#but like i wrote nearly 4k words today i think that's enough!!! please give me my internet back now </3

[wickedhawtwexler]

two separate internet speed tests have said my internet is "fast" like ummm it just took 30 seconds for my discord message to send, shit is not adding up!!!!

[i-am-infinite]

Guilt (Part 1): The Rescue

(Din Djarin x ForceSensitive!Fem!Reader)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Slight Chpt 12 and 13 spoilers. Read at your own risk.

Description: Moff Gideon has found someone else to run his experiments on and word gets back to Din. Will he take his son far away and try and find somewhere safe? Or will the guilt of an innocent being put in his son’s place eat away at him? (No Y/N or ___ used)

Word Count: Slightly over 4K

Warnings: Mentions of blood and needles. Broken glass. Fainting. Blood loss. Canon type violence. Possible bad writing (first fic pls go easy on me). If I’m missing anything please let me know, I’ve never done one of these before. 

A/N: This is my first fanfic I’ve written so it might be really bad but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head so here it is. I also made up a planet/system and don’t know if star wars has alarm clocks but i wrote it in anyway. I also wrote this in Word first and then realized I couldn’t copy it over so I tried my best to type it over in here. 

Normal. That is what was used to describe your life. Nothing out of the ordinary. Life wasn’t boring per se, but it definitely wasn’t compelling enough for your tastes. Studying to be a healer help keep it somewhat interesting but not enough. 

Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzz. Crust littered eyes creak open as your face unsticks from the textbook scattered across the desk. Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzzzzz. Your stiff neck cracks as you finally sit up. Fell asleep studying again. You loved learning about healing, you really did. But the long nights and barely sleeping was enough to make your head explode. Looking over at the clock with bright red numbers blinking at you. 8:15. 

8:15! I’m late! You think as you force yourself awake. No not again! Being a student means you need to do hands on hours down at the nearest medcenter. All the late night studying also means that you oversleep most days. Grabbing your work bag filled with a change of clothes, in preparation of these events, you run out the door.

Your feet hit the wet cobble stones as it echos through your little part of the city. Vendors lining up the street ready to start their days. Passing the shop you went to yesterday, your mind too preoccupied to notice that it’s empty today. You know that theres is a faster route to the medcenter, but is it a path you really want to take today? Dark and windy path that you can barely see five feet in front of you on mornings like this. Too foggy and muggy for your liking. You’d rather stick to the main road where there’s people, where if anything were to happen, people would see, they would know. Regardless, it shaves fifteen minutes off your commute. You loathe having to be late for another shift. Making the sharp turn in between tow booths, you pace quickens to get through as quickly as you can. While not having much visibility, you swear you can see a pair of eyes in the dark. Has to just be my imagination, you convince yourself, I just need to keep going. It’ll be fine. 

Footsteps echo behind you. Hands grab your shoulders. A scream rises in your throat, but no sound comes out. Everything goes dark when you feel something hit the side of your head. 

.

Sigh. “Grogu get back in your seat.” The little baby waddles down off the controls and into his father’s lap. “Not what I meant,” Din grumbles with a smile hidden under his helmet. He grabs Grogu by his little robe and places him in the seat to his right and tells him to buckle up as a holo comes through from Greef Karga. 

“Mando, we’ve just got word that Moff Gideon might have been seen in the Braic system. It looks like they found a substitute for the baby for the time being. I would use this time to go find a hide-out and lay low. He could still come back for the little one. Be well,”

Din goes to start the ship and find coordinates to stay out of trouble for a while when he hears the baby whine. Looking back at his adoptive child, all Din can see is Grogu, then a nameless kid, lying unconscious on a metal table, trapped underneath a contraption. Din starts breathing heavy and feeling sick that he ever gave his son up to those Imps. All he can hear is the beeping of the machine he’s hooked up to. Anger boiling back to the surface as he hears himself yell at the doctor all over again in his memories. No, he tells himself, He’s here with me. He’s fine. He’s safe. He shakes himself out of it and goes to fly the Razor Crest off planet. 

Before he even gets off the planet, all Din can think about is that innocent person in his son’s place. They were going to kill Grogu, just for his blood for their experiments. Din can’t bring the kid anywhere near those people, he can’t risk losing his family, not when both of them have formed such attachments to each other. But he can’t stop thinking of this person who is in the that position now. He should’ve made sure Gideon was dead. Because of that now more people are going to get hurt. 

Without thinking he turns on his holo already asking, “Where is he taking them?”

. 

Feeling groggy with heavy eyes, you are able to open them just a bit to a blinding light. Reluctantly closing them again, you lift your arm to rub your eyes, but only they don’t move. What? The rest of your senses start coming back and you can feel the cool metal against your back, the same metal wrapped around your wrists and your ankles attached to the table. Finally bracing the light and opening your eyes, lifting your head slightly off the table and oh no the room is spinning now. There is an IV in your arm drawing your blood out into some odd machine, explaining the dizziness. Second time in two days you’ve had to deal with your own blood. 

Walking through the shops on your one day off, you pick up a flower hair pin. The glasswork is so intricate and entrancing, you can’t help but turn it over and over in your hands. A pearl bead sitting in the center of iridescent gray and white petals. Placing it back in its place, your had scrapes against another glass design that is not yet finished, slashing open your palm. “Oh, dear let me help you with that,” the lady running the stand says. She looks you with her white hair barely covering her forehead. Tattoos liter her arms. A design peaks your interest as you swear you know but can’t quite place. 

“It’s fine, I can take care of it myself,” you state already inspecting your hand. No shards in it so thats good. 

“Oh no I insist. It happened at my booth, let me help clean it,” she declares taking your hand in her own. It feels like she squeezes the wound causing you to wince in pain slightly. Knowing she should just be cleaning it and wrapping it, you’re a little confused. Maybe she just doesn’t know how to tend to these sort of things, not wanted to embarrass her at her stand, you keep quiet. She finally gets a clean rag to help blot away at the blood on your hand. You didn’t think anything of it at the time, but it appears she has put it in a bag to the side. 

“I don’t have any gauze to help wrap it up,” the stand lady says. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I have plenty of my own,” you mention, “It will be fine until I make it back to my place.” Smiling you walk away. Without looking, you can feel her move the piece you cut your hand on into the bag. Must just be because it’s a dangerous piece, you think, not knowing there’s still some of your blood on it too. 

Closing your eyes again, you try to wonder why that is so significant to you right now. It was a harmless thing in passing, so why is it at the forefront of your mind? You are strapped to a table and all you can think about is that little cut you got the day prior. If your head didn’t feel like it was a spinner top right now, you would have laughed. Opening your eyes again you see men all in white armor and helmets guarding the door to your room, while a man in a white coat is working on the machine where your IV is attached. I thought the empire was dead. The same symbol that keeps going through your mind is the same one sewn into the man’s white coat. Your breathing gets shallower as you feel the panic rise in your chest. I’m never getting out of here, you realize as your vision becomes black once again. 

. 

You’re losing a lot of blood. You know that. You can feel it when noise wakes you up and your eyelids feel like lead. All the noise is muffled, as if you’re underwater. Frankly it feels like you are. It would be so easy to let the waves of darkness just wash over you right now, to let the water take you under. No, you can’t give up the fight and drown into unconsciousness just yet. You force yourself to stay awake. 

Barely getting your eyes open, bright red lights flood your vision. You imagine you’re still in bed, or at least asleep at your desk, with the alarm clock blaring, not here with blaster fire. Wait, blaster fire? You attempt to turn your head to the side to look, or to dodge, you aren’t to sure in your current state. The fast action causes you to feel like you’re spinning, or it might be the room, either way your eyes can’t focus on what is going on. Closing your eyes again to make it stop, you hear voices surrounding you. They sound so far away at the moment but finally, after what feels like ages, one voice sounds clearer. 

“Please help us. Help us get out of here. Her m-counts aren’t nearly as high as the child’s. They’re demanding more blood. She’s already lost 2 liters, I don’t know how much longer she can last.”

Child? They wanted to do this to a child? You’d choke down a sob if you could just thinking of that poor baby. What did he even say about what-counts? What the hell are those? All these questions are making your head spin more and more. Taking most of your energy to open your eyes, you’re met with a chrome stormtrooper trying to unbind you. Wait no, not a stormtrooper. You’ve heard stories about him and his people. What were they called? For the life of you, you can’t remember right now. 

“You’re going to need help getting her out of here,” you realize that the man in the whit coat was the one who spoke before and is now pleading with the metal man, “Please Mandalorian take me with you and I’ll help you get her out of here.” 

That’s it. He’s a Mandalorian. He gets your wrists free as the doctor takes the IV out. Pushing off the table to sit up, the world starts spinning again. You don’t even realize you’re about to hit the table again until the Mandalorian grabs your shoulders to keep you semi-upright. You hear some sort of static come from his helmet. “Fine.” he grumbles, “help me get her out of this thing.” 

With a flip of a switch, the rest of your body is free from restraints. Eager to get out of there, you swing your legs over the edge of the table, hands finding the arms of the Mandalorian with his hands still on your shoulders. Nauseous and woozy, you try to use the cold metal of his pauldron to ground yourself, to get the room to stop spinning. He can see you start to sway and wraps his arms around your waist as he lowers you from the table. Your feet hit the floor and black dots start to cloud your vision. Blood pounding in your ears trying to tell you to stop and lie back down. Muffled voices come from beside you again as you feel another arm wrap around you from the other side. Your feet dragging against the floor as both men on either side of you go towards the door. 

You feel the heavily armored man to your left let go. Eyes that are still fuzzy and unfocused sort of see him peak out the door with his blaster drawn. He leaves the room and all that can be heard is the pew pew pew of blaster fire. Vision start to come back the tiniest bit, you can see him standing in the door way waving his hand as to say Come on. 

The three of you hurry as fast as you can down the corridor to get to an exit. Lots of twists and turns, just for you all to come up at a dead end. So much for rescuing, you think to yourself as the doctor still holding you up, leans you up against a pillar as the two of them survey the situation. More of the Mandalorian assessing the situation and the doctor just frantically pacing back and forth. 

Sitting down now that the adrenaline of being kidnapped and “rescued” die down, you feel your breathing getting shallower and harder to breath. Eyelids getting heavy again. You just want to lay down and go to sleep, hoping that will fix things. Starting your descent from your upright position to close your eyes, two hands grab your shoulders and jerk you up. It takes a second to realize this modulated voice was talking you you. “Hey, you got to stay with me now,” he pleads, one hand going to the side of your face. Pain spreads across your features due to being struck there earlier, a bruise starting to form in its place. Pulling his hand away like seeing the your face contorted burned him, he continues, “I’m going to get you out of here, you just have to stay awake.” You open your mouth to speak, but your throat feels like it’s filled with sand from Tattooine, so you just weakly nod your head yes. “Okay good,” the shiny man says after letting out a deep breath. 

Still holding your shoulders, he helps you stand up and tells the doctor to take you and go further down the hall. Taking something small and circular out of his belt and placing it on the far wall, he speed walks back toward you two. It starts blinking red as his arms come and cage both of you in. Peeking over his shoulder, you see the wall disappear. Well explode, but one second ago it was there and now it’s not. When the explosion first rings in your ears, you reflexively reach out for the Mandalorian’s arm and feel him tense under your touch. 

When he deems it safe to move again, letting go of his arm, he hops over the rubble to the outside world, blaster drawn. Looking out you think it looks like a desert, but one you’ve never seen before. You have no idea where you are, even what planet you are on. You eyes go to where the chrome man is stalking towards. It seems he found two speeder bikes that the troopers use, sans the troopers. Your feet hit the gravel and you realize you aren’t wearing shoes anymore. How long was I out? You begin to question when you see a stormtrooper take aim at your rescuer. Right when he pulls the trigger, you reach your hand out and scream, “NO!” 

You could’ve sworn it was going to hit him. It should’ve hit him. But at the last second it bent and went in another direction. You knew stormtroopers were bad shots, but nothing like that has ever happened. The Mandalorian whips around at your scream and shoots the trooper down. He goes back to what he originally planned to do, but not without turning to you. You see his chest plate heave up and down a few times before turning back around. After a beat, the only sound you can hear is the Mandalorian starting up the speeders and your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The doctor helps guide you to the bikes and as you’re about to get on behind him, the Mandalorian picks you up bridal style and sits on his own respective bike. You make a noise of discontent at the sudden action and are then seated in front of him, yet again caged in by his arms with your legs draped over one of his. You can hear him breathing through the modulator as he states, “Just in case you pass out again. Can’t have you falling off the back of the bike.” You go to adjust how you are sitting when he takes off. 

Gasping in shock, you hug your arms around his neck with you head in his cowl as you take panicked breaths. His hand touches your back as you hear him shout over the noise of the engines, “Put your legs around me, you’re slipping off.” He holds your waist as you sling your right leg around and hook it with your left one behind his back. Not the position you thought you’d end up in as a blush creeps up on your face, but neither the less here you are. His hand lets go of your waist and back to the handlebars as he steers. 

Suddenly getting the feeling like you’re being followed, you say into his neck cowl, “Go left!” You don’t know why, but you just get a gut feeling to go that way. He follows your lead, not without a brief hesitation. The doctor follows on his speeder in the same direction. Finally looking up you see two stormtroopers in the distance. I wish their speeders would just stop or something, you plead with yourself and you think back to what happened with the blaster. Testing the waters, you unhook one of your hands from Mando’s neck and hold it out and... nothing. Okay focus, you close your eyes and picture their speeders stopping, or malfunctioning, or anything at this point. 

The sound of a crash comes ringing into your ears. Opening your eyes, you can see the troopers flip over their handlebars as if their engines just died. You slightly chuckle to yourself as your eyelids feel heavy again. You try to get them to stay open, but sleep just feels so much better at the moment. And with that, you’re out like a light. 

. 

Din feels you go limp against him. His arm once again going to grab you by your waist to keep you in place. He wills his speeder to go faster, to get back to the Razor Crest sooner as he’s panicking thinking he somehow made the situation worse. He exposed you on the bike by having you sit like this. Your arms, legs, and head were all exposed to possible blaster fire. Have you been hit? He heard a crash but couldn’t look back without moving you more, risking leaving you more unprotected. His blame for himself spirals as his grip on you grows tighter. He can’t explain why he’s so distraught over a stranger, but still every time he blinks, he swears he sees back on that table. The next time he swears he sees his son on that very table again. First he gave the kid up to those people, now he didn’t finish Gideon off and let you, an innocent stranger who he is now clutching onto for dear life, get in the crossfire. Too many people have gotten hurt because of this. Because of him. He needs to make it right. 

Finally Din and Dr. Pershing arrive at the Razor Crest where Din is already lowering the hatch and carrying you in. Kicking some crates together, he gently lowers you down onto this makeshift bed. He uses his thermal setting to see your body temperature, to see how you are recovering from the blood loss. He isn’t thrilled to see it still low, you were getting your energy back slowly before, along with more body heat, bit not enough to Din’s liking. Turning his helmet to Pershing, the doctor says, “She’s going to need more blood.” Din, already standing ready to run out and get some, not even knowing where or how to do  that, is stopped by Pershing telling him that he’ll go get it, that it would look less suspicious. Agreeing, Din sits by your side while using his comm-link to tell Greef that he could bring Grogu back to the ship. How Din always finds someone to babysit still surprises him. 

. 

You wake up with a start. Eyes not yet adjusted to the lights overhead. Looking down you can see an IV in your arm again. Now towards the side, you can see the same doctor from before asleep up against a wall. Please tell me it wasn’t a dream, tears well up in your eyes as you think you’ve made the whole thing up to cope. It wasn’t until you felt your hand come to wipe away your watery eyes that you realized it just might not be a dream. The IV isn’t taking blood this time, it’s giving it. 

Finally looking around, you realize you’re on a ship that feels like it’s moving. Confused by this, you try and sit up. Not nearly as dizzy as before, you slowly swing your legs off the wooden crates you’re lying on. Noticing your still barefoot as a chill gets sent up to your spine by the cold metal floor, you grab your IV bag off what appears to be just a hook poorly attached to the ceiling. You venture around the small area of the ship, noticing there isn’t a lot besides these boxes and what appears to be two storage type of units. You don’t even tempt to look in, too intrusive. You do however see a ladder going higher up on the ship. Taking the IV out and ripping a piece of your shirt off to wrap around your arm for pressure, so you can use both hands to climb, you start your ascent up. 

Once you finally reach the top, you hear cooing? Didn’t that doctor say something about a child earlier? Looking forward into the cockpit, you see your savior flying while looking to his right at one of the co-pilot chairs. Clearing your throat to get his attention, two little eyes peer at you from the seat. A bright smile appears on this little green things face and you can’t help but stifle a laugh because its ears are the size of his body. 

Distracted by this cute baby, you don’t notice the way the Mandalorian swivels his chair to face you. Finally looking at the man who saved you today, your breath hitches. You don’t know how to thank him for what he did, so you sort of just stand and stare for a second. He stands up and lightly grabs your arm with your homemade bandage on it. Tilting his helmet to the side you hear static coming from it. Did he just sigh at you? “You were supposed to keep it in your arm,” he finally states, with a tinge of annoyance. 

Eyes not wanting to meet the T of his visor, you direct your gaze to the ground. “ I jus- I-,” you stammer, not able to find the right words. “Thank you.” It comes out more hushed than you’d like, but he still hears you. He just gives you a slight nod before releasing his arm and heading back to his seat. All your muscles turn to stone as you stand there not knowing if you should leave or not, until he cocks his head towards the seat to his left. On shaky legs you find your way to the seat. Before even sitting down fully, the little green child is already trying to get into your lap. Giggling to yourself you let him up onto your lap. 

Once you do the strangest thing happens. You can feel what he’s thinking, his emotions, his past. How he was trained with the special abilities, much like the ones you just displayed before. How he was scared and in hiding until the man sitting in front of you found him. How he thinks of him as a father, his dad. Your chest tightens at that one. Still confused as to why the same people who wanted this child, Grogu, for his powers, also wanted you, you pull him to your chest to comfort you both. You finally speak up again and ask, “Did they want me because I might have the same abilities as this one?” You meant it to sound strong, but it just came out sounding weak. 

Without looking at you, the Mandalorian replies shortly after a pause, “Yes.” You swore you can see his grip tighten on the ships steering as he says that. Turning to the two of you finally, he says in the sincerest voice you’ve heard out of him, “They wont get to either of you again. I can promise you that.” Your chest swells at this statement and Grogu looks up at you with a smile as if he felt the way your heart fluttered. You wish you were the one wearing the helmet right now because you can feel your cheeks heat up. To ease the situation in the best way you can, awkwardly, you clear your throat before asking, “So where are we headed now?”

Swiveling back in his chair to hit a few buttons, you’re confused not knowing what they are supposed to do until he pulls up a map and points a place out. He tells you that he’s going to drop off Dr. Pershing at one of the squiggles you see and then try and figure it out from there. “So, I guess thats where I get off too?” You meant it to come out more as a statement than a question, but after what you just went through, you’d rather not be left to fend for youself. 

“If that’s what you want,” he finally utters after a while. “ But they’re not going to stop coming after you. Either of you. It might be safer for you to stay here with me, us.” The last part comes out so quiet, it’s almost as if he didn’t want you to hear, out of fear of your response. 

Trying to not answer too quickly, you take a deep breath and finally say, “Yes. I’d like that a lot.” With a curt nod, he turns back around. Warmth fills your chest yet again at this stranger’s kindness. It’s just because I have the same abilities as his child, you try to convince yourself. But deep down you’re hoping it’s more than that. The child in your lap grips your fingers tightly and coos, as if he’s trying to tell you your hopes might not be too far off. 

Oh, it’s going to be an interesting adventure with these two, you smile to yourself. 

[maria-scribbles]

glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part one

“and that’s sailor, our resident mermaid, shell collector, surfer chick, and all-around ray of sunshine. she’s always down for a kegger at the boneyard so she can show off her dance moves; they’re not the best but she doesn’t let that stop her from getting down. her mom owns the surf shop on the beach, that’s how jj and i met her when we bought our first boards when we were ten. she’s been part of the crew ever since.” ~john b routledge

pogue sailor flynn just wants to have a great time with her friends this summer and try to ignore the fact that her flight-risk dad took off again to gamble his life (and her family's savings) away in atlantic city, leaving her with a mom who doesn't know how to cope. between surfing at the beach and cruising around on the hms pogue for hours, it's easy to keep her mind off her shitty home life. what isn't so easy though, is trying to deny her feelings for her best friend, jj.

summary: the pogues hit the beach for a day of sand, surf, and shells. sailor commandeers a hat, willingly participates in cardio, makes bank, and has a heart-to-heart with jj.

word count: 4k+ 

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn) 

warnings: mentions of abuse/neglect/parental abandonment, swearing, fluff, a lot of flirting 

a/n: hi there! i’ve had this little plot bunny in my head for a few weeks now and it wouldn’t leave me alone so here we are! this is the first piece of writing i’ve posted in a very long time so i apologize in advance if it’s terrible. i’m planning on this whole thing being at least eight to ten parts so get ready for the long haul! i actually split this into two parts cause my word count was insane and way too long for one post lmao. let me know what you guys think! title comes from “glitter & crimson” by all time low. also this is unbetaed, so i apologize for any mistakes.

another quick thing: i tried writing this with sailor as an unnamed or y/n reader but it just wasn’t the best. i adore fleshing out characters and i had so many good ideas for her backstory and personality that she kind of just wrote herself and i went with it. i hope you all enjoy reading about sailor as much as i enjoyed writing her!

~Masterlist~

part two | part three | part four | playlist

gif credit goes to @heapass​

part one: catching waves

The beach has always been special to Sailor; the soothing crash of waves against the shore, the warmth of sand under her feet, the comforting feeling of salt drying on her skin. It’s where her mother taught her to surf, where her father taught her to dive, where her friends taught her that family didn’t always mean having shared blood. It’s her home, her place, her safe haven. Nothing is more perfect than a day at the beach with the pogues, her board, and a bucket for shells. 

Today is shaping up to be one of those days. The weather’s balmy, the water’s clear, and most importantly, she hasn’t seen these many perfect shells in quite awhile. Sailor reaches out and grabs the delicate golden scotch bonnet from the ocean floor, inspecting it closely for any cracks or holes. When she finds none, she smiles and runs her fingers over its smooth surface, marveling at the way the sun’s rays filter through the water and make the entire shell shine brilliantly. Although she sells most of the shells she finds at her mom’s surf shop (or gifts them to her friends), this one’s going to be proudly displayed on the shelf in her room. 

She scans the sand for her next target before pushing off from the floor and heading to the surface where Kiara floats on her board, legs dangling in the water as she watches the rest of their group surf. 

“Kie, check this out! It’s a scotch bonnet!” She exclaims, placing the shell beside the half full bucket in front of her friend. Resting both arms on the board, she lets herself take a quick breather as the other girl gently picks up her treasure and turns it over in her hands. 

“Holy shit, how do you always find the good ones?” She asks, gently putting it into the bucket with the others as Sailor shrugs, tucking a wet strand of red hair behind her ear. 

“You guys always say I’m part mermaid, so...” Kiara rolls her eyes and splashes her friend, who just laughs. “Are you done now? We can’t let the guys have all the fun.” 

“Almost, there’s a gorgeous whelk down there that I have to have. Be right back!”

She dives before the dark haired girl can reply, swimming down twenty feet to where she spotted the shell. When she was younger, she used to find the pressure on her ears a bit painful but now she hardly notices, instead focusing on the muffled sound of the waves above. Down here it’s just her and the water: peaceful, quiet, and oh so beautiful, infinitely stretching out in front of her. It used to scare her, the vastness of the deep ocean, the secrets lurking in its depths, the unknown. Now, it brings her comfort. Inspiration. Hope.

She plucks the shell from the sand and heads back the the surface, where three more boards have joined Kiara’s. She swims straight under Pope’s, knowing he’s the most ticklish of the group, and runs the tip of the whelk along the sole of his foot. His yell is so loud she can hear it clear as day under the water and she laughs bubbles as his board wobbles before he topples over with a splash. The other three are still laughing as she surfaces beside her fallen friend and feigns shock.

“What happened? Did he touch a fish again?”

“Oh ha fucking ha. So funny.” Pope deadpans but he’s smiling as Sailor holds his board steady so he can climb back on. “I’m surprised you actually touched my foot, Miss Feet Are Disgusting.”

“First off, smelly, dirty feet are gross. And second, I didn’t,” She replies, pulling herself onto JJ’s board without warning and laughing as he nearly falls off just as Pope had. She sticks her tongue out at him as he shoots her a mock glare and shifts closer to he for balance, their knees knocking together.

“This did, here.” She holds the shell out to Pope, who inspects it like Kiara had done earlier and nods in approval before passing it off to John B.

“It’s...nice, right? It’s a good one?” He asks as he hands it over to Kiara. She meets Sailor’s eyes and shakes her head, mouthing ‘boys’ while carefully placing the whelk in the bucket.

“Seriously, JB-”

“Whoa, wait! I don’t get to see it?” JJ pouts, crossing his arms over his chest and Sailor fixes him with a flat look.

“I seem to remember that you, like a damn child, dropped and broke the last one I let you hold.”

John B laughs so hard he nearly falls off his board while Pope and Kiara glance at each other and hide matching snickers behind their hands. JJ has the decency to look embarrassed as he pleads with her and she tells herself that the slight flush creeping up the back of his neck is just from too much time in the sun, nothing more.

“Hey, I said I was sorry for that and I meant it! I swear I’ll be more careful, please, Sail?”

Trying her best to ignore the little thrill she feels at the sound of her nickname coming from his mouth, she relents with a sigh, “Fine, on one condition.”

He looks at her expectantly as she holds up one finger and points at the black hat turned backwards on his head.

“Gimme that, I can feel my scalp burning as we speak.”

“Holy shit, you’re such a fucking ginger,” He laughs but pulls the cap off anyway, running a hand through his blond hair before fixing it on her head properly, the bill facing forward and giving her eyes a much needed break from the bright summer sun. She only hopes her face feels hot as he lays one hand on her knee and holds the other out to Kiara, palm up. “Fork it over, Kie.”

Kiara hands it to him with a roll of her eyes and then fixes Sailor with a pointed look that the redhead pretends not to see; instead, she watches JJ carefully turn the shell over in his hand before holding it aloft, like Rafiki held Simba in The Lion King.

“Listen up, class- especially you,” He says, the hand resting against her leg pointing at John B, who looks affronted at being called out, much to the amusement of the rest of the group, “This here is a lightning whelk and yes, JB, as a matter of fact, it’s a great one. No holes, minimal damage, and defined markings. Ten out of ten would recommend.”

He passes the shell to Kiara with a satisfied grin as everyone sits in stunned silence, just bobbing up and down with the waves until Pope finally says, “Damn. Better watch out, Sailor! We’ve got a new shell expert in town.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so. I’m not giving up the crown that easily.” As the others burst into laughter, she turns to JJ and pokes him in the side, asking, “Since when you know so much?”

The look he gives her is all mock offense, but his blue eyes are soft as he says, “I always listen when you talk, you know.”

His answer catches her so off-guard that she tries and fails to form a coherent reply as her face flushes before settling on giving him a sweet smile, which he returns with a playful tug on one of the tiny braids in her hair. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Kiara staring at them with a devious smirk on her face and she knows she’ll be hearing about this later.

“Enough shell talk- no offense, Sail,” John B says, steering his board toward the waves. “We’ve got surfing to do.”

Sailor waves her hand dismissively then reaches over and grabs the bucket from Kiara. “None taken, I’m just gonna drop these off at the shop real quick and I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll go with,” JJ says, popping up onto his knees and turning his board toward the shore. “After all,” He yells toward the rest of the pogues over his shoulder, “you guys need all the practice you can get!” He winks at Sailor and she laughs as she turns to face forward, pulling her legs onto the board and placing the bucket in her lap while the other three flip him off in perfect unison.

The two teenagers paddle toward the beach together and catch a small wave that shoots them straight to shore. JJ holds the board steady as she hops off and then touches his shoulder in thanks before they walk toward where Sailor’s own board is propped in the warm sand with their things. She puts the bucket down and kneels beside it, carefully digging through the haul to find the scotch bonnet.

“There you are, gorgeous.”

“I didn’t go anywhere, babe.”

She snorts at JJ’s quip but doesn’t give him the satisfaction of looking up from wrapping the shell in a small towel and placing it in her backpack (she does blush though, and hopes he doesn’t notice.). As she stands to pull on her shorts, the redhead can’t help but glance at the lightning whelk, sitting pretty in the sand where she put it while looking for the bonnet. It really is beautiful, a ten out of ten as JJ put it, and damn it, she just can’t let it go to some touron who won’t appreciate it. So before she can change her mind, she kneels again to wrap it in another towel and gently nestles it alongside the other shell.

“Chop chop, time’s a wastin.’“ He says, grabbing the bucket with one hand and holding the other out to her; she rolls her eyes but takes it anyway and lets him pull her to her feet, muttering, “Jesus, you’re impatient.”

“It’s all part of the charm. Come on, race ya!” After a quick squeeze to her hand, he drops it and takes off running toward the shop without warning, leaving Sailor scrambling to catch up as she yells, “If you break those shells you’re buying them, Maybank!”

The duo weaves through the crowd of tourons and natives alike, ignoring the dirty looks thrown their way as they run by, kicking sand up in their wake. Fifty feet ahead stands The Sandbar Surf Shop in all its salt-weathered, sun-bleached glory, all but two of the rental boards gone from the stand out front. Alison sits on a stool with one of them on her lap as she waxes it, the boom box resting on the floor beside her blasting The Beach Boys as usual. She looks up in surprise as Sailor bounds onto the deck and slaps her hand against the shop’s door a few seconds before JJ does, both teenagers out of breath.

“Sweet victory!” The redhead shouts, sending a quick wave toward Alison, who returns it with an amused smile and watches the blond roll his eyes, holding the shell bucket close to his chest like a football.

“Victory my ass! I saw you jump over that cooler and that’s cheating.”

“Oh, I cheated? Who gave himself a head start? Oh yeah, you!”

Alison returns the now waxed board to the rack and wipes her hands on a spare rag. “Sounds like you both cheated, so no one wins.” She says with a shrug, chuckling to herself as they both stutter excuses and follow the older redheaded girl into the shop, empty sans for a young boy browsing the display of shells.

“I’ll get your mom.” She says to Sailor before heading through the beaded curtain to the back room and she’s grateful. She doesn’t think she has the strength to go back there anymore.

“I was carrying extra weight,” JJ says, placing the bucket onto the old surfboard-turned-counter and then leaning his back against it, “so I think the head start was justified.”

Sailor props her chin in her hand and drums her fingers along the board’s worn surface, her eyebrow raised. “And I think my jump was justified considering I had some ground to make up from that head start so...”

“Agree to disagree.” They say together, sharing a quick smile before he picks a pair of heart shaped glasses from the stand and puts them on, looking at her over the neon pink frames as he asks in a high-pitched British accent, “What do you think, darling? Too much?”

“No, I think they’re quite dashing!” She bursts out laughing as he strikes a vogue pose, then spins and dramatically leans back against the counter. “Rock that pink.”

“Hell yeah, fuck gender norms!” He says loudly, both middle fingers raised toward the roof.

“In this house, we stan non-toxic masculinity-” she starts, but she’s interrupted by a stern voice from behind the counter that says, “If you’re not going to buy those, put ‘em back, kid.”

Sailor’s mother sweeps into view and stares pointedly at JJ, who hastily stands up straight and returns the glasses to their place on the display as Alison silently heads back outside, shooting both teens a small, awkward smile.

“Sorry, Mrs. Flynn.”

Sailor wants to tell him there’s nothing to apologize for, that he did nothing wrong, but she knows he already knows that, so instead she just scoots a little closer and presses her hip against his. His hand moves to rest on her lower back in thanks and her whole body feels the sparks from his touch.

“I-I found some good ones today, Mom.” She says, pulling shells from the bucket one by one and lining them up on the counter. “A few coquinas, some scallops, a whelk or two...”

She trails off when Carmen doesn’t respond and looks down at her hands, twisting her fingers together anxiously as her mother inspects each shell. her face blank. JJ’s thumb starts to run tiny circles on her back and she concentrates on the feel of his ring, warm and soothing against her bare skin, instead of the fact that her mother hasn’t even glanced her way yet. She hasn’t looked her in the eye in almost three months.

The silence is thick in the air until Carmen finishes her evaluation and gives a small nod in her daughter’s direction. “Good job.” She says, heading to the register and pulling out some cash before counting out five twenties and holding them out to Sailor, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere over the teenager’s shoulder. She swallows thickly and takes the money with a near inaudible thank you, slipping it into her back pocket before grabbing the now empty bucket and nudging JJ toward the door with her hip.

As she’s about to cross the threshold she pauses with one hand on the door frame and turns back, asking, “Hey, Mom? Are...are you gonna come home tonight?”

Carmen’s brown eyes only meet her green ones for a split second before she looks away to fiddle with the register and Sailor can’t help feeling the dull stab of disappointment as she says, “Oh, um, I don’t think so. I’m pretty busy here with, uh, inventory, bookkeeping...”

(That stab used to be sharp as a knife, cutting her to the bone, but she’s almost gotten used to the pain.)

“Oh, right. Just...text me if you do, okay?” She takes one last look at her mother, bathed in the cool shadows of the shop that’s tearing her apart before turning and stepping back into the bright sunlight without another word, her throat tight. She’s not sure Carmen was even listening anymore.

“See ya later, brat.” Alison calls to her as she lets the screen door swing shut behind her with a slight bang. The older girl may not be related to her by blood but she’s most definitely Sailor’s honorary big sister, having babysat her for years in addition to working at the shop, so she waves to her with a small smile and a “bye, ho” before joining JJ on the beach.

The duo slowly starts walking along the water together, a stark contrast from their earlier mad dash and Sailor’s mind races with a million thoughts, most of them her hating herself for foolishly putting a scrap of faith in her mom once again.

“Whoa, you okay? That bucket’s not going anywhere, promise.” He says, pulling them to a stop with a gentle tug on her elbow and reaching down to take it from her clenched hand. She doesn’t even realize she was holding it that hard until she sees the little half moons pressed into her palm from her nails and she sighs, rubbing them away with her thumb.

Opening up has always been something Sailor struggles with, even with a friend group as close as the pogues. She’s the one who’s all sunshine and good vibes, the one everyone goes to for cheering up, the one that’s always...happy. She’s the friend who listens, the open ear, the trusted confidante. She knows all her friends struggles: John B’s fear of being abandoned that often keeps him up at night, Kiara’s terrible guilt over leaving her friends behind during her kook year, Pope’s feeling of drowning under his dad’s impossible expectations, JJ’s abusive household that has him convinced he’s not worthy of love. Every secret she holds close to her heart, guarding them with impenetrable walls that no one can break through.

The walls protecting her own secrets, though? They may be strong around the others but they crumble like sand when she’s alone with the boy standing beside her, his hand still holding her elbow as he starts drawing circles on her skin once again. Talking to JJ has always come easy to her, almost infuriatingly so, and she has no qualms about calling him her best friend. While the other pogues know she’s been having some problems at home with her flight-risk dad and indifferent mom, none of them know almost the full story like he does, just as none of them know exactly how horrible his father really is.

(She knows. She’s seen the aftermath far too often and has been there each time, cleaning cuts, soothing bruises, holding him in her arms and never wanting to let him go.)

“I just...don’t know what to do anymore.” She can feel him watching her as she talks and she avoids his gaze like her mother avoided hers, instead staring out at the ocean. In the distance, she sees one of their friends -Kiara, she thinks- drop in on a wave while the other two look on a little further away. “She won’t even look at me and I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Hey, it’s not you, got it? God, you’re...perfect, Sail.” JJ says softly, so soft that the crashing surf nearly drowns the sound of his voice as the water washes over their bare feet. Sailor curses the fact that she blushes so easily because her whole face is on fire at his words, and she’s so distracted that she almost misses what he says next.

“Your mom’s always, uh, weird when your dad dips. It’ll be better when he comes back.”

Her heart clenches in her chest. If only it were that simple. She turns to face him and meets his eyes, blue as the ocean, open and honest, and sends him a smile that lacks its usual brightness. “I think you might be right, J. For once.”

His thumb stills on the crook of her elbow and she knows he knows she’s not telling him everything. She feels like she should say something, anything- apologize, explain herself, just tell him the damn truth- but before she can even open her mouth he says, “Listen, I get it.”

She can feel the hand on her arm start to slip away and she grabs it between both of hers, her voice tight as she says, “No, you listen. Today’s been...so perfect and I don’t wanna bring everyone down with my problems.”

“You know they won’t mind.”

(She does, but that’s beside the point.)

“I know they won’t, but I do.”

It’s her turn to run her thumb in circles on the back of his hand now as she continues, “I’ll tell you everything later, okay?”

“You don’t have to-” He starts but she smiles, genuine and bright this time, and cuts him off.

“I want to, J. And I will, promise.” Like a child, she holds her pinky out expectantly. He quickly glances down at her hand and then meets her eyes again before finally returning her smile, showing off that dimple that makes her heart skip a beat, and hooking his finger around hers.

“Come on, we’ve got waves to catch and friends to show up.” He says and just like that they’re back to normal. Sailor’s hyper aware of the fact that her pinky is still linked with JJ’s, but he doesn’t pull away as they start walking back to their things again and she can’t help but hold on a little tighter. She doesn’t think he notices until he walks a little closer, his shoulder brushing hers; out of the corner of her eye, she sees him smile and feels herself mirroring him without a thought, her cheeks turning as red as her hair.

Talking with him may be the easiest thing to do for her, but flirting comes in a close second. It’s natural: the teasing, the casual touches, and especially the clothes stealing (a good fifth of her sweatshirts probably actually belong to him). He’s the biggest flirt she knows, with that bad boy swagger and killer smile that make all the giggling touron girls fall over themselves to get to him. She tells herself it’s fine, that she’s so not jealous, when he dances with them at keggers on the beach, whispering things in their ears that make them blush, taking their hands and leading them away to dark corners or the spare room at the Chateau. After all, there’s the one golden rule of their group: no pogue on pogue macking, so friends is all they’ll ever be, all they can be.

She tells herself she’s fine with it, really. Being his friend is better than being nothing at all, and she wouldn’t trade his friendship for the world. Deep down though, she’d give anything to kiss him again -the first time was when she was eleven and JJ had just turned twelve, awkward yet sweet, the day she first saw the full extent of his dad’s abuse- but she holds herself back, unwilling to ruin the relationship that means so much to her. And sometimes, like now, she thinks (hopes) that he’s holding back, too.

Their pinkies linger together when they come to a stop at their things, both holding on just a bit longer than what’s considered friendly before their hands drop away. Sailor feels his eyes on her as she pulls off her shorts, money still in the back pocket, and stuffs them in her bag.

(So she just might’ve taken them off a little bit -okay, a lot- slower because he was watching, sue her.)

“I hope you know this is mine, now.” She points to his hat before freeing her board from the sand and waiting for him to do the same, hand on her hip.

“It looks better on you, anyway. Here,” He says, taking a step closer and reaching up with one hand to turn the cap backwards. “Don’t want you to lose it.” His finger brushes along her jaw when he drops his arm and she feels her breath catch as she replies, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

JJ smiles at that, then nods toward the waves. “Race ya? I’ll play fair this time.”

“Nah, but I’m glad you can admit that you cheated!” She says, pausing for a second to laugh at the way his jaw drops before she takes off running and leaves him hurrying to catch up. “I’m proud of you!”

“I changed my mind, I want my hat back now, Flynn!” He yells after her and she just laughs harder as they splash into the ocean.

-

tagging some of my fave writers ❤: @pogue-writings​ @o-b-x​ @jjbabyouterbanks​ @heywards​ @obxsummer​ @jjmaybanky​

let me know what you think!

[hoopdiddies]

I'm Not Over You // Ben Hardy x Reader (Part 8)

A/N: Ayoooo. Hey guys, here's part 8 and I'm so sorry if the previous chapters kind of frustrated you. I didn't really mean for it to but I hope you enjoy this one. I'll be posting 9 tomorrow or the day atfter. Thanks again for your feedbacks, y'all motivate me a lot ^^ ♥ (My Wi-Fi has prejudice against tumblr rn)

Summary: You had always loved Ben ever since you two met in university and became the best of friends. That feeling went out like a candle flame when the two of you parted ways until he re-entered your life...but this time with someone who has already occupied his heart.

Warnings: Angst, bois. ANGST (I cried like a sucker during one part I wrote 😔) mention of blood, yet again drinking, some speckles of fluff, and unnecessary dialogue if you look closely enough :^ I feel like a terrible writer today

WC: 4k I think?

Tags: As always my taglist is always open uwu

@haendel-me-with-care

@mrsdoradominguez-barnes

@mickmoon

@lakef

@mrsmazzello

@valeriecarolinaw

@queen-turtle-boiii

@hardzzellos

"You look...beautiful." Ben's comment is indeed one thing to start the night. It's not like he's never told you that before���it's just the tone in which he has said it in is...different. A foreign tone never been released from his lips until you. You look up at him through your lashes, giving him a slanted smile accompanied by a bubbly chuckle. "Thanks. You smell nice too."

The corner of his eyes crinkle as his curving lips push them up. As expected, Rosy chimes in between you and Ben almost too quickly, the blurry speed in which she has arrived in making you gasp. "Excuse me, babe. You got interviewers on your tail and I- oh," her brows shoot up upon seeing you, seemingly haughty eyes flicking up and down your outfit in mild contempt.

"Surprised to see you here as well." The smile plastered on her face couldn't be any more forced than it is.

Girl, chill. Anti-aging soaps are not easy to manufacture these days. You begin holding your breath to prevent yourself from bursting into a fit from hearing that thought ring in your head. You shrug, garnering the guts to shift on your heightened stance and lean in an inch close.

"You're not the only one with a celebrity date."

You turn around too early to gauge her reaction, finally exhaling from holding your breath too long. You can finally conclude that she's had an effortless transition from being benign to far from being benign. The smoothest one-eighty you've ever witnessed. You remember her clearly being downright considerate of you the first time you met her yet now is a whole different story. You wonder if she was actually ever considerate.

As the boys and Lucy indulge in brief interviews, you stand behind the scenes and get the first-class chance of conversing with Brian. He's readily the coolest person in the house right now, bantering with you every once in three, fascinating topics. How fortunate are you to be in the spot a million Queen fans would die for but of course, you don't want to leave out Roger who - by a landslide - makes you wish you could wheeze and snort all you want if you weren't in a luxury event such as the Oscars. He seemed intimidating for you at first but as he joined in your talk with Brian, things escalated real quickly.

With the pre-ceremony interviews and the clinking of champagne glasses dampening, you begin hunting for your seats in the theatre.

Before you know it, you are informed that only a specific line of people are given exclusivity for the seats. And it shocks you that Joe, Allen, Ben and Gwilym are not given that card when in fact they were part of the very film that brought forth a new generation of fans.You shake your head disappointingly albeit contented that Rami, Lucy, Brian and Roger and their wives are part of the exclusivity.

Utterly determined to know the results - by Joe's 'sovereign' vote - the rest of you hang around in the waiting area, focusing on the ceremony rights shown on TV. Quietly sitting through the results, you all whoop and applaud at the mention of Bohemian Rhapsody obtaining three awards straight– your cheers amping up a notch as Rami brings home the 'Best Actor' award. Joe begins filming your reactions for Instagram, zooming into Gwilym, Ben and Allen's faces for most of the video. You throw your head back in laughter at how goofy the boys look; a bunch of men in their 30's bouncing up and down with one of them documenting the entire episode. At one point, Gwilym yanks as you in for a group hug, mercilessly crushing you in between their muscles– the disorienting experience now being something you wish you would never undergo again.

As Rami's thank you speech unfolds, you pay attention closely. The sentimentality of him lovingly thanking Lucy for being his anchor after dedicating his award to Freddie Mercury is just overwhelming and you wish you could tear up but your mascara would be waste. You're certain that made Brian and Roger emotional as well.

An hour after the ceremony, you all head down to the Vanity Fair after party in the same limo you had arrived in with every single person in the group eager to get the night progressing. Regardless of saying that these type of parties are not up to your speed, you try to get along with the evening and revel in what you know would be your last night with them. Sadly enough, Roger and Brian had to skip out on this with rough schedules on their hands. The moment they walked out of the place, they spent nearly half an hour congratulating the boys and having other celebrities congratulate them.

As you are seated across Ben and Rosy, you can't help but notice him acting a little distant from her. She's all nuzzled up against his arm and he is nowhere close to returning the favor. He's just...lost in thought, staring out the tinted window. It's still early to assume that in all the hours you were within a close range to them, Ben only ever acted aloof, giving her attention when the situation required it.

Perhaps a lover's tiff took place?

"Yeah, I'm wondering the same thing too." Mimicking your position, Joe calling you back to Earth makes you gasp a little. You close your eyes and look at your fingers blankly after recovering, sighing. "I think we should end all this pretending. It was simply a cop-out in the first place."

"I know," he whispers audibly enough for only you to hear, running his fingers through his fiery, red hair, "you should probably come clean soon enough before you leave."

And that you will. At least, you'll try.

In your defense, you thought the after party would host a fancy banquet but seated around with celebratory drinks -considerable with something classy - and attendees breaking down on the dance floor is a rather okay scene as well. As long as you don't end up like the night you were invited out for a drink with your colleagues, you should be fine for the most part.

The boys and Lucy have fully immersed themselves in the beat of the music while you've decided to remain stationary with one glass of wine, the only glass you'll be having for the rest of the party.

The entire time you gawk at them amusingly as they break out their dance moves, your eyes always find their way to Ben, who makes you snort painfully from all his antics as he moves along with Joe. They're a mess with their ties and buttons undone from all the movement and the sight inspires you to stay put.

But oh dear lord, can Ben dance like an uncle.

Keeping your attention on them, a descending weight sinks down next to you. You pay no mind to whoever it is but do as her voice interrupts your thoughts. "I hope your eye is on the right person, honey." You click your tongue in exasperation, turning your body towards Rosy and her developing, bitchy tendencies, scoffing as you place your drink down to set things straight with her. "First of all, what did I ever do to you to deserve this kind of talk?"

She smacks her lips together at you, simpering. "You didn't think I'd notice?"

"What are you talking about?"

Her almond eyes narrow as if she's trying pin you down with a warning. "Please, don't act like I never noticed. You're overstepping that boundary between you and your best friend- my fiance." Okay, so she's noticed. But your neutralized expression is not going to be giving away anything.

You incline your head to one side in hopes that the facade you're pulling would decompress her suspicion. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Ben is like my brother. "

Grabbing her drink from the table, she sighs and stands up, hands firm on her hips and face silhouetted under the beaming light nevertheless giving you a transpiercing glower in the manner of seeing through the makeshift barrier you've pulled up. "He better be. Try backing off every once in a while when I'm around."

To your dismay, you snap inside, whipping your head up at her and replying sharply to make the message crystal clear. "Rosy, you have no idea." Unable to withstand the atmosphere you're in, you put great emphasis on your words and snatch your drink, walking out to the mini garden to finish what's left of your wine without having to bear being around her.

The question is unadulterated and obvious– bold and italicized if you wish to give it a stretch and clarify it.

Why is Ben still with her?

Is he that clueless not to realize it?

You don't want to pry the answer out yourself but ruminating on it, Rosy pulling off a full one-eighty only when Ben's at an appropriate distance for her to squeeze you between her fingers is just about good as a reason as anything. Your unwavering feelings for Ben are clearly perceived by her– from the way you had reacted the day he introduced you both to each other to not so long ago.

You wonder if Ben ever took heed of her growing attitude towards you.

Finishing your wine in one, immediate, swig, you place it down on the marble surface before you with your fingers cradling the stem of the glass– relishing the spicy liquid flushing down your throat.

At the extent of overexerting themselves, Joe and Gwilym flop down back on their seats like jelly, tuckered out from the unconventional combination of alcohol and unsteady movement. Panting like a dog who had just participated in a marathon, Joe shrugs out of his blazer and tosses it over his shoulder, silently wishing the ice in the bucket that held the bottle of wine would save him from the grinding heat of the wine he had just about five minutes ago.

"Mate, you're deep in the heat." Gwilym comments as it is followed by a gentle laugh on how Joe's glistening in sweat under the dimming lights. He hands him a partially bland look before wiping his forehead with his handkerchief. Lucy and Rami are situated at other end of the place enjoying a chat with another party of people meanwhile Ben and Rosy are nowhere near any of them. Until, of course, they reappear from God knows where and Ben suddenly asks Joe where you've gone.

"I-I don't know." He says after a hefty sigh. Somewhat eager to find you, Ben begins excusing himself from Rosy whom which he has spiked a bitter reaction from for sharing his supposed time for her with you. Fed up and jealous in the slightest, Rosy snaps at him.

"Okay Ben, why do you always have to skip in between minutes to hang out with her even when we're together?"

He pauses from turning around completely and sighs. "She's my friend, babe."

Unwilling to accept his statement, she claims. "Well your friend is getting in the way of what was supposed to be our time together! Can't you set aside a limited time for her?! " This has alarmed Joe and Gwilym but it isn't their business to butt in and stop a quarrel from breaking out. Unless it turns physical, which is doubtful to happen. Ben, a little frustrated but still tolerant of her ongoing skittish behavior, tries to reassure her. "I know that, alright? But something's been bothering her for days and I just want to make sure she's doing alright."

"Can't you leave the worrying to Joe? He's her bloody boyfriend anyway!"

Wagging his forefinger at Rosy, Joe grumbles as he is not having any of her talk, scrunching his brows at her.

Grabbing her shoulders gently, Ben tries to relieve her of tension and assures her once more, but with a well-known fact she obviously still doesn't accept. "Joe's a little drunk. She's like...a sister to me," it really took him an abrupt pause to say 'sister', "besides, you're my fiancee. There's nothing to be jealous about."

"Why does she still have to be a part of your life? Our life?" Now that's a question that has just shifted Ben to a farther side. His brows knit together in momentary disbelief, unable to take her words in a good light. "God, Rosy! She's been around for so long! At least make an effort to accept her!" Like a slap to her conceitedness, Ben turns on his heels and walks out to find you. Leaving Rosy a steaming mess of insecurity.

However slightly drunk, Joe mutters to himself as he makes sure neither Gwilym or especially Rosy hears his words stumble out in a whisper. "You've grown a pair, Ben. You've grown a pair."

You've been outside for nearly half an hour; wine glass empty and your hair, along with the skirt of your dress, drifting along the harmless breeze and the waning moon spilling some light from behind the shaded clouds. Though there were a couple of people that found their way here to get some respite not too long ago, you're just glad to have this space to breathe in from the draining background of the party.

As you lose yourself in thought, a certain voice brings you back to reality.

"Nice night out, huh?"

Turning around slowly, you are met with the cool, forest green irises that you've grown to never tire of seeing. "I'm surprised you're still well-kept in that suit despite the scene back in there. " You give in to a chuckle, your smile pulling Ben to approach your side leisurely. "It's my Oscars suit. Something worthy of protecting."

"Hah!"

As he rests his elbows on the surface next to you, the distance between your skins makes you a tad bit anxious. Comfortable silence falls upon you both– for Ben at least, it's tolerable however you're not taking it well, not even in the slightest. You rub your hands together and sigh, prompting Ben to finally ask you.

"You alright? You've been tensing up lately."

You nod, closing your eyes and opening them afterwards. "This dress is just depleting me of bodily warmth." Half a lie told by you. Acting on his thoughts, Ben begins taking his blazer off but you stop him mid-shrug. "Keep it on. You look better with it on."

"This would look better on you, you're obviously freezing." He's really keen on keeping you warm but you're just as so in letting him keep it on. "I'm serious. Keep it on. I'm fine."

What can he do but just give in? When you're serious, you're serious. He lifts his shoulder in half a shrug, ducking his head as an idea flickers in his head like a bulb. He wants to relive something that has been lost through the years and it's only right that he does...now that you have less than a day to disappear from his life completely.

"Y/N..." He muses gently. You raise your brows at him in question, taken by surprise that he has his hand held out to you. Bewildered, you raise your finger to ask what on Earth he's doing. "What- what are you doing?"

He licks his bottom lip and the smile on his face becomes bashful but certain. "What else does it look like I'm doing, silly girl? Asking you to dance."

You're sorry that you couldn't keep a snort at bay. "Pfft. Ben, I think you're asking the wrong girl."

"Just let me dance with my best friend."

"Wow! That's noble of you," your chuckles can not be contained, even so much as restraining yourself from letting the blush spread throughout your face. But he has the fragments of what was once your heart, so why wouldn't you? You slip your hand in his and the grin on his face widens. "There we go. Easy does it." He breathes out, his voice getting gravelly. You hit him softly on his chest for cooing, at the same time realizing that his voice becomes that way only and only when he's nervous– something uncommon between you both. As his hands find home on your waist, you throw your arms around his neck, laughing at how awkward yet funny it feels. What a huge nod to how you danced with him on Homecoming.

"You're so weird sometimes. You got your fiancee, why don't you dance with her?" Getting used to the sting of referring to Rosy, you question anyway. He initiates with a sway before responding. "I already have. But, " he diverts his heavy-lidded eyes from staring off the distance to yours and suddenly, it feels like you're home, "I want to finish that Homecoming dance."

You find yourself speechless as you shift your unflinching gaze at him and he at you, your bodies swaying along the concrete and in perfect sync, coincidentally to the sudden change in music from inside, compared to the bittersweet night you had before the day that parted you both. Thin silence hangs in the atmosphere but only because you are looking at each other in a way you never have in your entire lives.

Instinctively, you break your gaze from his and rest your head on his chest, your hair falling into your face as your eyes screw shut. You hear his heart skip a beat, unusually in the same manner yours always has. Feeling your head follow the rise and fall of his chest tickles you inside– temporarily making you forget about the pain of soon letting him go and producing a sense of safety.

Maybe it's because of exhaustion? You wonder. He doesn't hesitate to stroke your hair and revel in the moment as well, easing you in closer to his body without breaking the sway. "You'll be there on my wedding day, right?" He asks nervously, his question pulling you back to the harshest reality.

You open your eyes slowly, your lips trembling as you let out the saddest sigh, feeling your chest tighten from the anxiety of soon telling him the truth.

"Y/N?" Your tensed-up body alarms him and so he breaks away and lifts your chin up lightly, being met with glossy and regretful eyes. His messy brows drawing together in slight worry. "What's wrong?"

Everything.

However uneager to push him away, you do, escaping his warm embrace. "Ben, I..."

He's dreading for your answer, painfully anticipating for the best or the worst to the point where his hands are lubricating with sweat.

You swallow the lump that has hardened in the back of your throat, pressing your lips together to prevent a sob from escaping and shunning his prying stare. "I can't..."

Joe's half-assed predicted, worst case scenario is slowly unfolding.

"What are you saying? You're not- you're not going...to be there?"

You bite down on your lip hard enough to make it swell, shaking your head and casting a sideways glance.

"Why?"

Tell the truth. Just tell him and you're either getting a support or another jab to the heart.

"Y/N, please! Tell me why!"

"I'm leaving, Ben!" The words didn't seem to stumble or carelessly flop from your lips, in fact it speared through him clean thereby catching him off guard. His eyes have fallen gravely, lips parted due to shock.

"I got into a medical school I had previously applied for. And I'm leaving," you snap your eyes shut and open them in tears once you've looked up at him, "on your wedding day."

"Why didn't- why didn't you ever tell me?" He's pleading for your explanation, barely clinging on to the belief that you would always tell him things.

You don't answer as you are battling to muster up the courage to say it.

"Y/N, please! You never tell me anything these days! And this- this news, it's important! You're leaving on the day I need you the most, and you never bothered to squeak a word about it! Not a single, bloody word! Why?!" He's racked up with disbelief and apparently, anger. Eyes rimmed, clouded with mixed emotions and face full-blown red from the pressure.

He grabs you by the shoulders and pleads heartbreakingly, his lively voice reduced to but a whisper. "Why..."

"I-" You're still holding back.

"Say it! "

"You'd soon forget about me, Ben!" You inhale sharply as you add, croaks present in your voice while you take two steps further away from him as you lament. "I'm hopelessly in love with you, you idiot! I've always been. I try- I try to brush off every single prick that stems out every minute I realize that you already belong to someone else..."

"Y/N-"

"I figured not telling you would help me let go. And it's the only way I can...because screw you for being a clueless, irreplaceable bloke! I can't imagine my bloody life without you in it! I don't think I can ever love anybody else...but you, "

"Y/N..."

You don't let him finish and achingly throw your hands to your chest as a gesture, pounding your chest thrice as you're finally wearing your heart on your sleeve. "I can't blame you for being oblivious to my feelings. You're committed to Rosy...and as much as I want to see you happy, I don't want to stand idly by and- and feel this way when you've pledged your heart to her...I want to forget and for you to forget me," As the warm tears you've held back for so long roll down your cheeks, you hug yourself through the pain, "I want you to be happy without worrying how I'd feel. And disappearing from your life, is the only way I know how..."

"Y/N, please, don't say that- don't do this...you can't do this...you c-can't..." With hands shaking, he strides towards you to haul you in back into his arms but you take an agonizing step away, stopping him in his tracks. "I have to. I...I want to. It hurts so much, Ben. It always has but promise me," even if you have taken a step away, you take it upon yourself to take those steps close to him and cup his cheek with a cold hand, "promise me you'll revel in that happiness. It's going to hurt being away from you. But it's going to hurt even more if I stay. And watch...my best friend grow old with someone else." Finally rendering him wordless, you shake your head and whisk past him back into the party which has died down a bit, leaving him a pondering mess out under the bleak sky.

"How could I be happy without you..."

You'd gladly do anything to go back home right now. The weight of what just took place is crushing you and the need to escape is fuming. But the thing is, Ben was never one to let you go easy.

He never did and possibly never will.

He sniffles and inhales sharply, jogging in after you and calling out your name amidst the constant noise and chatters. "Y/N, wait!"

You reach your table just in time to see everyone still gathered around with drinks raised and laughs released but you have to excuse yourself deliberately. "Y/N? Where have you been? What's the rush?" Lucy notices your hastened movement and places her hand on your tense shoulder. You snap your head at her with your purse in your grasp, shaking your head and apologizing that you have to leave, forgetting to rid your eyes of tears; the sight of you amping up Lucy's concern therefore leading you into her embrace. "Oh my god, are you okay? What happened?"

"Y/N!"

Ben's distant but audible voice echoing through the place just sends you panicking inside. "I'm so sorry, Luce. I have to go."

"Y/N, wait! What's wrong?"

Just as the rest could react to Lucy calling out for you and Ben dashing past them to catch up, you've already disappeared into the crowd, headed out the theatre to take a cab ride back to the hotel. Relentless to let you go, Ben follows your trail, spurring a quick frenzy from the rest and having them pursue Ben in return. Once you reach the outskirts of the pavements, you don't think twice before crossing the highway with your focus hardened before you.

Gasping for air upon exiting the theatre, Ben glances around in haste and finally spots you marching down the street oblivious to your surroundings despite treading along the pedestrian lane. His eyes widen in dread and acting on a fight or flight reaction, he yells for your attention as he speeds down the street to pull you in or rather save you from a possibility of getting hurt with all the rushing vehicles and careless drivers. "Y/N! Y/N!"

The boys, Lucy and Rosy arrive outside just in time to witness Ben race towards your direction and in a moment of feeling time slow down, you feel your heart in your throat at the late flash of nearing headlights, to add a heavy force propelling you off your feet and onto the other side of the road. What gets you up from the ground are the mixed screams of a familiar bunch and the sight of a bloodied man in white laying unconscious on the cold surface of the road.

White noise suddenly fills your ears instead of your own voice as you scream out his name.

[flannelpunkcalum]

The Devil Wears Kevlar - Part 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 7

I’ve been excited to post this chapter for WEEKS you guys are hopefully gonna love it. also not to spoil it or anything but CONTENT WARNING: this chapter contains violence ok that is all. pls enjoy and let me know what you thought! 4k words

“Dick Grayson, you’re a brilliant actor.”

It had been all too easy to get into the kitchens. Aspen had pretended Dick was nervous something bad was waiting for him around the corner after his scare, and chefs are usually pretty kind-hearted, they melted. For their troubles, Aspen and Dick got a plate full of the edge pieces of brownies and cheesecake bites - not fit to serve to guests, but more than good enough for them.

They eat them in a stairwell in a hall just off the ballroom, where they’re close enough to the action and can keep from being late.

“That was the performance of a lifetime.” She continues, reaching for another brownie. Dick smiles quietly at her around a mouthful of dessert. He’s a bit of an oddball, if she’s honest, but then again so was she at that age. He’s good company, she’ll say that much. “You get dragged to a lot of these fundraisers?”

Dick nods. “D’you ever mind?” Aspen asks again. She knows she would have. She’d been a sullen fucking kid.

“No, it’s what’s right, for me to do this. It’s important work. There’s no point in catching - like, having the police catch criminals without making sure there are ways for people to survive without having to become criminals in the first place.”

Aspen’s surprise must show, because Dick glances away, like he’s embarrassed. “At least, that’s what Calum says.”

“Nah, man, that’s such an intelligent way to look at it. You’re very- see, I was going to say mature, but that makes it sound like all adults think like that, and we both know that’s not true. Dick Grayson, I’m honoured to be your partner in crime.”

Aspen had been joking, but he almost falls down the stairs laughing at that. She didn’t know it was that funny, but she’ll take it.

It’s not nearly long enough before she gets a text from Calum Hood telling her to bring Dick and come to the ballroom, the guests are showing up. He does not remember putting in his number under anything other than “Work”, so she’s confused immediately. “I didn’t know your dad had this number,” she frowns, and when Dick avoids her eyes she assumes it’s because of how she addressed Calum. “I mean your guardian, I guess. Your parental unit. Hey, look at me, need you to check me for crumbs.”

They make sure they have no chocolate in the corners of their mouths before they head back into the fray. The room looks a little less intimidating with a lower concentration of cops in, and what she can only imagine is Gotham’s hottest string quartet is playing something that sounds like Rachmaninoff. It’s not so bad.

As soon as she sees Dick head across the ballroom to Calum, she slides back to her table with the stoic police officer she met before. Officer Montoya, she remembers. “I miss anything good?” She asks cheerfully, and as Montoya shakes her head Aspen slides a bit of brownie wrapped in a napkin over to her.

They get along a lot better after that.

Donations start to trickle in. Well, not exactly trickle, since the men and women visiting her little table are giving money to the orders of thousands. Aspen had been prepared for that, she thought, but watching people put down a year’s rent in one go in making her lightheaded. Still, she nods and smiles, and no one looks too long at her, which is exactly what she wanted.

Still, it’s almost five thirty, and she’s getting antsy like this. The champagne being passed around looks more and more inviting each time a waiter passes by their table. Calum looks distracted, so she snags a flute off a tray while he’s talking to some other couple dripping with money, and after she takes a sip she places it on the floor by the leg of her chair. Just so none of the guests think they’re giving their money to some lush. Watever. Mr. Hood is drinking, so she’s probably allowed to have just a little, right?

Plus, Aspen never feels more extravagant than when she’s day drinking. She deserves to have a little fun at this thing, just a bit.

Things have been relatively quiet so far, but as Calum steps up to a podium to give his talk she sits up a little straighter. People are undoubtedly going to be inspired by whatever he has to say, so she’s got to be prepared. She takes a more substantial sip of bubbly as he starts to speak, since she’s sure she’ll have her hands full in just a second.

(Sidenote: Aspen loves champagne.)

It turns out that Calum is an eloquent guy, when he wants to be. Aspen’s about two minutes away from digging a five out of her own purse as he waxes poetic about the kids who have to go to school hungry, work to keep a roof over their family’s heads, or beg in alleys. She’s encouraged to see how many diamond earrings are bobbing along to this, how many people look pleased with how generous he’s says they could be. Everyone wants to be good, she thinks, somewhere deep down, even if it’s just to them and theirs. And these people, they’re powerful, they think Gotham is theirs.

Sometimes, when he snaps at her, Aspen forgets how smart Calum Hood is. Right now, as he’s gently wrapping Gotham’s one percent around his finger, she can’t forget it.

She really wants more champagne, as if that would help anything, but she resists as he starts to close his speech. “Gotham’s present may seem… brutal,” He says, with just the right amount of sorrow in his voice, “but together you and I can assure its bright future. When you have a moment, my assistant is waiting to take your donations right after she takes mine. Any amount is welcome, and please, for the kids’ sake, be generous. Enjoy the music!” He adds, and as he soon as he steps aside he makes a beeline for the table.

Aspen golf-claps politely for him as he comes over, and she sees him smile, like he’s bashful, as if he didn’t know he had the whole room in a bind. His guests are still applauding for him as he steps over to her, for fuck’s sake. “I’m truly moved, sir.” She says, starting to type his information into the tablet.

“You’re sweet,” He says, and Aspen misspells his last name just from that.

She corrects herself quickly enough. “I’m honest.” She shrugs, and fixes her eyes back on him. “And how much would you like to donate today, sir?”

“Match it.”

“What?”

“Whatever amount is there. Match it.”

Aspen can be a little dramatic, she says she’s going to go into convulsions or have a heart attack all the time, but this time she actually almost falls out of her chair. “That’s-”

“Match it.”

His look at her leaves no room for argument, so Aspen bites back her response. She knows he’ll see her look and that always seems to speak volumes, between them. “Cash or cheque?” She jokes- thankfully, since he pulls out a chequebook and not a bag of notes like some cartoon bank robber.

Aspen doesn’t watch as he writes out all the zeros on the cheque, she knows she’ll get nauseous. Montoya’s got a damn good poker face, she’ll say that much. When Calum’s done he draws back, but he doesn’t move to leave just yet. “You’re drinking?”

“What?” Aspen blinks. Calum taps his foot against the leg of the table, right next to her flute of champagne. Oh. Suppose she’s caught, then. “You’re drinking.” She says, instead, and fixes her gaze on him. She has to curl her hand into a fist under the desk to maintain it, but he doesn’t know it.

For once, for fucking once, he breaks first. “Fair enough.”

It’s better than champagne, this feeling, but Aspen tries not to show it. “I’m done for now, anyways, I just wanted to taste.” She shrugs. “Gotta stay sharp.”

Calum smiles. “I’ll check in before the dinner.” He says, but doesn’t sound like a warning. It doesn’t sound like just business, either. Aspen doesn’t think about what that leaves.

She focuses on her job, after that. I mean, she was focusing before, but now she’s- fuck. Whatever. She takes the money, she says thank you in her sweetest voice, she makes the donors feel good for what they’ve done. Maybe they deserve it. Aspen doesn’t know if she trusts the rich, not right now, but she can be kind for an afternoon.

She’s aching for another drink by the time guests start to filter out from the ballroom, but she keeps her hands on the table and her smile on her face while she puts down another Drake’s name. Some family, goddamn. When she finally finds time to look around, the room is almost empty. Thank god.

She stands up and stretches, arms about her head. Her back cracks, and Montoya jumps, swears beside her. “Sorry,” Aspen says, as she sits back down and they start to count up the cheques. Aspen has to make a note of someone who said they'd offer $5000 but only wrote a cheque for $500, but it still says “five thousand” on that one line, but that's all that's wrong and Aspen is elated. She expected a robbery or something, anything to justify the security, but this is good too. Now she's confident that the guests have all climbed into their limos and gone to the second leg of the gala, and she's almost - almost! - free to go.

“I'm gonna find Mr. Hood and tell him how much we made so we can go home.” She announces, standing up and trekking across the ballroom. He doesn’t seem to be anywhere, at first glance, and Aspen has to ask two waiters and some unrelated bodyguard until she gets directed towards an office. The door is open a crack and Calum’s there, he’s talking to T. Giordano (Aspen read the nameplate). When she explains that she’s only there to bring Mr. Hood up to speed, T. Giordano lets them use her office while she oversees the end of the event. Aspen’s so pleased about this; she hasn’t slouched in hours, her back feels all sort of wrong.

Calum’s had some rough days, but he looks genuinely happy as Aspen steps into the office. He’s not smiling, but there’s a lightness in his shoulders she hasn’t seen for days. “I think it’s good news, sir.” She says carefully, holding out the tablet in front of her. “I mean, it’s more than you raised last year, so that’s something.”

He takes the tablet from her and looks it over, smiling just a little. “What’s this category, the one just-”

She steps over to his side to look. “Oh, I did a column of all the amounts we actually got from the people, just to make sure there were no problems with the cheques - actually, if you see-”

“I’ll deal with it.” He says. “Thank you for your help today, Aspen, I couldn’t have pulled this off without you.”

He is sweet, but flattery isn’t something Aspen is likely to fall for. “I just watched people write cheques, sir. This was always your event,” and maybe it’s the champagne that’s made her brave but she bumps him with her hip - maybe it’s just because this is the first time she’d been close enough to do it.

Whatever the reason, that’s what sets it off.

Calum’s head snaps over to look at her. They’re leaning against the edge of T. Giordano’s desk, but when Aspen sees the look in his eyes she straightens up a little. Maybe she shouldn’t have done that. He’s putting down the tablet as she starts to apologize. “Sorry if that was inappropriate, it’s been a long day.” She shrugs.

He’s standing right in front of her. “Don’t worry about it.” He says, and when the absence of any scolding in his voice makes her look up he’s giving her this look she’s never seen, like he’s trying to set her soul on fire. His brows are creased, like it hurts, and he huffs out a little breath she doesn’t dare try to interpret. “Can I just-” He says, and reaches out and puts one hand on her waist.

Her eyes are locked on his, but she can feel her chest heave with shallow breaths, feels his hand shift a little with each one. “Yes,” is all she can say, even though there was no question.

Slowly, Calum uses his hold on her hip to drag himself in, and he lowers his head. Before Aspen can remember why she shouldn’t - he’s your boss he’s insane he’s a player and you’re just - he fits his mouth to hers and they are kissing.

There’s nothing rough about this. No teeth. Nothing tears. Just the soft press of his lips against hers and the deep sign he lets out against her cheek. He’s testing again, to see how where she’ll let this go. Yes, she thinks, yes, and she lets him pull himself so close she can feel the heat off his body, and cup her chin gently. He turns her head, just a little, as their lips move against each other like whispers.

Aspen isn’t usually pliant, but she moves with him. His lips are soft against hers, and the way he feels against her- she’d follow that fucking anywhere. This feels like everything she wanted, and she reaches out and finds the back of his neck, pulls him closer, to kiss him deeper, and-

It sounds like a gasp as he pulls away and grabs her wrist, tearing her hand off his skin before she’s even opened her eyes. They’re both panting, blinking in the light, and Aspen won’t be mad about this as long as he lets her kiss him again, she swears, just- “What?”

He’s not looking at her when he says “We can’t do this. You’re drunk.”

A different kind of burning settles into her chest. “I’ve had half a glass of champagne, I’m not-”

“Then I’m drunk.” He interrupts her, though his hand is still on her waist. Aspen tries to tug her wrist out of his grip, but he’s holding tight to that, too.

Aspen wasn’t looking for this and she knows how it goes, when some secretary falls for their boss. She’s the one in danger, not him, and if he says he doesn’t want- if that’s what he wants, then… “If you say so.”

The room seems dead silent, now, so that every word she says almost echoes around the room. Calum feels it too. He shudders a little and lets go of her, all of her, and draws back.

They collect themselves. The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but they find things to adjust and fix so they don’t have to look at each other. Aspen straightens out her cardigan, moves away from the desk like it’s a trap. She watches Mr. Hood smooth imaginary wrinkles out of his jacket, and when he turns to face her again it’s like a door has closed somewhere inside of him. Whatever light had been in his face is gone.

She doesn’t want to let it scare her, but - her job, his kiss, there’s so much she needs from him.

She waits for him to speak.

“We should put this behind us.” He says, finally. Aspen didn’t expect anything less, but hearing it out loud - it stings. “This was a mistake.”

That’s worse. There’s a lot Aspen can take, but right now, while she’s still got the taste of him in her mouth… She feels white-hot angry, just for a second, and then she collects herself. “Don’t worry about it.” She says, in a voice that’s way too sweet. She turns to the tablet, so she doesn’t have to see how he reacts. “‘S only a mistake if you let it happen again, right?”

“What?”

She hates the idea of looking at him right now, so she stays facing the desk. “Like - it’s only a mistake if you don’t learn from it, if you let it happen again, so don’t worry about it, I’ll see you Monday, I’m gonna-”

He spins her around in one movement and this time when he kisses her it is rough, but she’s angry too and she tangles her fingers in his hair as soon as she knows what’s happening. He’s pressed his tongue into her mouth and his hands are tight around her hips, strong enough to hold her there. He’s pressed right up against her, crowding her against the desk, and she kisses him back like she wants the air out of his lungs. His teeth catch at her lower lip and she opens her mouth a little wider for him, just so he please won’t stop.

It’s so good, but it’s too intense, and after a long moment they break apart and rest their foreheads together, still panting into each other’s mouths. They’ve still got their nails dug into each other, but Aspen can feel something more than lust and chemicals between them, and as he meets her eyes-

He steps back, like he’s been shoved. “There.” He says, but his usual sureness has melted and she can see his eyes flicker, like he’s nervous. “Now it’s a mistake.”

He’s gone before she can reply.

Aspen doesn’t remember too much, after that. She knows what she did, mostly, to get herself out of the botanical gardens and into a cab, but it’s a blur of smiling and excuses when she tries to think back to who she talked to or what she said. It doesn’t matter, really. She doesn’t scream and she doesn’t cry and she gets in a taxi and really that’s all she needs.

When she has to tell the driver to take her to Hood Enterprises, she almost stutters over Calum’s last name. It hurts, a little, because she wanted this, even though she knew this would happen. Did she think she could handle it? She didn’t love this job, but she was good at it and it payed damn well, and- she might have to quit. Fuck, she hadn’t started this with the intention of leaving before a month was up, but-

Before she can finish that thought they’re at Hood Enterprises headquarters. All she wants is to go in, listen to a few phone calls, and go home, but as soon as she enters the lobby-

“Aspen!”

Shit.

“What do you want.” She says to Liam, too tired to hide her anger. She doesn’t need this right now.

“Is Mr. Hood coming back tonight?”

Aspen doesn’t flinch when she hears his name, but it’s a near thing. “No, he’s not. Now, please, get out of my way, Liam, I just want to go home.” When she tries to push past him, Liam moves to block her, and when she looks at him properly she sees that he’s got what are very near tears in his eyes. “Wait, what’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Liam runs a hand through his hair and doesn’t meet her gaze. “Aspen… I really, really fucked up. I dunno if I can fix it. In sales, I- can you come? Please? I need-” He breaks off, his voice about to crack.

“How’m I supposed to help you out with sales, Liam, I’m not-” She shakes her head. Liam just gave her his biggest saddest eyes he’s got.

Well, shit. Aspen is mad at Liam for everything he did, but that doesn’t mean she can just turn her back on him. She doesn’t want to be the reason he’s fired, after all. They used to be friends, and she guesses some part of her misses that. After a long moment she sighs and checks the time on her phone. “I can’t stay long.” She says quietly.

Liam almosts lifts off the ground, he’s so relieved. “Thank you so much.” He says, stepping aside so he can lead her towards the elevator.

“I don’t know what you expect me to be able to do, Liam, you know I’m useless when it comes to econ.” She’s been through enough today, she’s not gonna let herself get carried away.

“I can’t tell you how much this means to me. Really. Aspen, you’re - thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Aspen mumbles as he presses the button and the doors close. They start moving down - wait, down? “Why are we headed to the parking garage?” She glances at him, reaching for the panel of buttons. “What floor do you work on aga-”

The attack is sudden, and it feels so brutal that years later it’s still one of her nightmares.

Liam grabs her arm before she can finish her sentence, sliding around her so it twists behind her back all in one move, pushing her front up against the wall of the elevator in one smooth move. She gasps, but before she can panic properly she remembers to fight back. Even as Liam’s weight crushes her lungs, she jerks back with her free elbow, hitting some soft part of Liam’s torso behind her. She feels his breath on her neck as she strikes out again, again.

There’s one thought running through her head; she’s not gonna die like this. She’s not.

Liam presses her arm further up her back, sending enough pain through her shoulder to make her whole body buckle. But he’s backed off a little, out of elbow range, so as soon as Aspen hears the door open she pushes off the wall with her whole body to get out of his grip.

She must surprise him, because it works. She pushes him off enough to shake out of his grip, runs for the grey concrete of the parking lot. Liam’s footsteps echo behind her, but she’s fast, she can-

Liam tackles her with his full weight. As Aspen hits the ground she skids, palms stinging. Shit. She tries to get her knees under herself, but Liam’s got her pinned and he flips her over to her back easy - he’s twice her fucking size! She tries to punch him, but he catches her wrist slams it to the grounds about her head. The other one follows.

Aspen’s gasping for air and trying to take stock. Liam is straddling her, he’s got her wrists pinned above her head and even now he moves so that he’s got both of them in one hand. He’s reaching into a pocket for something and she doesn’t want to know what. “Liam,” she says, “don’t, Liam, I- help!”

Liam swears, and she feels him ruck up one side of her cardigan, bunching it up past her elbow. Her blood goes cold. She screams again, but this time she can’t find any words for this.. She looks around as best she can, but the lot is empty of cars.

It’s just her. She’s alone.

A scraping sound catches her attention, and when she looks back at Liam he’s pulling the plastic cover off a syringe with his teeth. She struggles against his grip. What else can she do? “Fuck, Liam, don’t- what are you doing-”

“Please stay still, please, okay, I don’t want to hurt you.” He says.

Then he plunges the needle into her arm.

Aspen fucking wails, and yes, she knows its undignified, but she can feel whatever was in that syringe flow through her bicep and it’s a living horror. Liam throws the weapon away and rolls off her, but by the time she drags herself up on her elbows she can guess what he shot into her veins. Everything feels heavy - her head is too much for her neck, and she almost collapses before Liam gathers her into his arms.

She hates him.

He’s murmuring something - it takes effort to tune in, like the world is a radio. Something… he’s sorry? “Fuck you,” Aspen murmurs. She’s too tired for this. She just needs to- for a second- just-

She closes her eyes.

[1800areyouslapping]

Yandere Shimada bros for older ordinary female reader please? Maybe either all human OR Hanzo and Genji are oni/naga that have accepted reader as their mother after she helped/raised them briefly? Noncon and nothing underage of course

Non-Con/Yandere/Naga!Shimadas/Psuedo-Incest/Oviposition/Breeding. Sheesh, this is unnecessarily long, sorry lol But for some reason this woke me out of my creative hibernation, it’s all I got, and now it’s time for me to go back to sleep. Around 4k. 

As a little girl, you were the type to run off into the neighboring woods and come back with a wounded animal or two, much to your parent’s dismay. A dog; a homeless kitten you were permitted to keep. One time it was a turtle you found on the sidewalk in town. He lived in your backyard’s pond until the day came when he just wasn’t there anymore. Another time, a lost baby duck in the middle of the road, nearly run over by a car. Your mother called a local wildlife conservation group to come and pick the poor thing up. It couldn’t live with you, mother had said, the cat would tear it to shreds.  

You loved taking care of them, mothering the motherless. Giving love, and feeling needed.

In your mid-twenties, you inherited your childhood home on the edge of the woods (father died of a heart attack, mother succumbed to cancer.) During your grief, you came across two of the most precious, mythical creatures. Both of whom needed your motherly love more than any helpless creature you’d ever stumbled across. Two naga boys. Brothers who lingered around your home, stealing yard ornaments, sneaking in through the doggy door to take food.

You “caught” them one night. To your great suspicion, your instincts told you the boys wanted to be caught. They lingered at the edge of your bed, peaked over the mountains of blankets, watching you sleep. You’re not sure what it was that kept you calm. You didn’t scream, didn’t kick nor fight. Whether it was the numbness from loss, or your overwhelming urge to coddle, to mother, to feel loved; the two adolescent boys with human torsos and lower halves of snakes didn’t scare you. You hardly questioned their existence in your universe.

The older one, Hanzo. The younger one, Genji. They had lost their parents just as you had lost yours. They had nothing to fear from you, they latched on the right sap.

You raised them; watched them grow; they were your world. And boy, did they grow. Grow and grow ‘til your little home couldn’t accommodate them anymore. Not that it ever properly housed two nagas; you would come to accept that they needed your loving nurturing, your babying, your presence more than your roof or your food; they much preferred hunting wild animals. They turned from baby-faced teenagers into sharp-featured, stunning, otherworldly creatures within the blink of an eye. Handsome boys; your boys.  

Grumpy Hanzo with his perfectly kept beard, and his man bun fade; you caught him preening all the time. He loved getting caught, you knew this. Because that meant you’d come and do the preening for him. Casanova Genji, he would have broken hearts if there were any around to break with his charming, hypnotizing smile, and his unruly hair; you had to beg him to sit still, and had to wrangle the boy every time he needed a trim.  

Both of them with their unique shimmering, long, and powerful tails. Hanzo’s dark blue, Genji’s a forest green. The first time you bathed them you found that their scales responded to touch; they changed colors. From sea greens, to light purples, shiny golds, rich silvers, and even hints of pink on occasions. Both of them with their fine, soft mains that line their tails from the small of their back all the way to the tip of their body, fanning out. The hair was always a favorite of yours to comb and run your fingers through.  

Rasing them into adulthood was no easy task. They were territorial from the moment they accepted you as their mother. No neighbors pet was safe (no matter how far their homes might have been from yours), they all ended up dead, toyed with, and eaten. Their remains, in your yard. You chided them for hunting the animals, they continued to do it. You wrote it off as something that was in their nature, there was nothing you could do to change it.

They would also steal things. They’d sneak into their homes and bring you back gifts, leaving them at the foot of your bed for you to find in the morning. Before they’d grow out of stealing and pilfering household pets many of your neighbors would move, stating they no longer felt safe living near the forest.

“Today it’s a necklace, tomorrow it’s dear old fluffy from down the street,” a former resident had gripped to you. He dropped by before he took his family and left, an oddly traditional fellow. He shook his head, placed both hands on his hips. He had no idea you were harboring the source of the problem. “The next day? It’ll be one of my kids going missin’.” He looked distastefully at the forest. “Somethin’ sinister’s made a home in there.”

You forced a smile, wished him well. Tried not to let the offense you took from his words spill out of your mouth. You felt protective, ready to verbally tear his head off. They didn’t know any better, would never hurt a human.

They longed to stay with you, but it was in their nature to find a cave and make a nest for themselves in the woods. A treasure trove in the woods. Luxuriously made up, every time you visited they had new things. More blankets, more oils, more trinkets, more jewelry. You questioned where exactly they got their things from. They would state that perhaps your ignorance was for your own good.  

Turned out they hadn’t grown out of the petty theft after all.

They were always less active during the fall, nearly slept all day by the fireplace in the winter. When they grew out of your home, you’d check up on them in their den to find them curled around the natural hot spring located deeper inside of the cave. Woe is the life of a cold-blooded creature.

Another winter has just passed; cold and long. It’s the first spring day where the rise in temperature is noticeable. Bees are buzzing around your garden. Birds incessantly chirping trying to entice mates. You have a good feeling the boys will be up and about, lively as they ever are at the start of spring, and will be expecting you. You’re shocked they haven’t shown up at your doorstep yet, each dragging along the corpse of their fresh spring kill.

You know the way to their den by heart, naturally finding the entrance shrouded by vines and moss in no time. You enter, you know you’re welcome, careful not to slip on the dewy rock underfoot. There’s murmuring coming from deep inside the cave. You walk forward finding the boys lounging in the hot spring, rather than around it, deep in conversation with one another.

Genji notices you first. His attention whips to you. He slithers quickly out of the water. So swift you can barely comprehend his movements. He gasps. “Mama!” Genji exclaims. He grabs your shoulders, kisses your cheek deeply. “We were just speaking of you.”

He rears up. Stands tall, towering over you. Water rolls down his chest, his hair is messy with it. You’d like him to get back down to your level so you can tidy it. “Were you?” You look around Genji to Hanzo, who looks perturbed for what reason you don’t know yet. With him, it could be anything. “Sweetie, how was your hibernation? Each time I trekked for a checkup the both of you were too out of it to even acknowledge I visited.”  

Neither of them answer. Genji searches your face, his tail flitting back and forth wildly. Restless, like he needs to blow off steam. Hanzo continues to stare, his own tail doing the same thing across the service of the steaming water, mouth in a hard line. Something is… off.  

“You smelled of a man,” Hanzo says. “You still smell of that man.”

Your mouth drops open. That sounded like an accusation. “A-and?” You look up to Genji, shrug your shoulders. “I was lonely.” You reach out to brush your hand over his arm. “I didn’t have my boys to keep me company.”

You’re not sure why you find yourself explaining. Telling them that he’s a nice man, who could fulfill needs they aren’t responsible for. You think that one day he may even be trusted enough to be introduced to them. It’s the vibe they’re giving off, the same kind of vibe they’d bring back with them after they had slaughtered yet another beloved pet, and laid it at your feet.

“It is as we thought,” Hanzo says. He emerges from the water. Is at your back faster then Genji was at your front.  

Genji nods in agreement, his tail whips faster. His energy is giving you a fleeting feeling in your belly. Hanzo places a hand on your shoulder, instinctively you place your own hand over his. “You’ll always be my special boys, no matter who else comes into my life,” you reason. Hanzo’s grip tightens; your heart races.  

Genji’s eyes brighten as if he has the solution to the unspoken problem. “There is no need for anyone else.” He eyes your body, his hand trails down his front. His cloaca opens slightly, his sexes peaking. Your breath catches in your chest, you understand now. The aura in the room, the cave is thick with a sexual charge. They’re fully mature now, and it’s mating season.

You pat Hanzo’s hand. “What you’re feeling is natural, but,” you shake your head regrettably, “I can’t help you with this.” You feel sorry for them. You’ve never seen another naga, and you haven’t the slightest idea of how they could satisfy their urges without another one around.

“You can,” Hanzo says. His grip tightens. His hard body presses against your back. “You fulfilled your role as our mother to perfection, now you will be just as good a one to our clutch.”

“No, no.” You attempt to pry his hand from your shoulder. His fingers are digging. It is unwise for you to remain here. “I should go,” you say.

Genji reaches out, cups your face. His cocks pop out, one smaller, one bigger, both symmetrical to his size. Hanzo’s do the same. Pressing hot against your back, leaking on your shirt, the wetness sliding down your spine. You shiver, smack Genji’s hand away, and tear your shoulder from Hanzo’s grip.

“That’s enough,” you demand, mustering all the motherly authority you have in your body. “Put those things way, you can’t mate with me.” You’d argue that they shouldn’t be mating the same person either, but you don’t feel that the reminder that they are -brothers- matters much at this moment.  

“But we can,” Genji says with earnest. “Our birth mother was human.”

Your eyes glass over, you’re dizzy. You’ve never been frightened of them before. Now that they’re crowding you, they smell of sweat and hormones. Their primal instincts have taken over their sound minds… the back of your shirt is soaked. You’re scared. Their feelings are misplaced, and not because they’re naga, but because you are you and they are who they are.

Out of all the times they had spoken of their parents they never once mentioned their mother being human. You feel a jarring pang of resentment from this. What else have they been keeping from you? “Well,” you gulp, bring a shaky hand to your chest, “I said no, and that’s the end of it.”

You try to slip out from between them. You can’t believe you’re going to run but you are. You’ll never receive the chance. Hanzo scoops you up. Effortless, one arm wrapped around your waist. White-hot pain surges through your shoulder, brief, it’s gone in an instant. Not even enough time to scream before your limbs are falling limp, useless to your sides. Your toes droop, pointed towards the floor, your head lolls to the side.

“Hanzo,” you whimper. He licks languidly at the bite. His fangs may be pointy and sharp, but he didn’t tear, didn’t writhe his head like he does when he bites into the prey that he means to eat. You’re not bleeding too badly, the wound isn’t fatal. His venom paralyzes, it doesn’t kill.

Now you’re a weeping, living doll at their mercy. This isn’t the first time you’ve been bitten by one of them. The first time it was Genji, he was young. He was playing with you and got too rowdy. He bit you, instantly falling into a sobbing mess when you screamed and clutched your arm in pain. He didn’t know any better; they… still don’t know any better…. he wasn’t fully grown so the venom took longer do its job.

You fell to the floor in your kitchen just short of getting to the phone. The analog clock shined brightly. You watched the minutes tick by while Genji cuddled and sobbed into your neck, blubbering about how Hanzo would rip him apart when he found out he had killed mama, and he’d let him. He wanted to die, he didn’t want to live without you. You found the sentiment to be rather melodramatic, if you could have laughed it off, you would have. Now seeing the lengths they are willing to go to keep you to themselves, you realize that their feelings really do run that deep.  

Hanzo holds you, Genji removes your clothes. Piece by piece it all falls to the floor ‘til you’re bare, and there’s not a thing you can do about the chagrin you feel from being utterly exposed in front of your boys. They explore your body with unabashed interest. Groping, tugging, caressing. Praising the softness of your skin, marveled by the bumps that raise from their touch.  

“Humans kiss with their tounges,” Genji says. They are no strangers to how human sex works or physical human affections. You never bothered to police what they consumed through media. Never monitored their internet time. While this is the first contact they’ve had with a female body (to your knowledge) they’re not totally ignorant. Regardless, something tells you that instinct is going to be a greater teacher than anything they ever found on the internet.

Genji lifts your chin with a finger. Kisses you once, testing. Kisses you again; slips his tongue into your mouth. He reaches further inside, exploring just as he did your body. He breaches the back of your throat. You gag. You can’t breathe, fantom limbs reach out to push Genji away. He realizes this and withdraws his tongue. He pets your face apologetically. “Sorry, sorry.”  

The venom doesn’t wholly inhibit your ability to speak but does make it a daunting task that takes far more concentration than it usually would. Thank God, because you probably would have told him it was okay.

Hanzo curls his tail into a seat, places you in it, holding you upright with the thinnest part of his tail wrapped tightly around your waist. He spreads your legs so they can explore more. Genji looks, while Hanzo continues to open you up. Using curious, rough fingers to spread your folds and prod at both of your holes. Commenting on your warmth and how the smell of you makes his stomach tighten and his cocks throb.

Your skin tingles all over, your face is hot. You’re paralyzed, not numb. Can feel every touch, every bit of Genji’s fevered breath as he lowers himself and hovers over your pussy, tongue flicking out to lap at your labia. Hanzo’s powerful chest. His stomach muscles flex and ripple against your back. The solid muscle that is his tail under your thighs; the cool, smooth scales that protect it. His erections twitching and leaking, sticky against your bare skin.

Hanzo licks along the shell of your ear. Hums when you moan: a strangled sound. Genji decided to explore your sex the way he explored your mouth, reaching much farther than he was able to go in your throat. “Feels good?” Hanzo questions. “Do you see now, mama? We can fulfill your every need.”

You don’t want to see, eyelids stuck open in a perpetual stare, you have no choice. Genji looks serene down between your legs. The widest part of his tongue disappears between your slit. His wet lips meet the wet folds of your pussy. The long, slick muscle writhes and circles around your insides. It isn’t physically painful, what they’re doing to you. That doesn’t change the shame; this isn’t right. Doesn’t change the betrayal of trust that keeps a steady flow of tears streaming down your face.

But your tumultuous feelings also doesn’t change that it -does- feel good. The venom forces you to relax; forces you to hard focus on the sensations running rapidly through your body. Hanzo’s curious tongue and soft lips on your neck. His low, gruff grunts. The scent permeating your nose that is so distinctly male. The frustrating pressure in your belly. Genji’s merely enjoying his time, there’s no finesse to his method, without meaning to he’s keeping you on the edge.  

Your clit pulses, crying out for attention that it won’t be getting. Genji retreats his tongue, buries his nose into your folds and breaths deeply. Keeps doing so all the way up to your belly, eyes shut tight, completely immersed in your scent. He opens his eyes and he gazes up at you wistfully, drunk and happy. “Mama, you are so pretty,” he sniffs again, nuzzling his face into the soft parts of your lower tummy, “smell so good, you are perfection.”    

Genji backs off with a delighted smile.  

Hanzo drapes you on your back over the midsection of his tail, supports your neck by curling the thinnest part around it. Hanzo holds your hips steady with a bruising grip, presses the tip of his smaller cock to your entrance and sinks in. He hisses out of pleasure, the apples of his cheeks flaming red. Hanzo’s thicker, longer length slides between your cheeks, pokes into your back. You almost mustered up the strength to request that he take it slow. It’s too late now.

The stretch burned enough to pull the air from your lungs; but you’re wet, he’s messing your walls with precum, so you adjust quickly. Hanzo doesn’t thrust, rather moves you up and down on his cock. Taking more of him each time ‘til he’s pressuring your cervix, opening it a little more with each jab.

He’s priming you to accept his clutch. At first, you wince at the foreign feeling. Then you start to feel high, thoughts swimming, a rush of endorphins coursing through your veins. His seed is doing something to your womb. Numbing it, turning it into a tingly heating pad within your body.

Hanzo’s eyes smolder, bear longing. Even as he has you in the exact way that he desires you. He bounces you, fully seated, on his cock. Faster and faster ‘til your heels are bouncing steadily off of his sides, lewd, wet slaps echo off the walls of the cave, your arms swinging deadweight. The frustrating pressure that Genji left in your belly finally comes to fruition. You cum, and so does Hanzo. Thick, healthy ropes of it, so much it seeps and spills from your body.  

The room spins, your vision blurs. The exchange between his two cocks is near unnoticeable. Only when he hisses, long and drawn out, his fingers dig painfully into your hips, and the first egg stretches you wider, do you realize he made the exchange. The egg moves at a snail’s pace through your canal. Bulges through your pubic mound, lower tummy, and disappears when it finally exits his cock and settles, weighty inside of your womb.  

He pushes out another one, baring teeth, and closing his eyes in concentration. The egg easily joins its sibling, swimming in a sea of seed. He sighs blissfully. “That is much better.” Hanzo rubs your belly. “They will fertilize by morning, grow bigger. You will be so round, mama.”

You swallow to bring moisture back into your hoarse throat. “How do you know these things?” you ask.

“Father left behind a journal.” His fingers fan out over the expanse of your belly. Adoring, and in love with the small baby bump. “He was able to teach us, even though he is gone. I think I will do the same, for our children.”

A journal. You had spent so many years doing your own research, sifting through the plethora of false information and fairy tales in pursuit of being as educated about them as you possibly could be, and there has been a journal written and containing information from an actual naga? If you could slap him, you would. You want to beat your fists against both of their chests.

Speaking of Genji. For a boy that you know to be restless and impatient, he has been exceedingly quiet, up until now. “My turn, Hanzo.” His voice is strained, nearly as shot as your own is.

Hanzo agrees. “Take care,” he says has he hand you over to him, “the eggs can–”

“I know this,” Genji snaps. “A lecture on being careful is unneeded.” Poor thing is pent up. Frustration painted all over his face. What is normally a cheeky but kind face is hardened and hungry as he splays you in his lap the same way Hanzo did.

Hanzo lets the attitude slide with a grunt. Too tired, far too satisfied to argue.

Genji keeps you secured with the tip of his tail wrapped around the section just below your breasts. Nothing’s slow or careful about the way he enters you. He’s all in in one fell swoop. Leans forward and holds onto the both of your tits, grips tightly as he thrusts with vigor. Intensely looks you in the eyes. He pants, you can feel his hot breath on your face. Sweat beads in his hairline. It rolls down his forehead and drips onto your lip.    

He cums loudly, his stomach convulses, his pecs flex. He whimpers, as if the pleasure felt so good it hurt. How much cum he left inside of you, you can’t tell. Can no longer feel anything but the tingling and the eggs. Genji doesn’t remove his hands from your breasts. He’s latched on, they’ll be black and blue by the time he’s done. Rather he slithers and shifts, thrusts until his egg-laying cock meets your cunt, and slips inside with ease.    

“Oh, mama, mama, mama,” he chants while he pushes. The sound of it sends electricity through your abdomen. Your face flushes from how much it affects you. The wanting and neediness in his voice is unfair and chips away at your will. Genji chokes out a one last “mama.” Your stomach rounded another inch with the inclusion of two new eggs.  

“Genji,” Hanzo yawns, “keep her elevated.”

“I know, I know,” Genji says. Tone much more agreeable now than before. “Until the plug forms, I remember.”

The moment’s pass. Both of the boys fondle your belly. Hanzo assures you that the venom should be wearing off soon, but does not apologize for using it in the first place, it was “necessary.” He’s not wrong. They converse about your living situation as if you’re not seated, naked, legs thrown over Genji’s shoulder and rump pressed against Genji’s stomach, his arm curled around your thighs. It’s decided that you’ll be living with them now, it’s time they took care of you.  

When they feel its time, Genji opens your legs, and Hanzo inserts two fingers inside of you, taps on something hard formed over your cervix. “It is there, we can bathe her now.”

Hanzo lifts you up bridal style. He carries you over to the onsen. Slithers in and lets the hot water do most of the work. Carefully he leans you back into the water so Genji can wash your sweat-matted hair. He takes extra special care. Scratching your scalp, massaging your temples. The water helps awaken your muscles. Your toes flex, your fingers twitch.

You’re able to hold your own head up again, even if your exhaustion makes it feel near impossible. Hanzo cradles you against his chest, gliding a hand over your back. Genji is casually speaking about how they’d like you to name the babies when they’ve hatched. He doesn’t doubt you’ll be their favorite person, just as you are theirs.

“Do you think they’ll listen to me, the way you two do?” A rhetorical question. Not meant to be funny, but they chuckle.

You fall asleep with both eyes and hands on your belly. You admit to yourself, you like the way it feels. Smooth, hard like the pregnant bellies of friends and coworkers that allowed you to touch theirs. You’re not sure what it is, whether its the shock or the mother in you that keeps you calm. It’s certainly the mother that looks forward to the process, to being pregnant. Four little nagas, that’s a lot of work; that’s a challenge. That’s a lot of love to give and receive.

[erinye]

Ummm it actually turned into a 4k-word fic  D:  I couldn’t stop writing, I just was so captivated and inspired by your creations!!  anyway I only submitted a smaller part of the whole thing because I wrote too damn much. I hope you’ll forgive me for the details I got wrong and the liberties I took, I just really hope you find it somewhat entertaining  :)  and you don’t have to post it either, I just thought maybe you’d like to read it  :)

———-

Apollo learns, from receiving a smug text, that Helios has taken Icarus on a joyride through the space between realms – giving the boy a little thrill as they tore through the inky void on his golden chariot (in the noisy motorcyclical form it takes these days).  Presumably, Helios got a snuggle out of it as well, if Icarus was holding onto the god as they flew. 

It will not stand.

Apollo arrives promptly at Icarus’s apartment the next day after the human has completed his classes and returned.  The boy has enough time to place his heavy book satchel on the table and when he looks up, Apollo is standing there, next to him. 

Icarus yelps and squirms away in an amusingly unmanly fashion, but Apollo is not here to wind him up today.  

“You’re looking pale, Icarus.  I’ve told you before that you lock yourself away indoors too much,” Apollo tells him, disapproval in his voice.  He takes Icarus’s arm, firmly, and pulls him back towards the door to his apartment.

“H-hey, wait-!”

“Your Vitamin D levels are dangerously low.  It will begin affecting your health negatively soon.  It’s because you avoid sunlight,” Apollo lectures.  “We’re going to correct this.”

“Wait.  You’re saying…” Icarus gives him a flat, disbelieving look as Apollo pulls him through the door.  “You’re the sunlight.  You’re giving me the D?”

Apollo pauses, closing the door behind them, and looks over at Icarus, and smirks.  “Yes.  I’m giving you the D.”

Icarus’s eyes widen at that, and there it is, that flush coloring his cheeks and neck.  “You – can’t just say that-!” the human sputters, but Apollo has already turned and begun pulling Icarus down the steps and toward his own chariot, where it’s parked by the side of the road.

“This is your car?” Icarus gapes at the golden Prius.

“Yes.  It’s one of the safest vehicles available, and sensible, as well as stylish.”  Apollo lets them in and waits until Icarus has buckled his safety belt before he pulls away from the curb and into the void.

He doesn’t bother trying to impress Icarus with the view in the heavenly realm – Helios has already beaten him to that.  In spite of the fact that he’s seen it once before, Icarus still seems fascinated with the view outside the Prius’s windows.  He peers out, excitedly asking if those are the same constellations he can see from earth.

Apollo confirms that they are, though viewed from the other side.  They pass an empty space near Lyra, and Apollo wonders to himself if Icarus’s corpse would look pretty, turned into stars, someday.  When the mortal died.  Apollo thinks the human would make a fetching constellation, but finds he isn’t looking forward to it. 

Apollo uses his turn signal and exits the void, pulling out onto a pristine beach of high, rocky cliffs edged in white sand and achingly blue-green waters.

Icarus is suitably impressed.  He steps out of the car, looking around.  “Holy… this place is gorgeous!  Where are we?”

“Galifos.  In Greece.”  He pronounces both names with the original Greek accent; something he knows is a secret turn-on for the human. 

As hoped, a faint spot of color appears in both cheeks of Icarus’s face, but he’s too entranced with the view to do more than stare, openmouthed.  “It’s incredible.  I – hey?!”

Icarus has apparently just noticed his clothes are missing.  The spots of red spread wildly over his entire face and neck, and he attempts to hide himself with both hands. 

“It’s a nude beach, Icarus.”  Apollo is naked as well.  He strides past Icarus, only slowing to muss his hair and otherwise doesn’t comment on how endearingly idiotic the human looks, both hands planted over his genitals like the shy child he sometimes is.  “And you need as much D as your body can take.”

“There’s no way you don’t know what that sounds like,” Icarus mutters mutinously. 

Apollo stretches out on the warm sand, already feeling better for being here, in the open, no other people around but him and Icarus, and the pristine waters and the bright sun in the sky.

It takes Icarus a minute to summon his courage to walk over and join him, and he drops ungracefully down onto the sand, still looking nervous and embarrassed and annoyed.  Apollo doesn’t tease him this time, only watches the gulls.

“Nice, isn’t it,” he comments. 

After a moment, Icarus agrees.  “Yeah, this place is cool,” he says, and Apollo can see him force himself to unclench his hands from his dick and place them defiantly onto the sand next to him.  The human looks out at the water.  Aside from being too pale, and a little too skinny by Apollo’s standards, and the messy haircut, Icarus’s body is pleasing, and Apollo is pleased to see the small signs of the somatosensory stimuli affecting it – the grains of sand, the breeze, the warm sun.

——

When Apollo kisses Icarus for the first time, it’s a gentle kiss on the cheek, given without actually thinking of the competition. 

Icarus has been talking about his latest passion, calculating the lifetime of the sun.  It’s a calculation a little beyond him, something he would encounter later in his studies, but he’s interested now, and has made an effort to figure it out ahead of schedule.  Neither Helios nor Apollo offer insight of their own, though neither can hide a smile. 

Icarus seems to be in some form of denial about the sun gods in his apartment – this is true on any given day.  He just ignores it – the closest Apollo has seen him directly acknowledge their identities, is to argue that they only do stuff with the sun, not that they are the sun, or control it.  Apollo’s seen it many times before, and no longer takes offense.  It’s a mortal inability to fully comprehend the scale of gods, or of so many things beyond their scope. 

And in any case, it’s sweet how much Icarus cares about this.  The grouchy demeanor falls away from his face as he explains the unnecessarily complicated math, the physics, radioactive dating.  Icarus’s whole body lights up as he talks, hands gesturing excitedly, animated like he never is usually. 

Apollo thinks, yes, this is worth Prometheus’s sin, that humans should want to do math to find out how old the sun is, and when Icarus pauses in his explanation, Apollo leans over and presses a kiss to his face. 

It’s less showy than Helios’s kiss, and less sensual than Apollo’s own usual efforts, but he earns a blush and an awkward, pleased smile from the human.

Helios had long lost interest in the math conversation and perks up at this. “What?  You’re giving out kisses?!  Gimme one too!” 

“You got one last decade, it’s enough.”

————————————————

One thing that both gods find entertaining is watching Icarus panic his way through his education.  Students have always been the same, Apollo thinks: scrambling through practical exercises and tests of knowledge, bemoaning how much there is to know in such little time.  To Icarus’s credit, his enthusiasm for his field of study never flags.  He always, always wants to know the secrets of the cosmos, to grasp how they turn, to work out a way to be the first human on the sun.  His passion for astronomy stays strong – although his will to survive his studies, or life in general, seem to sputter constantly.

Icarus is perpetually in a state of sleep-deprived misery.  Stressed, anxious, and depressed all at once.  Most of the time he keeps it at bay with his sarcasm, but sometimes… like now…

Apollo is at Icarus’s apartment, having just arrived after setting the sun for the day.  Helios is already there, perched on top of the refrigerator, watching with raised eyebrows as Icarus goes through the throes of some kind of meltdown.  It seems to be exam-related.  He looks exhausted, as usual, and is grimly measuring out more coffee, clearly intending to force himself to stay awake longer.

It’s entertaining.  It always is, watching the boy fly into a panic over minor things, lacking an immortal’s sense of eventuality.  Particularly since Icarus knows his material better than most of his classmates; it makes his insecurity and overreactions look comically ridiculous.

The biggest obstacle to his success in his studies, is his inability to care for himself properly.  Apollo will insist he eat a real breakfast tomorrow.  For now, though he doesn’t even greet the boy before he steps over to him, holding up a hand.

“Heed my words…” he begins.  Helios looks over at him, sharply.

“…and fall asleep.  Be at peace,” Apollo finishes.  He quickly puts an arm out and catches Icarus as the boy sags, eyes closing, coffee and spoon dropping to the countertop. 

Apollo gathers Icarus up; the boy slumbers on.  His eyelids are colored a deep purple with exhaustion.  Apollo shakes his head, tutting.

“I’m putting him in his bed.  I don’t expect him to wake for at least ten hours.  You don’t need to stay around,” Apollo tells Helios.

“Ha!  Like I’m gonna let you cheat your way to first place, you cheating shit!” Helios snorts derisively.  He hops down off the refrigerator and scampers ahead of them, flinging himself into Icarus’s bed and adopting a suggestive position and leering.  “Toss him over here!”

Apollo gives him a withering stare and eases Icarus onto the bed, taking a moment to tug off his shoes and setting them neatly on a nearby chair.  He leans over to tuck Icarus’s hair out of his face.  The boy shifts slightly, still deeply asleep, and half-turns towards Helios, grasping his arm. 

Helios almost has enough time to compose his face into an expression of smug triumph, but at nearly the same moment, Icarus reaches out for Apollo as well, pulling him closer.

Pulling him by the hair, in fact.  Icarus’s fingers are latched around the nearest coil of Apollo’s hair and yanking, not particularly gently, pulling Apollo’s face in close.

Helios’s face goes through the expressions of startled, annoyed, and amused in rapid succession.  “Well, that’s that.  Guess you better climb in too.”

“It seems the decision’s been made for me,” Apollo agrees, trying to fight a happy blush from his face as he disentangles his hair from Icarus’s grip.

He lays himself down next to the two of them, dismissing his clothing with a thought.  Icarus audibly sighs in his sleep, wriggling a little as the heat from two sun gods washes over him from either side, warming his bed.  Apollo and Helios have each taken one of his hands in one of theirs, touching over the center of the human’s chest, over the beating heart.

“This kid’s greedy,” Helios observes fondly.  “A two-god sort of guy.  Couldn’t be satisfied with just one or the other.”

“Well, it’s as we’ve seen.  Icarus is not lacking in ambition.”

Helios snorts again and for the next eight hours, forty-two minutes and fourteen seconds, they say and do nothing more.  They only watch their human sleep.  It is not a spectacularly interesting show.  Icarus is out; traces of Apollo’s curse still weaving about his skull, keeping him quiet and still, though he occasionally stirs and reaches a hand out, apparently to satisfy his unconscious self that the gods are still there.

After a while, Apollo discovers that blowing gently on Icarus’s neck – the same place where Helios was kissing him to such great effect earlier – causes the boy’s fingers to twitch and his lips to part.  The gods give each other a knowing look over the top of Icarus’s head, filing the knowledge away for later when they can use it to maximum mischief.  And then, without quite realizing he’s doing it, Apollo is leaning forward to meet Helios’s lips in a gentle kiss, shared over their sleeping human. 

They smile at each other genuinely for a brief moment, before Helios grins.  “Nice!  Just the right amount of tongue.  All-around good kiss!”

“Now you’re not going to get another one for two decades,” Apollo tells him, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever.  You won’t be able to keep lips off of me now that you know what a great kisser I am,” Helios scoffs smugly.

Apollo’s lips twitch in a smirk.  “Eos was better.”

The familiar glare graces Helios’s face.  “So it’s like that, eh?  Fine.  I’ll just give Artemis a smooch and compare your technique.”

“Pfft.  She’d kick your ass into next week.”

Their squabbling eventually gets lively enough to overcome even the sleep curse, and Icarus awakens, hair mussed and eyes still half-closed.  He grouchily and groggily throwing in his two cents even while rubbing his eyes, adding to the argument before he even knows what it’s about.

The sun rises late that day.