she had only met less than a week ago. She shouldn’t have invited him into her house. She didn’t need to see him in the morning light to confirm her fears. She had moaned his name into her pillow as she came; no, she knew just what she was in for.

She groaned as she remembered what she had said. “Fuck you out of my system?” She whispered again in the dark, cringing. Who was she? She didn’t talk like that. She taught six year olds. She tried to breathe deeply, and not go into a full-blown panic attack. How had she never gotten any better at flirting? She was grown, she could hook up and still have a relationship.

June squeezed her eyes shut against the memories threatening to crowd her, and reasoned she had made the better choice. They had been drinking, and it was too convenient. Hopefully, he didn’t think she was a psycho for inviting him over, making out with him hard, and then turning him down cold. Well, not cold, but lukewarm. She groaned again. Why was she acting like a teenager? She never fretted like this. Her mom’s cold words flashed in her mind, and she shuddered against them, willing them away. Too late, she thought about Terry.

Terrance, the one who had convinced her to move away from everyone. The one who had promised her everything, and then left her empty. The one who had no kind words or touches for her. The one who had left the taste of rust in her mouth.

She blinked against the tears, and tried to think about Frankie downstairs instead. All she could remember was the gruffness at the farmer’s market, the harsh words at the school, the disappointment in his eyes at dinner, and the coldness after she had turned down sex. She hugged herself tighter and tried to think about the soft touches he had given, the tender kiss, the personal stories, and the deep laugh she was falling in love with.

It was no use, she decided. Mid-spiral, she wasn’t good enough for anyone. She was glad she hadn’t invited him up. She was glad she wouldn’t be used by another man. She would drop him off in the morning, and then that would be that. If she didn’t start loving herself, no one would.

~~~

Frankie stretched against the soft material as light started trickling in through the blinds. He could hear the birds outside, and he whistled softly in tune. He folded the bedding, and padded to the kitchen.

After looking around a bit, he settled on coffee and pancakes. He had noticed the canned tomatoes in the cupboard, and made a note to ask June if they were the ones she had bought from him. He got busy mixing the pancakes together while the coffee brewed. He hadn’t slept so good in years. He had expected a sore back, at least, but that damn couch was probably better than his lumpy old mattress. He cut some berries up, while the pancakes were frying, and smiled as he heard June walk in.

“Morning!” He greeted, cheerfully. She winced, and he let a small chuckle out. “Sorry, uhm, coffee’s ready.” She nodded, but didn’t say anything else. He turned back to the oven, wondering if she just wasn’t a morning person. He noticed she felt colder this morning, and hoped it was because she was hungover.

“You were right about the couch, super comfortable.” He told her as she settled in at the counter. She only nodded, which he barely caught. He turned to face her, one hand on his hip and the other holding the spatula.

“Everything okay?” She nodded again, and he frowned. Something was definitely wrong, but if she wasn’t telling him what could he do. He made her a plate of pancakes and berries, and made one for himself. He sat down beside her, and she ate in silence. In fact, she didn’t say anything to him until they made it back to his truck.

“Have a nice day.” She had mumbled, her lips tight. He gaped a bit before getting out, and slamming the door a little harder than he had meant to. He got into his truck as she sped off, and he slammed the door.

“What the fuck was that?” He asked the steering wheel.

“Whatever,” He said, tightly, throwing the truck into drive.

[theawkwardterrier]

How about 14 + 21, dealer's choice pairing?

On This Thanksgiving Day

Prompt: Stuck together for a long period of time/“They’re wrong about you.”

Summary: Sloan’s first time meeting Don’s family doesn’t go particularly well. (The dialogue came to me in Thomas Sadoski’s voice, so I guess the dealer wanted Don/Sloan for you, Sarah.)

“Apparently we don’t have very good luck on trips together,” Sloan says, although not precisely to him. She’s facing out the window, as if she can see anything other than pitch blackness - as if there would be anything to see, even in the daylight. They hadn’t made it much past Derby-Shelton when the train had broken down; he’d guess that if they could see more than darkness and their own reflections, they’d mostly be staring out at Naugatuck State Forest.

Which might offer a distraction to make things a bit less awkward, but not by much.

“I’m not exactly in a hurry to get anywhere this time,” he says, trying for humor. “Luckily there isn’t much urgent news to report on Thanksgiving.”

“There isn’t always much urgent news to report on May 1 of any given year.”

“Well, sometimes we just get lucky.”

She turns toward him then. Her hair, which she had taken down from whatever fancy style it had been pinned up in earlier, swings forward, briefly obscuring her face. “Is that how you feel? Lucky?”

“I feel lucky with you every day,” he says truthfully. He can’t tell if she believes him. Either way, she does not smile, although after the day they’ve had, he wouldn’t really expect her to.

It had been an easy decision to ask Sloan to come home with him. Her parents retired to Arizona the previous January, and if it already didn’t make much sense for her to fly across the country for barely a weekend, they had told her months ago that her brothers would be at their in-laws, they had no plans on cooking, and they were booked for mixed doubles with the Drummers on Friday.

Don’s family, by contrast, would all be gathering back at his childhood home, a quick couple of hours on the Metro-North. He and Sloan had been dating for over a year now. It would have made sense to ask her even if she wasn’t facing down a holiday weekend of takeout and economics journals alone in her apartment (regardless of the fact that she had set aside a few of the “best issues” to enjoy).

He knew it was a mistake from the moment they walked in the door.

Despite his mother’s thanks, it was clear that she thought the bottle of wine Sloan had picked out was pretentious, and she eyed the sheath dress Sloan wore, with its gray, black, and white geometric design, as if deciding precisely how excessively formal it was for a small family gathering. Don, having seen Sloan’s closet, could have told her that this was one of the more informal options, at least not counting workout clothes or lingerie, but started in on small talk instead before offering Sloan a tour of the house.

Those few moments of watching her smile at the pictures of him hanging along the hallway - round in a Christmas sweater at age three, a gawky, grinning advertisement for the necessity of orthodontia at twelve, only slightly less gawky and slightly more grinning in his high school graduation photo - and hearing her tease about what embarrassing poster had once been taped in the large, discolored place above his bed...it still wasn’t quite enough to get him through the rest of the day.

Sloan didn’t watch whatever show his mom and sister and sister-in-law were going back and forth about, and she had little interest in entertaining the brigade of Keefer kids roaming around. She furrowed her brow as she sat next to Don in the family room and tried to get him to explain all the minutiae of football even as the others were trying to watch the Eagles. She was perfectly polite, asking questions of everyone and telling them about her family, her work, her interests when asked, but it was obvious from the glances traded around the table that the others noticed the slight hitch to her cadence and the way she didn’t always laugh at the jokes being told, and that it mattered to them.

As they dug into turkey and Mom’s excellent stuffing and terrible sweet potato pie, his dad (who clearly didn’t think the wine pretentious, or at least not enough to be a problem) started talking about how all he saw on the news these days was these protests, and of course it was a shame when things went wrong, but cops were just trying to protect themselves and didn’t need to be lectured by those who didn’t know what it was like on the ground day to day - he had friends who were cops, and they were just trying to do right and get home to their families, and was it any wonder they had to react like they did, considering the damage being done out in the streets? Don, who had tried and eventually learned to bite his tongue when it came to this conversation, placed a hand on Sloan’s knee, but she went ahead anyway, citing statistics and studies and historical precedent, all while the others looked at her as if she was exactly the kind of person by whom they didn’t want to be lectured.

Still, they might have been able to push through, except that Don’s brother cornered him on the way back from the bathroom and asked...well, Don’s blocked out the exact wording, but the implication was that he wondered if the pictures he’d seen of Sloan online did her justice.

After Don had punched Rich, sticking around for Black Friday brunch and leftovers didn’t seem to be in the cards.

“I can be a little bit of an acquired taste,” Sloan says, leaning forward and resting her forearms on her thighs. “I know that might be shocking, considering how charming I am—”

“Exactly the word I’d use.”

She throws him a glare for the dry tone, but he’s glad for it; it makes her look a bit more like herself. “So, I’m used to not always being liked. But they...I was really not liked back there.”

“They’re wrong about you.” The carriage is empty except for them - luckily for those who don’t want to be trapped on a broken down train, the middle of the evening on Thanksgiving doesn’t seem an especially popular time to travel into the city - and they had been able to take seats facing each other. He leans toward her, but does not take her hand. “Hey. They’re wrong about you. You know that, right? Sure, you’re single-minded, a little bit weird, a frequent pain in my ass—”

“I have yet to hear the part about them being wrong.”

“—but you’re also kind and loyal and wildly ethical and the smartest person I know and pretty solidly better than I deserve. And I just happen to be related to a bunch of assholes who can’t recognize that.”

Her knee bumps against his. “I imagine Christmas is going to be a pain when you have to spend time with a bunch of assholes.”

“Christmas was already a pain for that and many other reasons,” he says. “And honestly, maybe I won’t go back for it. Maybe I won’t go back next Thanksgiving either.”

She doesn’t look at him like he’s crazy. Instead, her face folds into concentration, as if she is trying to figure out a puzzle. Slowly she says, “I don’t know that you can just give up on your family because of the one time that they weren’t nice to your girlfriend.”

“They’ve never been nice to my girlfriends because, again, they’re assholes.” He settles against his seatback and makes sure she is looking at him before he says, “I’ll probably end up seeing them again because I’m not quite lucky enough in life to avoid it. But when I have the choice, I want to spend as much time as I can with the family that taught me to be better than them. So maybe next year we’ll rope Mac and Will into eating dry turkey with us - or hey, he can probably swing for some that actually tastes good.”

“You know that Mac will make us say things that we’re thankful for, and she and Will are going to get into an argument about the legacy of Thanksgiving even though they essentially agree with each other.”

“Well, maybe we’ll cook—” Her eyebrow raise is sharp and perfect as always. “Okay, we’ll get takeout together. Because I swear to God, Sloan, sitting around having popcorn shrimp with you sounds like a much better time than anything involving my mother’s pecan pie.”

“I was actually looking forward to the pie,” she says a little longingly, but she moves to sit in the seat beside him and lean her head on his shoulder, not even startling as the PA system crackles to overly loud life.

“Sorry, folks, we’re going to have to go dark here for a sec as we try to get things back online, but we hope to have you on your way shortly.”

“Hey,” Don says in the moment before the lights go out. “You know that I’m thankful for this, don’t you? Just getting to be here with you.”

“No one’s thankful for a train breakdown, Don,” she says, voice sounding as if she’s shaking her head at him. And he can feel the stupid smile coming over his face anyway as the overheads power off, leaving them with only the eerie emergency lighting. Who knows how long they’ll have to sit here like this considering the amount of faith he has in the MTA? He rests his head on top of Sloan’s. He can wait. They’ll get home together eventually.

[nightingiall]

things i love about you: our rituals

a post-little do you know drabble series // story page

happy december! today marks six (!!!!!!) years since i started the december drabbles, which means it’s moniall’s anniversary! to commemorate the occasion, here’s a special lil something. also, if you want to relive my bad 2014 writing the drabbles that started it all, i will finally be posting them on wattpad. enjoy!

There used to be a time Mona hated the cold.

She couldn’t handle it. It made her feel like all her blood vessels had simply seized, wound up so tightly that she needed to find every single bit of warmth to bury herself under in order to feel like she could function again.

As she watched the tiny flurries of white drift from the sky to delicately blanket the ground in a layer of snow, she smiled to herself, remembering the first time they were here at their little cabin. It was the beginning of so much, of friendship, of love, of rituals they could seek solace in year after year. Four bedrooms, a generously sized dining room, and a roaring fireplace had somehow transformed from a simple husk of wood to a safe place, a home away from home, filled with laughter and jokes no one else would understand.

The snow picked up slightly, very quickly covering the driveway in white, and she realized that she no longer minded the cold. Not when she had this, a winter cabin filled with all the people she loved. There were even several new additions to the family, one of whom now pawed happily at her feet. She scooped the little fluffball into her arms, cradling it like a small child. “Hi, baby,” she cooed, holding the puppy up to see out the window. “Have you ever seen snow before?”

They certainly hadn’t gotten any in the city. And this sweet little pup was only a baby. Mona figured snow must be a new concept to her. She wondered if she’d like to trot around in the white slush tomorrow morning.

Niall had gotten the puppy as a surprise.

They’d arrived back from San Francisco for only a week before it happened. He had it all planned out. It was a Sunday afternoon. They’d devoured their dinner, a bottle of wine popped open, and the radio was turned to a blues station. Mona was washing up their plates in the sink when Niall had slinked up behind her, hands curled easily around her hips as he pressed his warm lips to her shoulder. “I got something for us,” he’d murmured into her hair, his voice that raspy sort of sweetness he took up when he was up to something.

She hummed, his voice a delicious vibrato down her spine. “What?”

When she’d placed the last plate in the dish rack and dried her hands on a towel, he spun her around, hands still a warm weight on her skin. The sun had already started to slink down the horizon, catching on adjacent buildings and throwing warm golden light into their apartment through the kitchen window. Niall’s eyes glimmered with it, bright blue meshing with rich gold sunlight. He was grinning widely at her in that irresistible way of his, and she let herself get whisked along with his excitement. “You’re gonna love it.”

“Okay,” she laughed, because he’d started to tug her towards the front entrance, just as the doorbell chimed. “But what is it.”

He instructed her to open the door and she eyed him suspiciously. “I promise you’re going to adore it!”

With an exasperated sigh, she did as she was told, fingers trembling slightly in anticipation. Waiting outside the door in a chestnut brown wicker basket lined with a soft white fleece blanket was the tiny little pup. Its fur matched the basket, a curly, chocolaty brown, and it was adorably nestled into itself as it slumbered peacefully.

Mona couldn’t help the way she had gasped, hands over her mouth in pure shock. “Is it ours?”

Niall was already smiling when she looked at him. “Yep. All ours.”

The excitement rushed through her like a tsunami, like champagne bubbles gushing when the bottle is opened. She almost wanted to scream but settled for a squeal instead, hopping slightly on her toes before just jumping into Niall’s arms. He laughed as she thanked him profusely, holding her close. She’d been planting the idea of getting a puppy for ages and she honestly didn’t even think he’d been considering it.

As they brought the little ball of cuteness inside, he explained that Duncan’s neighbor’s labradoodle had given birth. They’d taken them all to the vet to get checked and had been looking to give some of them away. This one was female. Like magic, “A Sunday Kind of Love” played softly on the radio, and they decided to name their newest addition to the family Etta.

“What’re you doing?” Niall was asking her now, where she was still standing in front of the window, watching the snow cover the earth.

She shrugged, still cradling the pup. “Etta’s never seen snow.”

He laughed as he leaned against the kitchen doorframe, cheeks flushed with that gorgeous pink that came from gut-busting laughter and too much whiskey. Behind him, the living room was quiet. Everyone else had probably ambled up to bed. She didn’t particularly care. It meant she got this moment all to herself, watching Niall stand there, looking soft and warm in his gray sweats and ugly Christmas sweater. She let Etta run off as she took him in, the light behind him fanning out around his head like a halo, blue eyes watching her with the world of love.

She crossed her arms as she leaned back against the countertop on the far side of the kitchen. “Did you stand there on purpose?”

He was grinning wildly, hands shoved into his pockets. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Really?” She raised a brow. “So you don’t always stand under that very doorframe every year just to get a mistletoe kiss?”

He looked up, feigning shock at the unmistakable plant dangling from the wood. “Mistletoe? I didn’t even notice it there.”

A laugh bubbled out of her, and she couldn’t help herself. She was drawn to him as always, feet pulling her towards him until she was close enough to wrap her arms around his waist, close enough to graze the corner of his mouth with her lips. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she murmured, blood rushing at the way his breath audibly caught in his throat, his hands pressing hard into her hips. “You’ll be scamming me into these mistletoe kisses until you’re old and wrinkly.”

A grunt sounded from deep in his throat when she pressed closer, still not meeting his lips. “If the implication is that you’ll be the one to kiss me under the mistletoe when I’m old and wrinkly then yes I damn will.”

When she finally let him catch her lips with his, it was like the world fell away. Big bursts of color flashed behind her closed eyelids as he kissed her, slow and searing, arms wrapping around her waist tightly until her feet were swept right off the ground when he straightened. She giggled into his mouth when he started walking towards the living room, her feet dangling helplessly until he finally put her down in front of the couch.

“Home Alone is on,” he said breathlessly, still stealing short kisses on any bits of skin he could find. “Wanna watch?”

She huffed on a laugh. “Are you sure we’ll just watch?”

At this, he laughed too, pulling away completely. “Dunno if I can make that promise, my darlin’,” he teased, sending her a wink before retrieving a basket that was hidden under the dining table. It was only now that Mona noticed he’d moved the coffee table, spreading a sheet in the space between the couch and TV.

“What’s all this?” she asked, taken by surprise.

Niall shrugged, placing the basket down on the sheet and sitting down, tugging on her hand to do the same. “Just…something.”

Inside the basket was a loaf of the homemade bread they’d made today—still a bit warm in its paper bag—cartons of butter and jellies, a thermos, and a platter of chocolate chip cookies. Apparently, he’d put it all together when no one was watching. Her heart surged with affection for all the thought he put into everything.

They lounged about, ripping pieces of bread and pairing it with butter or jelly, sipping on hot chocolate, which was what was in the thermos. They alternated between watching the movie and watching Etta and Fudge, Harlow’s cat, prod at each other. Etta just wanted to be a friend to Fudge, who was not having it, which was quite amusing.

By the time they finished the bread, they didn’t have much room for the cookies, so they split one as they curled into each other, lounging back against the couch, laughing along to the movie. “I love you,” she murmured to him eventually, pressing a kiss to his chin because she felt so full with emotion, so much that she felt like she might just burst. They were here, in the cabin, where it all began. So much was different. And everything was just right.

Which was why, in hindsight, she probably should have expected it. The circumstances were just right, everything falling into place perfectly. She should have expected it, but she didn’t.

Because when she placed a half-asleep Etta into her makeshift bed and turned around, Niall kneeling on one knee, hands outstretched, holding a ring box, was not a sight she saw coming. Her heart stopped for a moment, eyes widened in complete shock. He hadn’t even said anything yet and she already thought she might cry.

“Mona,” he started, clearly fighting back a slew of emotions himself, “Erm, I’ll be honest, I had a whole speech planned, but my brain has just gone completely blank.” They both laughed thickly. Mona stepped closer. “That happens sometimes anyway, when it comes to you. Sometimes you look at me and I forget my own name. In fact, the first time you smiled at me, I tripped on a branch. Remember?”

She nodded, unable to form words at the moment. She remembered. It was college orientation. She had hardly known that in a few months, she’d fall in love with this boy in a log cabin and her life would change forever.

Niall took a deep breath. “The point is, I am head over heels in love with you. Everything just makes sense with you, and I have never met anyone who is perfect for me in every single way.” An inadvertent sob left her lips, just as she noticed his voice wavering. “I want to spend forever with you, doing everything and nothing, though good days and bad days. I love you so fucking much. And it would be the greatest honor of my life to be your husband.” He smiled, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “So, what d’you say…will you marry me?”

Mona sobbed through her laughter, kneeling on the ground in front of him, caressing his face in her hands and swiping away the tears that managed to slip through his lashline. “Yes. Yes, I would love nothing more. Yes yes yes.” Niall laughed and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight and slipping the ring onto her finger at the same time. “I love you,” she cried into the curve of his shoulder, completely overwhelmed and yet completely at peace. All she wanted was to spend her whole life with her wonderful, beautiful sunshine boy.

It wasn’t until they both calmed down a bit that she got a good look at the ring. And even through her fuzzy eyesight, blurred by her tears, she recognized that opal stone, surrounded by tiny diamonds, as the one her mother wore for years. She had always admired it when she was a kid, always thought it was a timeless piece of jewelry.

She glanced up at him. “Is this…”

“Yeah.” He trailed a finger over the stone, holding her fingers delicately in his.

She was starting to cry again. “Mom gave it to you?”

He brushed away some of her hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. “Yeah. She said you like it, having something your dad picked out.”

Her eyes welled with tears as she hiccupped slightly in her surprise. Of course. Because along with being her mom’s, opal was also her dad’s birthstone. There was a piece of him inside of this ring and she now had the privilege of carrying it around forever. Niall thumbed away her tears and she looked at him, her heart fit to bursting as she wrapped her arms around him again, her movements so intense that he fell backwards against the sheet.

Their quiet laughter filled the room, and when she pulled back, his face was filled with such adoration, such reverence, that she found herself leaning forward to kiss him tenderly. His love spilled from his lips and into her soul. He filled her with sunshine and loved her unconditionally. Sweet, wonderful Niall. He was hers.

All hers.

~

Mona was flipping a pancake when Niall strolled into the kitchen, all soft smiles and sleepy eyes and messy bedroom hair. He huffed out a laugh at the sight of her, probably because of what she was wearing. His ugly Christmas sweater from the night before.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbled, as he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, fingers trailing on the hem of the sweater, grazing her skin underneath. ��How does this look better on you than it ever did on me?”

She giggled at his words. She felt as though she were on cloud nine, woke up with a smile and couldn’t seem to shake it. Every so often, she’d catch a glimpse of the ring on her left hand and grin wildly to herself, sometimes wondering if she’d simply dreamt the whole night up.

But, no, she hadn’t. Because Niall was sidled up to her, chest pressed against her back as he pressed slow and hot kisses all the way up the side of her neck and down her jawline. “Good mornin’, fiancée,” he murmured, smiling wide against her skin.

She flipped her last pancake onto the platter and turned the skillet off, turning towards him to wrap her arms across his shoulders. “Good morning, future husband,” she replied, melting right into him as he kissed her slow and deep, goosebumps rippling across her skin at the words. It all felt a bit surreal.

He hummed, pressing her against the fridge, skimming his tongue along her lower lip. “I love the sound of that.”

They kept the news from their friends for a whole day. There was something fun and whimsical about it, going about their day doing mundane things with everyone, like eating breakfast or bringing Etta out into the snow for the first time, catching knowing looks from each other because no one else knew what had happened the night before. It was nice to be able to soak it all in, to enjoy it for themselves for a while, without anyone knowing.

Finally, on Christmas morning, as everyone lounged about on the couch, opening presents, they spilled. Niall was the one to announce it, telling everyone that they had news to share and pretending to be somber and melancholy. Harlow, Zayn, Liam, and Harry all froze hilariously when they caught the sudden shift in the mood, all of them sitting down and eyeing Niall and Mona carefully.

Harry was the one to ask what was wrong, and he looked so concerned that Mona couldn’t help the way the laughter just bubbled out of her. She looked at Niall, who’d started to laugh too, before holding up her left hand, the opal gem catching the light and glittering.

“We’re getting married!” they said simultaneously, and everyone was stunned into a few moments of silence before erupting into a deafening round of cheers. Harlow started crying as she hugged Mona tightly, and even the boys started tearing up a bit.

Perhaps it had been a long time coming. But it didn’t matter.

They were here now, endlessly overjoyed, popping open a bottle of champagne to celebrate.

They were here now, and they had the rest of their lives to go.

[thestayway90]

Unexpected Attachment: Chapter 2 (SKZ Imagine)

Author: thestayway90

WC: 2802

Warnings: None

Characters: Stray Kids OT8, OFC/Reader, Josh (OFC/Reader’s Brother)

Relationships: Eventual OFC/Reader x Felix

Summary: Fluffy goodness! OFC/Reader meets the rest of the kids and ends up on a lunch with all OT8. A bit of one-to-one time with Felix UWU

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Heres chapter two... its still going slow I know... we’ll get there eventually!!!

Also I’m so soft for Felix and Changbin and I think it shows... sorry in advance :|

I’d love any and all feedback you have please pretty please <3

Enjoy :)

Shocked, dripping in coffee and still holding onto your phone in one hand, you looked up to see the most attractive boy you had ever laid eyes on, looking down at his once white shirt now drenched in brown liquid.

“Weelll...” he drew out in a familiar accented English. “That was well done.” His dark eyes met yours and you were thankful when he flashed a wide smile your way, as he didn’t seem to be taking your attack too personally.

“Oh god! I am so so sorry!” You started stuttering, hands automatically reaching out to wipe at his shirt before realising touching a complete stranger after dumping an entire coffee on him was probably not a good idea.

“Eh, it happens,” he shrugged, really not seeming too concerned, which made you wonder how often it happened to the poor boy.

He cocked his head to the side and examined you quizzically. “You sound Australian?” he commented questioningly.

“So do you,” you answered unhelpfully.

Your answer made him smile even wider, bright eyes flashing with mirth. “Are you related to Josh by any chance?”

“Brother,” you admitted, hoping your clumsiness wouldn’t affect Josh’s work as you realised you recognised the boy in front of you.

You weren’t a huge k-pop fan and weren’t familiar with many of the groups but you had done a little research on the boy band your brother had been promoted to Managing and the boy standing in front of you had been the one who had definitely stood out.

“I’m Felix,” the guy finally said, that wide infectious smile still gracing his lips. “I’ve got some clothes that you can change into,” he kindly offered, gesturing to your own ruined shirt.

You crossed your arms self consciously. “I feel like I should be offering you a change of clothes, since it was my fault, but unfortunately I don’t have any.”

Felix let out a low laugh and indicated for you to follow him back into the elevator you had just exited.

He led you into a room full of lockers and benches, reminiscent of the room that sports players used in schools. Showers and toilets lined one wall while a bank of mirrors lined another to the right.

Felix immediately crossed over to a locker, entering the combination before opening the metal door and rummaging inside. You stood awkwardly, nervous fingers plucking at the hem of your soaked shirt, the sticky fabric feeling uncomfortable against your skin.

“Ah ha,” the silver haired boy exclaimed, whipping out two identical black oversized shirts and turning back to you.

He looked down at the fabric in his hands and then held one out, shrugging his shoulders as he said, “I like the colour black!”

You smiled, chuckling a little at his shy smile. “I never would have guessed,” you teased slightly, as you took the shirt out of his fingers.

You headed for one of the toilet cubicles, quickly shucking out of your ruined shirt and sliding Felix’s tee over your head.

You were emerging from the cubicle, still adjusting the too big shirt, trying to decide whether to tuck it in at the front or not, when three other boys entered the room stopping in their tracks when they took in Felix still tugging a top over his head and you looking extremely disheveled.

“Ah, what is going on here?” One of the boys with long blonde hair questioned in Korean, one eyebrow raised suggestively.

The tall blue haired boy next to the blonde was standing speechless, mouth open in shock, eyes flicking backwards and forwards.

The third and final boy, who had the beauty of a carved sculpture, smirked lopsidedly, mischief evident on his pretty face as he uttered, “Having fun, Lixie?”

You blushed at the comment, cheeks staining a bright red, but Felix just gave an easy unbothered laugh, finishing pulling his shirt down.

“It’s not what you think!” You stuttered out in awful Korean to the newcomers.

Felix turned to you, eyebrows lifted. “Ah, so you do speak Korean!” He sounded delighted by the discovery.

The sculpted boy snorted. “I’m not sure that counts as speaking Korean!”

“Lee Know Hyung!” The blonde next to him scolded, hitting his elder lightly on the shoulder.

“What?” Lee Know sounded genuinely confused, “It’s true.”

“Yes, but you don’t say it,” Felix sighed, running his hands through his hair.

“It’s okay, he’s right. I’m rubbish at speaking Korean,” you told the boy closest to you, fingers worrying at the bottom of your shirt.

The blonde’s face lit up as he heard your English, stepping forward and saying excitably. “You are Aussie, yes?”

You nodded in reply, amused when he grabbed your hands and squeezed them tightly. “I am Hyunjin. This is I.N.” The tall cutie next to him beamed a huge smile your way, waving with one hand. “And that’s Lee Know.” Lee Know gave a simple nod of acknowledgment before turning back to Felix.

“So what were you two doing in here?” He questioned, eyes staring into the younger’s intensely.

Felix returned the look with his signature easy smile, completely unruffled by the elders implications. “We had an unfortunate incident with coffee!” He explained, drawing understanding nods and ahhh’s of sympathy with his words, again making you question how often accidents involving coffee occurred.

As if it couldn’t get any more embarrassing, the door once again opened and Josh walked in accompanied by yet another good looking k-pop idol.

“Ah, what’s going on? I thought you were leaving?” Josh directed the last question at you, confusion clouding his features.

“She tipped coffee all over Felix,” Lee Know told him casually, his eyes telling how much he was enjoying the situation.

“Why did you do that?” The boy with Josh asked you in a genuinely curious tone.

“It’s not like I planned to trip and spill coffee all over him. Its just the way of my people…” you paused and then continued. “And by people I mean those who are extremely clumsy and uncoordinated.”

This elicited laughs out of everyone present and the unfamiliar boy aimed a charismatic smile your way, stating, “Oh, so you and Felix are part of the same people then!”

The new boy flashed a sly look towards Felix who immediately launched himself at the mischief-maker, getting the younger into a headlock and teasingly tickling him.

You laughed as the other boys got involved, feeling like your cheeks were about to split from how wide you were smiling,

Slowly the chaos calmed down with help from Josh, who’s resigned expression told you that this type of bedlam was a normal occurrence.

“Okay, okay, settle down.” Josh waved his hands around as Felix and the other boy separated, patting each other on the back good-naturedly, obviously no hard feelings between them.

“I’m Seungmin by the way,” the boy introduced himself in almost perfect English.

“We were just coming to grab the kids for lunch. You want to come with?” Josh asked you, eyebrows raised, not wanting to put you on the spot but eager for you to join them.

You glanced round at the boys surrounding you, eyes resting on Felix and Hyunjin who were both nodding enthusiastically.

You shrugged in reply. “Sure, why not. I’ve already missed my afternoon class anyways!”

Hyunjin very kindly held the door open for you as the boys piled out into the hallway, loudly talking and teasing one another.

You met up with 3Racha by the elevator, the three boys still discussing music as they patiently waited for the rest of their team to arrive.

They looked surprised but pleased when they spotted you amongst their members, Chan immediately claiming a spot next to you so he could talk about your life back in Australia while you all walked to a nearby restaurant.

The kids were obviously regulars to the eatery, the staff greeting them by name and seating you all in a secluded spot right at the back where the boys antics wouldn’t disturb other customers.

You found yourself sandwiched in between Chan and Han with Josh at the head of the table to Chan’s right and Felix and Changbin seated comfortably across from you. The rest of the boys spread around the left side of the table, talking at a rapid pace and bickering with each other.

While the others discussed what to order you asked Chan to choose for you, not familiar with the Korean Menu.

You sat back, watching silently as you enjoyed the atmosphere the charismatic boys created around you. You glanced over to Josh, who was deep in conversation with Chan, arms waving passionately over what they were saying in such rapid Korean that you struggled to keep up.

“How are you enjoying Seoul?” a soft question came from the opposite side of the table, your eyes meeting Changbin’s intense gaze as he leaned towards you.

You considered your words for a moment then replied. “It’s very different to where I grew up, I’m not used to living in the middle of a large city, but I’m really loving it. I love being able to walk to almost everything and the city is so beautiful, especially at night. I also love the people here. They’re so friendly and helpful, even when I’m struggling to communicate with them, most are super patient with me, which I appreciate.” You finished, realising you probably talked way too much, twisting your hands in your lap.

“It is beautiful,” Felix agreed happily. “We should take you down to the waterway at night one day. It’s absolutely breath taking.” He bumped Changbin’s shoulder with his, including his hyung in the outing.

“That would be amazing,” you immediately perked up at his words, beaming across at the pair.

“It’s a date then,” Changbin commented, smiling mischievously, trying to make you blush with some success.

Luckily you were saved from more teasing by Han capturing your attention, the sweet boy firing questions at you, one after another, making you struggle to keep up. Felix and Changbin still had their attention on you, curious about your answers to Han’s more personal questions.

Once the food arrived it was a brief tussle of hands and elbows as everyone helped themselves to the large dishes in the middle of the table. You thanked Chan profusely as he grabbed a plateful of various goodies and then placed it in front of you to sample, the kind boy merely waving your gratitude off, saying he didn’t want you to accidentally get knocked out by an errant elbow.

A sudden silence fell over the table as everyone tucked in, the only sounds were munching and noises of appreciation. It was the most quiet you had had in several hours but somehow you still missed the noise a little. Not for long though, as the boys surrounding you once again started up their antics but now with food involved it was even more interesting (and messier) than before.

Josh and Chan managed to control the boys before a full-out food war began and you all helped tidy up the table before thanking the restaurant staff and filing out the front door.

“I really have to go home,” you sighed, as the group paused outside on the sidewalk. “Thank you so much for today guys. I had a lot of fun!” You told them, genuinely thankful for them taking you under their wing.

“You’re welcome to hang out with us anytime,” Chan said, wrapping his arms around you in a surprising but much appreciated hug. The rest of the boys parroted the sentiment making you promise to come visit them.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Josh asked worriedly as he enveloped you in a tight hug.

“No, I’ll be fine Josh.” You pulled back and gave your overprotective brother a hard stare. “You’ve got work to go and do.”

Felix cleared his throat behind you, grabbing your attention. “Ah, I’m actually heading back home now anyways. I’d be honoured if you’d walk with me. I believe your apartment is near our dorm, Josh mentioned it at one point.” The sweet silver haired boy looked over to Josh who gave a nod of confirmation.

You stared at Felix, wondering whether to take the offer or not. Your eyes met with Josh’s who gave you an encouraging nod of his head and you knew that he would worry less if you had someone accompanying you home in the still unfamiliar city.

“Thank you Felix. That would be great,” you told the petite boy earning yourself another of his brilliant smiles.

You quickly finished your goodbyes with the rest of the group before heading off in the opposite direction, Felix at your side. There was silence for a while, both of you enjoying the lovely weather.

You had expected to feel nervous and awkward in the presence of the gorgeous boy beside you, but the quiet was a comfortable one. It felt like Felix was exuding effervescent energy, making you feel immediately bubbly and happy just by being in his presence.

“How long have you been in Seoul?” Felix finally asked in his deep voice, breaking the silence and fixing you with his dark eyes.

“About two months,” you told him, trying very hard not to trip over your own feet and make an embarrassment of yourself... again.

“Have you got to do much sightseeing?”

You shrugged, momentarily distracted by the smell of deep-frying Bungeo-ppang. “Not much. Josh has been super busy with work and I have classes and stuff. I was hoping to do more by myself during the mid-year break.”

Felix noticed the direction of your gaze and grinned brightly. He immediately approached the food vendor, asking for two ice-cream filled Bungeo-ppang.

“No, no, you don’t have to do that!” You protested, following behind him. “We only just ate lunch!”

“And this is dessert,” Felix twinkled, passing the fish shaped pastry over to you.

He looked around for a moment then spotted a bench overlooking a small square of garden, indicating that you should sit and eat.

You settled onto the bench, Felix sitting down next to you as you took a big bite of the Bungeo-ppang.

“Mmmh. This is amazing!” You enthused to the boy next to you, not aware of the chocolate smeared on your cheek. Felix lifted a gentle hand and wiped it away with his thumb, his touch immediately bringing a rosy tint to your cheeks.

He dropped his hand, suddenly looking self-conscious. He examined his own dessert asking, “What do you want to see most?” before taking a large bite out of the deep-fried goodness.

It took you a moment to realise he was continuing your previous conversation. You contemplated the question and then replied, “Honestly, the Ansan Jarak-Gil.”

Felix raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Hiking?” he questioned. “Out of everything here in Seoul, that’s what you want to do the most?”

You glared at him as he questioned your choice. “What’s so wrong with hiking? I happen to enjoy it!”

Felix held up his hands to ward off your indignation. “There’s nothing wrong with Hiking. I’ve actually never been to Ansan before but I’ve heard its beautiful.” He flashed you a sweet smile which immediately dissolved any irritation you felt against him.

“Shall we keep going?” He questioned once you’d both finished, standing and extending a hand out to help you stand.

You took the offered hand and let him lever you upright, continuing your walk, comfortably conversing as you led Felix towards your apartment.

Finally reaching your destination, you paused at the entrance of the apartment building, finishing your discussion.

“Thank you for walking me home,” you thanked the silver haired boy standing before you, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“You’re more than welcome. It was fun.” Felix twinkled at you, smiling widely and scrunching his nose in an adorable manner.

He leant in and gave you a tight hug, squeezing tightly for a few long moment before drawing back. “You’ll come visit us at JYP, yeah?” He asked, expectant eyes trained on yours.

“If you guys don’t mind,” was your hesitant reply, not wanting to intrude on these boys who had been strangers only hours earlier.

“Of course we wouldn’t mind. We’d love to see you,” Felix said on behalf of his group members.

You smiled brightly back at him. “I promise to visit at some point then!”

“Stupendous. I look forward to it.” Felix replied, immediately happy with your assurance.

You said your goodbyes and watched as Felix started walking off in the direction of the boys dorm.

You turned and headed up into your apartment, feeling a lot lighter and happier than when you had left, the aftermath of the effervescent boys presence.

[awhitehead17]

Universal Signs

Chapter 15 / Previous Chapter 

Also on AO3

Enjoy! :D

There's an overwhelming sensation of agonising pain and cold numbness throughout his body. It’s so strange that he wouldn’t be able to describe the feeling even if he tried. One thing he can determine however, is how his mind seems to be in some sort of haze, making everything seem unclear as he comes back to consciousness.

He’s aware of when he wakes up, he feels his breathing deepen and his body twitch when he tries to move. He barely gets his hand off the bed before pain is traveling up his arm and through his side. He groans and drops the limb back down where eventually the pain tampers off leaving his limb almost numb like. He soon finds out that his other body parts are all in similar states.

The process of waking up is strange. It’s not something that Kon does very often and when he does its usually because of dire situations. For him to be feeling this weak, something serious had to have happened.

In that moment he couldn’t recall what happened, his mind is in a haze which is making it difficult to think about anything in particular. Perhaps he should find out where he is first and then work out what happened? Right, that seems logical enough.

He’s not sure how much time passes by but eventually he’s able to crack his eyes open and blink away the blurriness that clouded his vision. When it finally clears he finds himself looking up at a plain ceiling which tells him nothing about his location. In slow and controlled movements, just so he doesn’t strain his body too much, he lifts his head up and cranes his neck around so he could observe his surroundings. As soon as he turns his head he knows where he is.

He’s in the infirmary of the training operations centre on Krypton.

Kon lets out a groan, his mind thinking about what the implications of what that could mean. From his glance around the room, he finds he's the only current occupant there and how no other workers were nearby. Directly to his left were various machines which all had a wide variety of data blinking on them, they were all attached to the medical cot he’s currently lying on.

That leads his gaze to look down his body. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees the stark white bandages stretched across his torso, heavily padded on his side in particular. At least that explains the sharp pull he felt earlier.

It’s the physical pain that triggers off his memories to what had happened for him to land badly wounded in the infirmary on Krypton. The League of Assassins. Tim. The fight. Bart. Getting stabbed. Kryptonite. Hitting the emergency beacon.

It also explains why he feels awful, getting struck by kryptonite is never pleasant. It’s practically poisonous to his kind and could kill them if it enters their systems and isn’t immediately treated. Kon wonders how he’s alive.

Gritting his teeth, Kon braces himself and sits up on the bed, it takes humongous effort just to get sat up right and even more to get himself into a position where he’s leaning back against the headboard. By the time he’s settled he’s breathing heavily and feels like he’s about to pass out. The sudden nausea doesn’t help either.

“Kon-el!”

Kon opens his eyes up, unsure of when he closed them, at the loud exclamation of his name and watches as a figure rushes towards him from the infirmary’s entrance. Before he could recognise who it is, slender arms were encasing his shoulders and pulling him for an embrace, Kon’s just about able to lift one arm to wrap it around the figure.

They pull away and he finally sees who it is. Despite the circumstances, a small grin stretches across his lips at the sight of her. “Hey Kara, long time no see.”

She smiles in returns before she’s scowling and punching his shoulder in retaliation. “You idiot! You almost died! What were you thinking about going up against the League of Assassins? Getting stabbed by kryptonite? Rao Kon, you have no idea how frustrated I am with you!”

Kon pouts and rubs his shoulder but doesn’t stop her from ranting. He watches as she starts pacing the length of the bed, waving her arms around in dramatic gestures and as her long blonde hair flicks from side to side with the movements. They were family, cousins, this was her way of fretting over him.

After a moment he looks at her apologetically. “I apologise for worrying you Kara, you know that was never my intention, especially getting stabbed by kryptonite.”

“I know Kon,” she sighs defeatedly. She stops her pacing and slumps down on the bed next to his hip facing him. “It seemed like you weren’t going to make it. I was worried. Even Kal was concerned.”

Kon raises his eyebrows at hearing that, surprised at the news. Kal was one of the top leaders of Krypton, not the top but certainly the most respected, and often gave Kon the cold shoulder when they crossed paths. The only time they really communicate is through work when Kon does a check-in report.

He’s supposed to be Kon’s father too.

“Where is he now?” Kon questions his cousin.

She waves a dismissive hand. “Off doing his duties, you know what he’s like. He’ll be happy to hear you’re awake though.”

Kon nods before stopping himself, catching onto an earlier part of their conversation. “How did you know it was the League who stabbed me? Speaking of which, where’s my team? Are they okay? What happened, I remember collapsing after calling the beacon but that’s it.”

Kara hesitates before answering him. Kon could visibly see the internal debate she was having with herself on whether she should share the information or not. Her hesitation only aggravates him, obviously something bad has happened or else she wouldn’t be reluctant to tell him.

“Kara.”

His cousin sighs and looks at him guiltily before the expression changes into something more sombre. “Your crew are alive Kon. Cassandra was the first to wake and is making a full recovery, our staff were able to flush the poison out of her system and heal the wound. It’ll take a few days before she’s back to normal.”

Kon nods listening intently. He’s glad Cassie is recovering, it seems like she was the most fortunate out of the three of them, getting away from the League the least scathed. He looks expectantly at Kara for her to continue with news on Bart’s wellbeing.

“Bartholomew, isn’t as fortunate I’m afraid.” She tells him carefully, almost calculatingly, being weary of how Kon will react to the news. “He has yet to wake up. They’re having trouble analysing what’s in his system so they can work on an antidote and treat it. For now he’s alive but his metabolism has rapidly decreased and his accelerated healing factor seems to be almost non-existent. As far as I am aware they have contacted those on Keystone and have promised to keep them informed. If Bartholomew’s condition doesn’t improve they’re talking about transporting him back to Keystone.”

Kon merely nods after hearing that. He moves his gaze away from his cousin and stares at the blank wall in front of his bed. Guilt, fear, anger and sadness stir inside of him at the thought of Bart not waking up.

Normally he’s good at detaching from his emotions but when it’s those who are affected that he’s closet too, Kon struggles to do so. Poor energetic Bart, lying somewhere cold and now unmoving.

Kara reaches out and gently places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze as she does so. “Members from Keystone are on their way here to see if they can help first, of course they have more insight of a Speedster’s body than us Kryptonian’s do. At the moment our teams doing everything they can to keep him breathing.”

Kon doesn’t think much more of it, he gently pushes her hand off of him and makes a move to get off the bed he’s on. “Where is he? I need to see him.”

Hands are instantly pushing back down against the bed. Kon submits under the pressure, finding himself too weak to fight back and the dizziness from earlier returning at full force. It takes a moment before it passes and he squints at Kara, silently demanding for an explanation.

The blonde Kryptonian glares back, crossing her arms over her chest in a show of annoyance. “You’re not going anywhere yet Kon-el. You are not nearly recovered enough to do so. You had severe Kryptonite poisoning, you’re lucky it didn’t kill you. It’s going to be several days before you’re back to normal then even longer before you have all your abilities back.”

Kon huffs and thumps his head against the cushion underneath his head. He doesn’t want to admit it but he knows she’s right.

Kara settles back down at his hip. “To answer your other question, once Cassandra woke up, I spoke to her and kept her company. She explained everything that happened and what’s been going on with your team recently. Of all the beings in the universe Kon, it happens to be you who stumbles across a human being from Earth! Mind explaining that one?”

Kon shakes his head in disbelief, a ghost of a smirk crossing his lips at the coincidence of it all. “I don’t know. We were doing our job and there was this human who was lost, confused, scared and I knew I had to help him. In my defence I didn’t know he was human to begin with.”

Kara raises an eyebrow and smiles. “That so? And as if helping the human wasn’t enough, you manage to get yourself mixed up with the League of Assassins at the same time! What were you thinking Kon!”

“It wasn’t intentional!” Kon exclaims, he waves his hands about uselessly. “We were going to finish our task, return the items and then go and take Tim home. The League just is an unfortunate factor, one of which has nearly killed my friend and is probably torturing Tim as we speak!”

His cousin doesn’t say anything for a long time, she simply sits there on the edge of the bed observing him. He doesn’t know what she’s thinking, not sure if he actually wants to know. In the end, whatever it is, she keeps it to herself and stands up from the bed. “I’ll let them know you’re awake, they’ll want to check you over and once you’re cleared you’ll need to go speak to Kal. He has questions.”

Kon closes his eyes and sighs. That’s a conversation he really would rather not have.

Kara pats his shoulder once before turning around and leaving. Then just like before she came, he was alone in the infirmary once again. It doesn’t stay that way for long because Cassie is soon bursting into the room. Kon perks up and barely slides off the bed by the time she reaches his side.

She bends down and pulls him up for a hug. “Thank Hera, you’re alive Kon. I was so worried, when Kara told me I was the first one awake and now that Bart may not wake up, I had no idea on what to think.”

Kon embraces her as tightly as he could before having to let go and slumps back down on the bed, his body still too weak to be upright. “I’m so sorry Cassie, none of this was ever supposed to happen. I never intended for things to escalate like this. And now Bart is hurt, you’re wounded, Tim is back in their hands and we’ll probably lose our jobs and positions because of my decisions.”

A sharp smack to the side of his head makes him jerk and look at her in surprise. Before he could voice his protest she’s pointing at him and glaring. “No. Absolutely not Kon. You’re not taking the blame for this, none of this was your fault. We all knew the risks of bringing that human on board, furthermore we knew what we were risking after we found out who was after Tim.”

“It wasn’t supposed to escalate so much,” Kon comments weakly, knowing she was in fact right with her words. They did know what they were getting into, Kon said it himself that they’ll deal with the League when they come across them but now that they have? Kon knows he was way out of his depth. The League are a force he, and his team, weren’t prepared to face against at all.

“It never does,” Cassie says lightly, “What’s happened is awful but Bart is a fighter, something we both know and we know he’ll fight until he can’t. He’ll be fine. He’ll be back chattering our ears off before we know it.”

Kon opens his mouth to agree with her, that their friend is a fighter who won’t let something like this stop him, when a low, deep voice speaks up from the door of the infirmary. Cassie and Kon both look over to find a Kryptonian worker standing there in an upright position with his hands behind his back.

“The commander wishes to speak with the two of you. Immediately.”

His tone and words leave them no choice in the matter. Kon shares a grave look with Cassie before nodding at the worker.

“We’re on our way up.” Cassie tells him. She turns back to Kon, looking over him with concern. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

Kon grits his teeth and slides off the bed, having to grab hold of the edge for balance when he stumbles slightly. He could feel his body trembling with exertion, his body still weak from the kryptonite poisoning he suffered. He sends his team mate a look. “Help may be needed, please.”

Cassie says nothing as she takes one of his arms and throws it over her shoulders and as she positions her arm around his back.

After grabbing him some clothing, they wordlessly make their way up to the head office of the training operations centre where Kal is waiting for them. As they travel Kon marvels at everything around him, all sorts of memories and feelings coming back to him as they pass through the corridors of the centre.

The TOC is a central base for youthful Kryptonian’s who are choosing their career paths. It helps them learn the basic and fundamental skills, how to fight, survival on different planets, how to control their abilities and much more.

It’s practically where Kon grew up and where he met Cassie and Bart for the first time.

Krypton has a strong alliance with other planets throughout the universe, it’s one of the strongest to currently exist. With that alliance it allows opportunities to happen such as exchange programmes; this means beings from certain planets can come to Krypton to learn the culture and their ways while in return Kryptonian’s can visit their planet and learn their culture and ways.

It’s an opportunity to meet other species and see how they live, it also provides the chance to help strengthen bonds between the planets for any future business that may take place.

Kon met Bart and Cassie because of this exchange programme, the two of them were visiting Krypton and were staying at the training centre where Kon had been at the time learning battle strategies.

The three of them surprisingly hit it off and by the end of the programme they had decided to form a team between them. They chose to go down the collector’s career path, this was so they could stay together, get their own space ship, explore the universe and genuinely have fun while doing it.

And now here they are in the future, still at it and getting into all kinds of trouble. Getting into messes that was way out of their contracts.

“Enter.”

Kon blinks at hearing the voice. It’s only then that he realises he and Cassie have made it to the head office and were waiting outside of the room to be called in. Once the voice could be heard, Cassie leads them into the room, only stopping their movements when they’re standing in front of the desk.

It’s a simple room. One desk by a wall with a couple of chairs in front of it. Adjacent to it was a large book and storage self, on the opposite side was a small table surrounded by a couple more chairs. Behind the desk there was a large open pane window that allows spectacular views of the city below to be seen.

By the window is a tall, broad shouldered being. He’s currently staring out of the glass, not paying them any attention. Kon subtly pushes against Cassie’s hold, attempting to hold his own weight. He still felt weak and shaky but he needs to appear strong in front of this Kryptonian, looking weak won’t get him anywhere. She lets him go but keeps a hand resting on his lower back in light support just in case.

Kon takes a breath and draws to attention. “Sir. You wanted to see us.”

The Kryptonian turns and Kon’s met with an identical reflection of himself. It’s still unsettling about how much they look alike, father and son. Same black hair, same facial structure, identical blue eyes. Thankfully appearances is as far as it goes, they weren’t anything alike personality wise.

“Yes I did. Thank you for coming. Take a seat, I know how taxing the last few days have been for the both of you.”

While Kon would rather stay standing, to be on equal ground for the conversation they’re about to have, he knows he won’t be able to stand up right for much longer and silently takes one of the chairs in front of the desk. Taking the seat now by his own choosing looks better than collapsing into one later on. Besides him Cassie follows suit.

“Kon-el, it’s good to see you awake and moving about. How do you feel?” Kal asks.

Any other time, Kon would be grateful for the attention but he knows his wellbeing isn’t a priority of Kal’s.

“I’m well.” Kon tells him curtly. “But we all know that isn’t why you wanted to talk to us.”

Kal narrows his eyes at Kon. “Very well.” The older Kryptonian moves to the desk and sits down in the chair facing them. He sits up straight and stares at them, almost daring them to disobey him. “You lied to us Kon-el. You and your team are in serious trouble for your actions and the consequences they have resulted in.”

Kon opens his mouth to comment but a sharp look being sent his way keeps him quiet.

“We told you to be alert because of the rumours going around about there being a human from planet Earth in this part of the universe. We had warned you, only to find out you were hosting the human being the entire time! Do you have any idea what kind of implications this has caused, what this could mean not only for human beings, or even Kryptonian’s, but for every other species as well?”

“He was lost and scared!” Kon exclaims, unable to keep himself quiet any longer. “All we wanted to do was help him and get him back home. How were we supposed to know that Tim was involved with the League of Assassins?”

“Exactly. The very idea that a human had reached this part of the galaxy was a concern itself. They are by no means developed enough to have discovered space travel or advanced enough to have developed the technologies to assist with it. A human in this part of the universe is by no means an accident. Finding out that there is one around means something major is happening.

Furthermore we’re finding out that the League of Assassins is behind this, it means they are scheming and planning something to which we have no ideas on what it could be. That leaves us, and all of our allies, in a vulnerable position.”

Kal is staring at them with fire in his eyes, his lips are firmly set in a line and Kon couldn’t help the anger that boils inside of him. He isn’t one to lose his temper quickly, but Kal alone is enough to set him off.

“This isn’t Tim’s fault sir.” Cassie says evenly. “He had no idea who he had been kidnapped by, he couldn’t understand anyone until we were able to get him a universal translator fitted. It wasn’t until we discovered that Tim had somehow managed escaped the clutches of the Demon’s Head that he was even involved with the League to begin with.”

Kon appreciates Cassie backing him up, even after all of her spitfire towards the human, she does care about him and doesn’t wish him any harm.

“We’re not saying this is his fault. We’re saying you should have reported to us immediately as soon as you found him.” Kal snaps back. “The League of Assassins and the Demon’s Head are forces we do not want to cross paths with under any circumstances.”

“It’s not like it was intentional. We didn’t tell the leaders because we didn’t know what you would do to Tim. For all we know, you would have simply negotiated with the League and handed Tim back to them to stop whatever war is headed our way. Your priority wouldn’t have been Tim’s safety.”

“You’re right it wouldn’t have been, the priority is, and will always be, Kryptonian’s first. But now because of your team every species is at risk of whatever the Demon’s Head is planning. Just because he now has the human once again doesn’t mean he’s going to let it go. A Kryptonian, an Amazon and a Speedster all ‘took’ something that ‘belonged’ to him, he’s going to take that as a personal offense and use it as a declaration of war against us.”

Kon grits his teeth to stop himself from lashing out once again. It’s frustrating because he can see what Kal is saying but underneath it all he’s talking about simply handing Tim over and being done with it. Kon wouldn’t, couldn’t, accept that.

He squares his shoulders and levels Kal a firm look, not backing down as the older Kryptonian’s fiery gaze meets his own. “I don’t regret my actions, I would happily hide Tim’s presence from you and the leaders again in heartbeat, especially after finding out you’d happily chuck him back to the League with no remorse.

Punish us all how you please, the League has already had a stab at all of us, one of which is still unconscious who may not wake up, so it can’t be any worse than that. For now, my team and I are going to find a way to rescue Tim from the clutches of the Demon’s Head because no one, no matter what species they are, deserves to be in the hands of that monster. Then we can deal with the repercussions and whatever war is impending throughout our galaxy.”

There's a moment of silence as Kon’s words hang in the air between them all. Kal’s sat there looking at him shocked while next to him Cassie’s playing the blank emotion card. Kon knows he's going to have to have a serious conversation with her about everything soon.

Kal, predictably, is livid. “You will absolutely not get any more involved than what you are already. From now on, until this is situation is solved, Young Justice are to stay on Krypton and not leave the planet under no circumstances. That is an order.”

Kon raises an unimpressed eyebrow, he’s long gotten used the authoritative voice Kal has and they both know how good Kon is at following orders.

Instead of arguing and protesting at the unfairness of it all he sends Kal a fake smile and carefully climbs up to his feet. “Very well father. This has been a lovely talk but I’m feeling rather drained. If you would excuse me, I’m going to go rest up. After all I am still recovering from Kryptonite poisoning.”

Without waiting for any more words Kon turns and begins to make his way out of the office. Cassie is quickly there by his side, wrapping an arm around him like they had been earlier and helps him walk out of the room.

To his surprise Kal doesn’t call or shout at them from behind, he silently lets them leave on their own accords.

“You are so explaining to me what that was about Kon!” Cassie hisses into his ear as they walk through the corridors of the centre.

“Head to our old rooms.” Kon mutters to her as they turn a corner. “I know and I will. I mean it Cassie. We need to go back and rescue Tim, we can’t leave him there.”

Cassie is silent for a moment before she’s speaking up. “It won’t be easy.”

He doesn’t know if she’s indulging him or if she’s actually on board with the idea. “I know.”

“Everyone will be against us. We’ll have to sneak off, steal a ship, then get out of the planet followed by working out a plan on how we even get close to the League of Assassins base, not alone mention where would we find Tim and then the escape afterwards.”

“When have we ever done something that's easy?” Kon grins at her. “We have to Cass. You can either join me or I’ll go by myself anyway.”

“Well for starters, we need to rest and recover. Then we’ll talk about it.”

Kon continues grinning. Even though she hasn’t verbally confirmed it, he knows she’ll help him rescue Tim. It sucks they won’t be here for Bart but maybe the Speedster will wake up before they go. Either way Kon knows his next mission and he’s going to make sure he sees it through.

[princesssarcastia]

yes, ghosts CAN time travel, actually, don’t be such a Richard, Klaus

titled “frozen time between hearses and caskets” in my fic folder, aka idea #3 from my poll two weeks ago on which Umbrella Academy Season 2 fic I should write.  vague vibes also from this poem which I adore; “I AM TIRED OF RE-WRITING TRAGEDY WITHOUT CHANGE. LET THEM LIVE. LET THEM LEARN. LET THEM LOVE.”  Because let people grow, goddammit.

this mess to follow is dedicated to @levhach, the only respondent to my poll.  I hope you enjoy!  also dedicated to Klaus’ genuine kindness and empathy for others in season 1, may it rest in peace.

                                        —————————

“Well, unfortunately, ghosts can’t time travel,” Klaus says, playing at exasperated and put-upon.

“Klaus, don’t be an asshole,” Ben intones from the corner of the room, but Klaus can hear the edge of desperation in his voice. 

It’s been years since either of them could even lay eyes on their siblings, let alone speak to them. When Allison appeared at the edge of that pool, it was like heroin; that kind of emotional high could be addictive, if he let it, and he would know.  Seeing and being seen are kind of important, apparently.

Nobody ever sees Ben but Klaus.

Except for three years ago, in Vanya’s theater.

Klaus heaves a sigh, letting his shoulders rise and fall.  “Oh, fine, you big baby.” He throws up his hands as they take on a distinctly blue hue.

And the whole room…stops.

“Ben,” someone says, or maybe they all say it, and then Diego is in front of their dead teenaged brother and clutching desperately at his stupid leather jacket, and Ben is clutching back and crying. 

He sighs again, for real this time, and lets them have this moment.  Even Five seems swept up in the emotion of it all, hovering just on the edge of the crowd with his hands stuffed in his pockets and a constipated look on his face.

“So that’s our brother?” Vanya says from right behind him, jesus christ!

“God, we should have put a bell on you,” Klaus says.  “Yeah, that’s Ben.”

“Ben,” Vanya draws out his name, like she’s trying it out, and Klaus glances back at her.  There’s a hint of some je ne sais quoi, a glimmer of confused grief, in her eyes—like she wants to cry with no idea why, or how.

Vanya, who got teary when they stepped on ants as kids, went berserk and killed the whole world…and then conveniently forgot all about it.  Hmm. Klaus has some ideas about that, personally, but he sees no need to share with the class; in his experience, people will remember terrible shit in their own time.  Trying to force it will only set her off again.

Plus, he’s not nearly drunk enough for that conversation, even after a morning of margaritas with Allison, who’s turned into a wonderful enabler.

Ben finds him briefly from the center of their little gaggle of siblings, seemingly content with more attention than he’s had in decades.

“I missed you all,” he hears Ben say, and watches their dead brother look at Vanya with grief that isn’t confused at all.

—

They stumble out of Allison’s house, away from her lovely husband—really, Klaus can’t even begin to explain how hard it is to find a partner willing to hide a body for you—and straight into the car Klaus sped over here in.  Diego, of course, insists on driving, but Allison is still upset over Raymond and Klaus can’t be bothered, so it works out.

Ben calls shotgun and Klaus automatically pulls Allison into the backseat with him.

“I just,” Allison clears her throat, “Vanya?”

“Again?  What are the odds, am I right?”  Klaus jibes, and flinches dramatically away from Allison when she elbows him.

“Last time, it was Luther and the rest of you morons that set her off.  But none of us have seen her since she left after the dinner from hell, so it couldn’t have been one of us.”

“What is she even doing in the federal building in the first place?”  Ben asks.

Klaus hums, “good point, Ben,” and relays it to the others.

He can hear the leather steering wheel creak as Diego tightens his grip.  “I don’t—I’m not sure, I was moving pretty quickly to avoid getting caught at Headquarters.”

“But?”  Allison prompts when he doesn’t continue.

“But,” Diego’s jaw tightens, “I think she got arrested.  By the FBI?”

“The FBI?” Klaus screws up his face.  “Who the hell—Allison, did you get her involved with the SJCC in the, what, ten minutes we were all together?”

“No, no I didn’t.  But…I mean, someone named Vanya with memory loss in 1963 when the president is in town…” Allison trails off, like the words she emphasized will make some sort of sense when put together.

“They think she’s a communist spy,” Diego says flatly.

“Oh!”  Klaus exclaims.  “Oh,” he repeats, when that sinks in.  “Oh, that—that won’t be good.”

“No, it won’t,” Ben agrees.

Silence fills the car like Agent Orange, and Klaus is just choking on all the implications.

—

His ears haven’t rung like this since helicopters and machine guns and Dave and medic!  I need a fucking medic!, but Klaus foists the memory back into the arms of his subconscious because now���s not the time for a panic attack, goddammit. 

Allison and Diego are saying something, but he can’t quite hear them; it’s hard to focus with wave after wave of energy flowing into him and into him, into that terrible void he doesn’t like to think about and in fact has spent his whole life drowning out. The energy Vanya is pulsating through the federal building feels like nails on the chalkboard of his soul. 

“Question, guys,” he interrupts, “Who are we trying to save Vanya from, again?”

“The FBI,” Diego, Allison, and Ben all say together, and in the same you’re-an-idiot-Klaus tone of voice, too, isn’t that adorable.

Joke’s on them, he’s about to say something relevant. “But if they’re all sucking ceiling right now, why hasn’t she stopped?”

All the bodies scattered about with their eyes burnt out of their skulls is a pretty graphic kind of horrific, even for Klaus, who’s seen pretty much every kind of dead body there is.

Actually…

Klaus waves to get Ben’s attention.  The others turn to look at him and Klaus ignores them.  “Why aren’t there any ghosts?” He shouts, hands still tight around his ears.

Not Ben, though.  He’s just standing there, arms at his sides, like Vanya’s energy isn’t on quite the same wavelength for him as it is for the rest of them.  “I don’t,” he frowns, “yeah, that is weird.  Can’t you feel that, though?”

Klaus hesitates, then nods back, refusing to explain to Allison and Diego when they make encouraging gestures.  There’s no way to articulate it to them, anyway, not in time for them to understand what it means that Vanya can affect his connection with Ben.  That Vanya can, apparently, banish the other ghosts, the ones Klaus isn’t anchoring here in the land of the living.

Pressure is building in too-tight air, like a balloon pushed to the brink of bursting.  According to Diego, Vanya will defrost the Cold War in another fifteen, maybe twenty minutes or so. 

“Can Ben go find out what’s going on with her, then?”  Diego shouts at him, and Klaus looks at Ben, who nods and strolls down the hallway more easily than they could, but it feels…weird.  Something in his chest tightens, in that same place Vanya’s reaching and Klaus doesn’t like to be aware of it the way he’s forced to be right now.

God, he wants a drink.

It takes almost five minutes for Ben to get there and back, and Klaus feels the blood drain out of his face when he gets a look at Ben’s expression.

“They hooked her up to some kind of generator.  Klaus, the readout says it’s up to a thousand volts,” Ben says quickly.  “She’s seizing pretty violently; I don’t think she even knows what she’s doing.”

Klaus lets out a blistering string of curses, the kind Sarge would be proud of—come to think of it, Klaus probably learned it from Sarge. 

“What, what is it?” Allison shouts, leaning in and trying to look where he’s looking, where Ben stands, intangible and desperate.

“They’re torturing her!” Klaus shouts back.

“So, this is some kind of defense mechanism?” Diego adds his two cents, though Klaus doesn’t think the what of this is really relevant right now.

“We have to go turn it off,” Klaus darts to look at Allison and Diego and then back at Ben.  Pressure keeps building in his ears, against his skin, in his brain, in his soul.  How the hell are we going to get back there?  He’s pretty sure they won’t even be able to stand, let alone walk a hundred and fifty feet.  They’ll pop like grapes before they reach the halfway point.

Allison and Diego are shouting something else, now, but it doesn’t matter, because Klaus is looking at Ben and Ben is looking at him and Vanya is reaching that point inside him that anchors Ben, even from all the way back here, and Vanya’s going to blow up this building with them inside it and start World War III and they can’t reach her but Ben can.

Ben can.

He shivers.

Seventeen plus years together means Klaus knows exactly what Ben is thinking, because he’s thinking it, too.

“Are you sure?” He leans into Ben’s space, and Ben crouches down so they’re eye to eye.

“I’m sure,” Ben says easily, like this is easy, god, what a prick.

Something twists in his chest, and he can’t tell if it’s Vanya or his own stupid feelings.  “No take-back-sies this time, mein bruder. If we do this—”

“We?” Ben raises his eyebrows and smirks.

“Oh, please, this is at least forty percent me and you know it,” Klaus narrows his eyes petulantly. 

His brother shifts weight he doesn’t have back onto his heels, freeing his hands to rise in front of him, palms toward Klaus.  “You remember the first time we tried this?”

“We?” Klaus mocks, but takes his own hands off his ears and presses them into Ben’s, letting that peculiar shade of blue envelop both their hands.  Not quite visible, not quite tangible, but it’s power.  Parts of Klaus flow into Ben like Vanya’s energy waves are crashing into everything around him, twining with the anchor between them until it’s a constant stream Ben can feed off of.

He sucks in a shuddery breath and blows out a shaky one.  Allison and Diego are staring at him, wide-eyed, but he keeps ignoring them in favor of Ben.

“Do you think she’ll remember me this time?” Ben asks, smiling at him in that soft way Klaus thought they’d agreed to stop doing years ago.  Rude!

Oh, what the hell. 

Klaus quirks a real smile at Ben and squeezes his hands.  “She’d better.”

—

“I remember everything.”

“Tell Klaus something for me, would you?”

—

fin.