#do we think 8k followers is enough

[saetoru]

💀💀💀💀

[sukirichi]

[ DUSK ‘TILL DAWN : 010 ]

“we who bear the burden of the crown do not need to love. you only need to stay here, with me, in power, in greed, in lust – in victory.”

cw. modern royal au. infidelity. slight angst. reader is beginning to question everything she knew. reader almost drowns. toxic characters. suggestive. toxic relationships. unedited. SHIRTLESS KIYOOMI SHIRTLESS KIYOOMI

notes. the end of kiyoomi arc... mayhaps? also highly recommend listening to the linked song for this chapter and the fanmade playlist linked in the masterlist <3

wc. 8k

series masterlist 

[ TEN ] you’ll see me in hindsight, tangled up with you all night, burning it down. someday when you leave me, I bet these memories follow you around

You underestimated Kiyoomi’s enthusiasm.

Blame it on the fact you would’ve never figured the word ‘enthusiasm’ and Kiyoomi could fit in the same sentence, but as always – the Prince was full of surprises. At precisely seven in the morning, he had knocked on your door to wake you up. Not the maid, nor the butler. The Prince himself. He’d asked you to join him for breakfast, boasting that everything was from farm to table – the cheese from the milk of his cows, the meat from his poultry, the scrambled eggs neatly placed around the plate – save for the wine he’d brought all the way from Greenville. ‘Nothing like liquor from your lands,’ he’d commented, and poured you a drink. You stifled a laughter. You hadn’t thought one could have wine for breakfast, but alas, the customs in the Palace were different. Here, you were just you, and Kiyoomi could simply be.

After breakfast, he’d given you a tour of his farmhouse, although calling it ‘house’ was entirely too humble.

Located in the countryside, surrounded by thick greenery and a dense forest with overlooking hills, Kiyoomi’s farmhouse felt like a sanctuary compared to the Palace. He didn’t even need much security, whatnot with the tall trees decorating the driveway to offer privacy. His gardens contained lush greens, and a diverse variety of flowers you hadn’t ever seen before. He knew them all by heart, even their scientific names. You teased him about it, how he was just showing off at this point, because who spews scientific names of flowers when no one asked? He took it with grace, though, or as much grace a flustered Prince could, anyway.

He’d scratched the back of his ear, looking at everywhere but you. “You spend enough time reading books and you can’t help studying everything.”

“I think it’s impressive,” you nudged his shoulder, “I’d certainly boast, too, if I had that knowledge.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “But maybe not about flowers. No one cares about flowers.”

“I do!”

“Sure,” he snorted, “As long as they’re pretty enough to look at, you’ll like them.”

“I can’t help that I like pretty things.”

“No, you can’t,” his face smoothened, and he snuck a glance at you – all too quickly before straightening up. “I certainly can’t.”

Sometimes, you wondered if Kanami made herself busy on purpose. If maybe, just maybe, she had installed cameras all around the farmhouse and giggled to herself if she could see you and her son interacting. Bent over a bed flowers, with Kiyoomi explaining their origins, and you listening intently. Or Kiyoomi introducing you to his chickens (yes, he’d named them), and then snickering (which you soon learned was his version of a laugh) when you ran away after a mother hen mistook you for a threat. Of course, you didn’t share the same sentiments of humor. The mother hen’s claws were not a laughing matter, but Kiyoomi thought otherwise. He’d simply shaken his head because he wouldn’t let any form of harm come to you, anyway.

You wished that offhanded comment didn’t make you feel so warm inside.

Being here with Kiyoomi was… Well, it was better than anything you’d expected. This was how you wished your honeymoon had been – filled with laughter, sharing in good, lighthearted conversation, and being a part of nature. Spending minutes in silence while you took in your daily dose of sunlight. Being in good company. You were glad you accepted Kanami’s offer, and you only enjoyed yourself more with each passing hour you’d made yourself acquainted with Kiyoomi and his precious farm.

And then there was that nagging voice that told you he wasn’t Rintaro.

You snorted. He definitely wasn’t. If he had been Rintaro, you would probably be in the middle of nowhere, miserable, and crying yourself until you’ve dried up like a prune. No – you didn’t want to think about him right now. It would defeat the entire purpose of this getaway. You wanted to enjoy yourself, and enjoy you did. For now, you gazed upon everything your human eyes could take in – the slope of the hills, the slight swaying of the tree leaves from the fresh breeze, the cows grazing on the grass, and Kiyoomi’s dog, Kael, herding those who went astray. Such a confusing image to paint, that of a Prince wearing his riding boots at the porch of his back garden.

“Wow,” you exhaled, following him into the stables. He’d lent you some boots, too, and was now reigning the straddle parts for the horses. “I underestimated your place. Do you own all of these lands?”

“I do,” he proudly said, and swung open the tiny, white wooden gates to reveal a tall horse with shining black fur. He chuffed upon the sight of Kiyoomi. His tail wagged, his snout reaching over just when Kiyoomi extended his palm to cup his nose. In front of you, a ghost of a smile flittered on his lips. “This is Astra. He’s mine. Had him since he was an infant; Kanami got him for me on my twelfth birthday.”

You couldn’t help but smile too. For all his grumpiness around his Mother’s fretting of him, it was clear the Prince loved her. And it was such a nice thing to see since the other Princes weren’t so lucky when it came to their mothers.

Kiyoomi beckoned you to come forward, and so you did. You were hesitant at first, because Astra was enormous. He stood at least two heads taller than you, with thick, powerful legs that could easily crush you with one kick. But Kiyoomi was there holding him close by his reigns, and you grew more confidence with each step. Smiling at him, you bravely lifted a hand to cup his face.

“Hello, Astra. You are so beautiful.”

Astra chuffed at your compliment, and Kiyoomi let out his barely audible breathy chuckles.

“He’s flattered by the compliment. And that one next to him is Lucy, his girlfriend. She’s great for beginner riders,” he was now fixing Lucy’s reigns as he spoke, adjusting the foothold before leaning over her to glance at you. “Have you ridden one before?”

“Only several times.”

Nodding, you followed as Kiyoomi led the two horses outside the barn. Astra seemed to be over the moon upon being with Lucy without being separated by their gates, chuffing and whinnying repeatedly while bumping noses with her. Lucy was much more reserved, but returned the gesture and even licked him adoringly, which made your chest ache. Gods. Now you were jealous because these horses had a healthier, more loving relationship than you.

Before you could dwell on it, however, a pair of strong arms were already lifting you up. You yelped as you rose mid-air and flailed wildly. The ground below you disappeared, and soon, you were perched on Lucy’s back, while Kiyoomi effortlessly hopped on a much taller Astra. The action seemed so natural to him as if he’d done it multiple times – and dare you say, infuriatingly attractive. The Prince had the top three buttons of his shirt undone because he’d worked a sweat chasing the chickens away from you a while ago, and his curls stuck to his forehead in a way that showcased high-chiseled cheekbones you hadn’t seen before. And… wow. He was breathtaking without realizing it. It felt wrong to think that way, to feel this way, but it was just admiration, was it not? He was a literal Prince Charming, with a dash of awkwardness, and a spritz of unexpected geekiness.

You turned away when his large, calloused, and veiny hands began stroking Astra’s mane. You’d rather not have to think about how those same strong, yet gentle hands lifted you up as if you weighed nothing, and truly, that white shirt of his did little to hide his muscular build. Clearing your throat to rid yourself of those thoughts, you tightened your grip on the reins. “Where to, my Prince?”

“To the edge of the world.”

A smirk was all he gave you before he tapped Astra with his ankles, sending the stallion running off. Your jaw dropped. You hadn’t expected he’d leave you behind, and you refused to be left alone. Mimicking his gestures, you tapped on Lucy and bellowed. She ran and ran, hard enough that your bottom began to feel sore, but that was nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the sensation of the fresh wind whipping at your cheeks, the sun shining down on your skin, and the sounds of hooves hitting the Earth. Your racing heart matched the beat of Lucy’s footsteps as she easily caught up to a carefree Astra. She whinnied, and he responded with one of his own, making the Prince smile when you showed up beside him not a moment later – the smile on your faces proud.

“I knew you could catch up,” he shouted from over the wind, and your smile broadened.

The two of you rode aimlessly for what seemed like hours, even if it was just only minutes. Kiyoomi took you everywhere – in the middle of the forest, where you squealed as the horses ran over puddles and the dirt muddied your boots. But you found yourself unable to care. You were filled with so much glee, with so much life, that you were certain your heart was now pulsing in your arms. It was surreal how much you could see in slow motion despite the speed you were riding at. How your vision had become crystal clear as you took in the tall trees surrounding you, the deers running off and hiding when you’d ran past them. How Kiyoomi always seemed to be a few steps ahead, but always looking back to see if you’d follow him. You did, and you always would, even as he led you deeper into the forest and past the clearing.

Astra slowly skidded to a halt as you took in the scenery in front of you, and you tugged on Lucy, eyes wide open and jaw dropped. A nearly torn down fortress built of stone that was probably piled hand by hand stood before you, vines and moss growing from the walls from old age. It seemed sturdy, yet the holes and cracked towers said otherwise. It must have been centuries since someone last used this place.

“Are those castles?”

“Castle ruins,” he corrected, clicking his tongue as he led Astra to circle around the ruins. “Before Inarizaki split from Itachiyama, the first rulers set their base here.”

“So this was where the original monarchs were.”

It was the typical layout of a castle, with a flatter centre in the middle, and two, tall pillars on its side to serve as its towers. The right tower had already been destroyed, though, leaving a hole in its wake. The large wooden doors from the entrance of the castle had multiple marks on it, as if people had repeatedly tried to beat the doors down with their stakes and weapons. Black marks also decorated the stones, and judging by the empty, darkened patches of soils that was blatantly contrasting with the otherwise growing greenery around the ruins, this Castle must’ve been burnt down at some point.

“Yes, but as you can see, they’re nothing but ruins now. Inarizaki took with them whatever old rules and scriptures they had back in the old days. That’s why we still keep some traditions in our country, although its true origin was from the True Land. The old Itachiyama.”

“Traditions such as last dances on a debut ball?”

“Traditions such as that,” he agreed, rather shyly. His voice had grown distant now that he rode before you, more out of protectiveness as he peeked in the open windows. Once satisfied with what he’d seen, he jumped off Astra and walked to you, absentmindedly placing his large palm on your knee. “We can go see the ruins for ourselves, if you would like.”

Heat spread from where his hand came into contact with your skin – or leggings. Blinking back your nervousness, you reached your hands out to Kiyoomi, letting him gently place you down until you were steady on your feet.

“We are allowed? Wouldn’t that be trespassing?”

“We are royals. Technically, these are the homes of our ancestors,” he stated, and then pursed his lips when you didn’t laugh. “It was a jest. Everyone is free to roam around as they please. As I have said, Itachiyama has less rules.”

You venture inside the castle ruins, fascinated by it all. You kept thinking about what Kiyoomi said – how these were the homes of your ancestors. Once, a long time ago in history, Inarizaki and Itachiyama were united as one, huge territory. Their Kings and Queens lived here and wrote history for themselves. People roamed these hallways once, and it must have been bustling with life. These same stone staircases in which you climbed on were probably littered with torches beside the walls, with their knights guarding each mysterious and hidden door. And gods, the things done behind those doors. Did the Princesses giggle amongst themselves during tea times? Did the Princes like to sharpen their swords and had their choice of horses, as well?

Did the Kings love their Queens?

So many questions unanswered, except Kiyoomi did have answers. He satisfied your unending curiosity by telling you everything you wanted to know – that yes, Kings did love their Queens and former monarchs had many heirs and heiresses. Or how the original Castle only had a right and left wing, but the last King before the country was split in two dedicated a South wing as a burial spot for his wife, the last Queen, who had died in childbirth. He was nicknamed ‘The King of the End’ because his wife’s death led him to a dark path of war, bloodshed, and ultimately, the separation of Inarizaki and Itachiyama. He had become so cruel in his grief that he wielded his power as King wrongly; starving his people, abusing his servants, and neglecting his daughter, who had become the leader of a movement that gave way to Itachiyama becoming an independent territory. Unable to handle anymore of her father’s evil ruling, she’d banished him to Inarizaki, to the northern areas of the country, where her father continued the monarchy.

The story – heartbreaking and dark – caused the mood to dampen. You watched as Kiyoomi stopped inspecting the rooms, probably imagining for himself how this place held a lot of memories, both good and bad. He’d even made a point that he technically wasn’t a half-blood foreigner, since Inarizaki and Itachiyama all originated from one nation.

But he brushed it off, and you wondered if the Prince somehow felt alienated for being the only ‘half-blooded Prince.’ Which you found ridiculous because if that was the logic you followed, then all the Princes except Rintaro would be a half-blood for being illegitimate children. You made no other comments, however, and instead let the Prince reveal things about himself that he could in his own pace. Still, it seemed his mind had gone off a different path the quieter you got, and you nudged his shoulder, a teasing smile on his face.

 “I still can’t believe you attended my debut ball. I was a nobody at the time. To hear of a Prince coming…”

Kiyoomi looked confused.

“You were not a nobody. Your father is the kingdom’s general.”

“Yes, but we like to keep to ourselves, and Inarizaki hasn’t fought wars in decades. It isn’t like my father is an active soldier when he has no battles to partake in.”

“He is still an important figure for the Crown. Not to mention your mother comes from a family of business tycoons,” he reminded, narrowing his eyes at you in what seemed to be ridicule – more out of puzzlement than rudeness. “You truly are unaware of your influence, do you? Your family is one of the three noble families that helped Inarizaki’s kings hold the crown.”

You shrugged. You were well-aware of your family’s position in the Kingdom, but it did not feel the same. “That may be true, but I did not go out much. People did not make efforts to befriend me, either. I cannot help but think people do not care much about me.”

“All of the Princes received the invitation letter for your birthday, but we get them enough that Her Majesty discards them, or leaves it up to our judgment should we wish to go,” as if recalling the memory crystal clear, the Prince went beet-red from his neck-up. He tried to hide it by puffing out his collar, but to no avail. The redness of his skin still peeked from his shirt, and you stifled a giggle. “I had just turned twenty-one at that time, so my mother had visited. I guess you could say it was sheer luck that she chanced upon your invitation and insisted I go.”

“To establish connections and form alliances with the general’s daughter?” you cajoled.

“To find a wife, actually,” he sputtered out, “My mother worries I will die a lonely man because I do not speak with women. Or to anyone, at all.”

“You speak plenty to me.”

“Only because I enjoy your company, and our conversations are not mindless, boring politics.”

“True, but if we were back in the Palace, I would have probably talked about politics with you. Or worse, biscuits and tea. We would not have been able to talk casually about flowers, or say,” you gestured around you, “The history of our countries and all the wars caused by a man in love.”

“May history never repeat itself,” he replied drily, and you laugh.

You roamed the ruins for a little longer, noticing details like the dusty and faded portraits of the old monarchs. Some of them have been torn up, save for a portrait of a beautiful young woman who must have been the last Queen. The one buried at the South Wing.

The rooms had been emptied, too, which you found off. You expected to see at least remnants of a bed, or a study, but Kiyoomi had explained that not much survived the fire. You were enamored with everything, though, feeling like you were time travelling. And you didn’t stop exploring until you’ve turned every room upside down without bothering the evidence of history, and Kiyoomi was content to let you be. Later, when you’d both grown tired and weary of the weakening rock fortress, you returned to where you tied Astra and Lucy.

The way back home was blissfully silent. The horses were no longer running, since Kiyoomi said the sun would shine brightest at this time of day, and he wanted to take you somewhere beautiful. Letting him lead the way, he led you back inside the forest and towards a lake hidden by the tall trees. It almost felt like a gated pathway, with all the trees lined up to the side and the lake sitting smack in the middle of it all.

He was right – the sunlight made everything a hundred times more beautiful.

The water glinted, gleamed like it was made of crystals. The water was so clear you could see everything underneath, from the tiny pebbles, down to the fishes swimming underneath in all bright colors. Even your reflection smiled back at you brightly. Unable to help it, you dipped a finger into the water, fascinated by the small ripples it caused, and how the smaller fishes scurried away from the motion.

Meanwhile, Kiyoomi secured the ties of the horses around a nearby tree and opened his satchel, handing you a red apple. “I grew it myself,” he nudged the fruit towards, “Here.”

“Thank you.”

You bit down on it, and held back a moan. Gods. Was Itachiyama heaven or something? Or did fruits just taste better fresh and without preservatives? His apples were juicier than the ones you have back at home, and you were gobbling it, uncaring of the juices that ran down your wrist, leaving a sticky trail in its wake. Kiyoomi had an apple for himself, too, but he seemed too amused by your reactions to start eating his.

“So,” you leaned back on your palms, bum flat on the bank, “What do you do back in the Palace?”

“Avoid Belleview at all costs.” He casted another sideways glance your way. “Do not ask me why.”

You wouldn’t dare ask why – you both knew – but you couldn’t stop your tongue from expressing your curiosity.

“Has… has Her Majesty ever pressured you and Iris to have children?”

“That is a very personal and uncomfortable question,” he sighed, exasperated, “But to answer you, no. She could care less about us as long as we fulfill our duties and do the necessary work. I imagine the case will be different for you, though, seeing as you married her precious son.”

“She hasn’t told us anything, but on the dinners we share with her, she will imply a thing or two.”

He snorted, and took a bite of his apple. “Well, good luck with that.”

“Have you known Iris a long time?”

“No. I never even knew she existed until Her Majesty told me I was getting married,” gently, he took the leftover apple core from your hands and pulled out a handkerchief, dipping the ends of it into the water before reaching for you. You stared at him, confused, when he gestured to your palms. Realization dawned on you, and you handed him your palm. Carefully, the Prince rolled up the sleeves of your blouse all the way up to your elbows and wiped the sticky remnants of the juice with his damp handkerchief.

His actions – so gentle yet intentional – made you feel all kinds of things you shouldn’t be feeling in the first place.

Yet, you couldn’t make yourself pull away from his grasp even if you wanted to.

“Why do you keep asking about her? I figured you would avoid anything that concerns her.”

You winced. “I just… I cannot help but compare myself to her. I often wonder what she has that I do not. Why Rintaro is completely smitten with her, and why he cannot love me just the same,” you admitted, thankful that the Prince has your hand in his, otherwise you’d make all sorts of flailing gestures and make yourself look more like a bumbling fool compared to the ever-so-graceful Iris. “It’s not to say I am the better choice, but have I not given him everything? I gave him my heart and soul. I vowed to spend a lifetime with him. What has she given him that I could not?”

“My brother is a fool. You cannot intellectualize a fool’s decision.”

“On the contrary, your brother is very smart.”

“Academically, maybe, but he knows nothing about life.”

“Oh, and you do?”

“I have lived longer than him.”

“Only by three years!”

“And yet it is crystal clear to me what Rintaro cannot see,” he pulled your sleeves down and stashed his handkerchief back into his satchel, leaning forward with his hand on his knee as he cast you a hard look. You couldn’t read whether it was anger, or something else entirely on his face. “He is a witless excuse of a husband, and more so of a man, because he truly deluded himself that he is in love with Iris when he is not.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“Those two do not even talk,” he scoffed, “They merely use each other’s bodies as a way of getting oneself of. But I doubt Rintaro has shared anything intimate with her, and knowing Iris, she will not open her heart to him, either. At least I know very well she does not share the same affections.”

You shook your head, consciously rubbing your wrists together.

“What you speak of is impossible. They care about each other.”

“Rintaro doesn’t even know Iris is allergic to shellfish. He has tried feeding it to her plenty of times on their ‘dates.’ And Iris has not an effing clue over what Rintaro likes outside the bedroom – things that a lover should know about their significant other. What makes Rintaro smile? What makes Iris tick? They know none of that. They are not in love. They are just lonely.”

You flinched. “I was lonely, too, when I met the Crown Prince. Does that mean I was not in love, as well?”

“You are in love,” he gritted his teeth, “Hopelessly so. And I honestly wish you had chosen better. Anyone instead of him.”

You opened your mouth to retort – somehow, his words sounded like an insult. As if you were an idiot for falling for Rintaro, and even worse, for marrying him. Fine, you were stupid. Sure, you didn’t make the best decisions when you were in love, but must he be so cruel about it? His words had pierced your pride and shattered it, and you felt humiliated. So you stood up, determined to walk away from the Prince when your foot slipped on something, and the world turned upside down.

The blue of the sky shifted from the clearness of the water as you were submerged. The scream you were about to let out was lodged in your throat, and you kept sinking, sinking, sinking. You thrashed your arms out wildly as your wet clothes weighed you down. You struggled to breathe, your eyes stinging until you were pulled out of the water and hefted into Kiyoomi’s lap.

“Princess! Are you well?”

His hands were everywhere. Cracking your eyes open to ensure you were with him, his thumb brushing over your lips numb from the cold, and his other hand, warm and comforting at the small of your back. Briefly, in the haze of post-shock and the urgent need for air, you could vaguely see your bra peeking out from the white shirt sticking to you like a second skin. A pastel pink bra – and suddenly you were cold for an entirely different reason. Thankfully, Kiyoomi didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he was too much the gentleman to comment on it.

“Princess,” he tapped your cheek, and this time, you had no choice but to look him in the eye to reassure him. The Prince audibly sighed. “Thank the heavens you didn’t go too deep. Are you okay?”

Your teeth chattered, but you managed to flash him a thumbs-up.

“Th-the water is effing cold.”

Alarm painted over his features. The next thing you know, the Prince was shedding off his shirt and motioning for you to remove yours, as well. He’d already turned around before you could be embarrassed, taking his shirt from his outstretched hands. And my, was it warm. It smelled like him, too, of freshness and mint and nature. But mostly, it was dry, and you had no protests as Kiyoomi carried you once again – this time on Astra’s back instead of Lucy.

“Here, ride with me. Share my heat just until we head back to the farm.”

“O–” Kiyoomi was behind you in an instant, his chest deliciously warm as it pressed flushed against your back. Meanwhile, you burned to your core with embarrassment. He didn’t notice, though, because the Prince was too busy trying to get Lucy to follow him, all at the same time leading Astra forward with you blocking his path. He was so close his natural scent wafted off of you, something so masculine yet comforting. The muscles on his arms also flexed when he reached for Astra’s reign, and you were certain you were being tested right then and there. “–Kay.”

“Princess, can you promise me something?”

The hairs at the back of your hair stood. He sounded a lot closer than you previously thought he was. “Y-Yes?”

“You should avoid Iris at all costs. She is not who you think she is.”

You made it back to the farmhouse in half the time it took you to reach the castle ruins. Kiyoomi had been so worried over your health that he rushed back home. Eventually, he’d snapped at Lucy with such a fierce tone that the poor girl scurried forward, leaving you three behind with a heavier weight. You knew he meant well though – Lucy knew the way back home, and he figured seeing her without a rider would alert one of the servants to anticipate your arrival. True to his words, someone was already waiting.

“Oh, dear! What happened to you?!”

Kanami rushed forward just as Kiyoomi set you down. Like mother, like son – you thought. Kanami wouldn’t stop raising your limbs as if to inspect an injury, and she paled once she realized you were wearing Kiyoomi’s shirt, and her son strutted around the porch in his mighty, shirtless glory. Oh, Heavens. All that farm work really paid off. He was nicely built.

“She fell in the lake,” he responded calmly, though his frantic movements as a servant ran forwards said otherwise. “Please draw a bath for her. And make it warm. Thank you.”

“Yes, sir!” The maid scurried away.

Kiyoomi rushed inside the house first, while Kanami guided you back like you were a newborn foal unsteady on her legs. You didn’t need it, but the kind gesture was appreciated. A moment later, Kiyoomi appeared with a handful of towels.

“Th-thank you.”

“Oh, my, you poor thing,” Kanami crooned, “I will prepare dinner for the three of us. Please do join when you have made yourself comfortable, Your Highness.”

Excusing yourself, you headed upwards and took a warm bath. The tub had already been filled with vanilla and other oils, and you soaked in it, letting the hot water seep into your skin and relax your muscles. It also wouldn’t hurt to smell nice – especially when Kiyoomi always smelled delectable. But just as that thought crossed your mind, and the sight of his abs flexing while he ran around the porch looking for a maid flashed in your memory again, you dunked your head under the water. You’ve heard of cold dunks, but now, it was time for hot dunks.

You had to stop thinking about him.

Or… why should you? Was it to stay loyal to Rintaro? Did it even make sense to be loyal to someone who wasn’t? Was it a sin to be attracted to Kiyoomi when Rintaro was clearly into Iris?

You were exasperated, and by the time you’d finished your bath, the time on the clock told you that you perhaps enjoyed it a little too much. Remembering that Kanami was preparing dinner for tonight, you quickly got dressed and rushed downstairs. You were about to announce yourself when you heard two voices – the loud, clear one of a woman’s, and an aggravated, quieter voice belonging to a man. You froze in your spot, unsure if you should make yourself known. But what if they were arguing? Would that make it worse? Or maybe you should just walk away and not eavesdrop? You should respect their privacy –

“If you have something to say, just spit it out.”

“Silly boy. You could be sweeter to your mother. I cooked your favorite dinner!”

“This was my favorite five years ago.”

“Well, how would I know? You don’t tell me anything!” Kanami argued, and faster than you could blink, her aggravated tone quickly turned into a sickly-sweet one – the persuasive Kanami you knew so well. “Anyways, I just wanted to say I am very proud of you, son. I heard Her Majesty was pleased with the work you managed to finish here, and your people are very delighted to hear you have returned. I really wish you would visit more often.”

“…I will try.”

“And bring Her Highness with you, of course,” she added, and you bit your lip. You could just be imagining it, but Kanami sounded like she had another meaning to it. Like Kiyoomi was somehow by default going to invite you. “Also… speaking of the public. Well, they’re just eager to see you! Both of you! Which is why I am inviting you both to the premiere event of my latest movie-”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“Too many cameras. I don’t like it,” he tried to reason, and you heard footsteps echoing from the dining room. Without enough time to duck and hide, you plastered yourself against the wall, forcing a smile on your face when the Prince caught you red-handed. He smirked, seemingly amused, crossing his arms on his strong chest. “Let me ask the Princess herself if she’d like to go, though. If she does, I might change my mind.”

“I…I’ve never been to a premiere night. I would like to,” you smiled, albeit shyly, your gaze darting between Kanami and her son – who you think is now going to be your biggest problem. Or more like the things he was making you feel was becoming the problem.

“Then it is settled! I’ll bring my stylists over and we will all get ready for tomorrow’s event,” she announced, circling the dining table as she pumped her fists in the air. “Oh, you guys will be the talk of the whole country for weeks! This is going to be great!”

“I look forward to seeing your movie, Kanami.”

“Oh, and don’t forget! You’re each other’s dates,” she winked, and just like that, all hell broke loose.

For a country that claimed to not indulge in the luxuries, Kanami’s premier night could rival that of a Prince’s birthday ball. A red carpet. A hundred photographers, with even more journalists and interviews. Celebrities were everywhere you looked. This night was the definition of a night to be remembered, with all the flashing lights on you that it was actually blinding. Apparently, the public had caught wind that Prince Kiyoomi, and you, a Princess of Inarizaki and a potential Queen, would be attending, so the crowd doubled in size in anticipation. It wasn’t often their lovely Prince made an appearance to public events solely catered for media and entertainment. It was even more baffling he brought a Princess with him – one that wasn’t his wife.

At first, you were anxious they might not like you. You were the date of their Prince, and he wasn’t your husband – but the crowd cheered and screamed as you left the car, your gloved arm looped around Kiyoomi’s. He was extra handsome tonight – his curls gelled back, revealing a handsome face sculpted by the Gods themselves, and he wore a tailored suit nothing short of extravagant.

Kanami’s team did great making you look beautiful too. And dare you say, you felt confident enough to be standing next to the Second Prince. You wore a sleeveless champagne colored dress that hugged your figure well, with a fur cloak wrapped around your shoulders. A Bvlgari Serpenti Viper necklace hang on your neck, a gift from Kanami before she left first for the event. It was a simple look – nothing too flashy, and yet you could tell the difference from your usual outfits were you to show up in royal events.

Firstly, you wouldn’t be allowed to show this much skin. The amount of collarbones exposed for the world to see would have Her Majesty in a cardiac arrest. And the necklace you wore wasn’t dainty or minimal enough – by Her Majesty’s standards. The fur cloak would have her in shambles, too, but somehow, you couldn’t care that much.

Kiyoomi couldn’t tear his gaze off of you, and the cameras flashed at each move you made. Every blink, every smile, every nervous graze of your finger against Kiyoomi’s arm.

The last time people had noticed you this much and showed their love for you was when you married Rintaro. The only difference was you didn’t feel this exhilarated. On that day, you only felt miserable. Like your entire hurt was on display for the world to see. That your heartbreak was being broadcasted worldwide, and the smiles Rintaro sent your way was scripted, perfected for the cameras.

Kiyoomi wasn’t like that.

Kiyoomi wasn’t like him.

He never looked at the cameras once. He only had his eyes on you, and when he spoke, he did so behind your earrings, as if he was aware people could read his lips and this moment was private. It was just you and him, and not even the watchful, inquisitive eyes of the world could take this away from you. He made you feel safe, utterly protected even when presented for everyone to judge and criticize.

“If you wish to leave at any point, tell me and I will take you away from here.”

His voice, deep and smooth and gentle, sent shivers down your spine. It felt oddly intimate taking photos with him like this, how his arms had snaked around your waist to pull you closer to him. How he would always speak secretively, yet the slight curling of his lips would be open for the cameras to witness. How his fingerless ring sits comfortably at your hip, and you were leaning against him, smiling at the cameras whilst he smiles at you. The moment was utterly sensitive that you feared one wrong move could undo it all.

And you wouldn’t let it.

Turning your head to the side, you leaned up to whisper at him. “Thank you, but I think I will enjoy myself tonight.” You kept your voice low like his, spoke your words slowly as if you were treading on icy ground, and when you pulled away, you noticed you’d left a smear of your lipstick on the tip of his ear.

You didn’t tell him to wipe it away.

You didn’t stop when he held your hand. You didn’t tear your gaze away from him when he led you inside the building, and neither did you tell him to stop when he kept his arm around your waist until you’d found your seats. Admittedly, you couldn’t focus on the movie. It was difficult when you could feel Prince Kiyoomi’s gaze on you – how braver he seemed when in the dark. You feign ignorance to it all, or more like you tried, because you lightly pinched his thigh and told him to focus on the movie. For a moment, you thought he didn’t hear you. But then he turned his head away and you both watched his mother’s romance film – which, thankfully, she isn’t the love interest in. It would be extremely awkward if she was. But it was still a rather intense romance film – a forbidden relationship between a man and his best friend’s wife.

Kiyoomi shifted uncomfortably in his seat. You were now at the scene where the female main character and her lover, her husband’s best friend, were under the rain. They had gotten into an argument – the woman didn’t want to continue their relationship anymore, didn’t want to have to continue lying to those close to her, but the man was having none of it.

He loved her.

He’s loved her for a long time.

He loved her first.

And he knew damn well her husband wasn’t treating her right. They only got married anyway because he had gotten her pregnant at a university party, and things went downhill from there. But he could only handle so much. He could only endure so much. Eventually, all the love he’d been holding back had grown too much it had poured out from his veins. He would run after her, chase her, and follow her wherever she went. She had his heart from the moment he laid his eyes on her. He wouldn’t give up on her now.

But it was wrong – she knew it was.

You gripped the edge of your seat.

The man, broken and down to his knees, professed his love to her. His tears were flowing down his face on time with the rain, and the woman… Well, she was devastated for a lack of better words. She didn’t like her marriage. She didn’t even like her husband. But what would people say? They wouldn’t understand. They would only see her as a lowly woman who cheated on her husband, with his best friend of all people. They would never see her pain, or how she, too, craved to be loved the way she loved others.

No matter what she said, the man was never swayed. He would fight for her. He would be brave for her. And then he stood up, took her face into his palm, and kissed her. Your eyes grew wide. The kiss was too intense it was hard to believe it was only acting. No, he kissed her like he was consuming her soul, like he was breathing her in. Like he was the air she needed to live, and without her, he would be nothing. And when she kissed him back, she had melted. Like all of pins and needles she used to hold herself up withered away because there was no need to be strong when she knew he would always catch her, that he would be there to be her pillar, her strength, her fortitude.

You looked away from the kiss. Beside you, Kiyoomi had turned his gaze away from the screen, too, and his eyes were so dark it was hard to see him at all. But you knew he was looking at you. And something about his gaze seemed forbidden – felt like a secret. Because in this theater, everyone had their eyes on the screen, completely unaware that the Prince held the same intensity in his eyes when the man kissed his beloved.

Your lips tingled.

Your fingertips curled, aching, itching to reach out to him. He was right there – just within your reach. You could run your hands through his thick, dark curls. You could stare into those dark eyes and get lost within them. It wasn’t love – no, not really. But it was the beginning of something more, and you didn’t know what was louder – your heartbeat or the cheers of the audience as the movie came to an end.

And then the realization struck you –

You wanted Kiyoomi to kiss you.

The lights flashed on. The audience cheered and applauded. The moment was broken.

You looked back to the stage, feeling cold dread wash over you. You couldn’t believe it. You had thought of a different man that wasn’t your husband in ways that were… inappropriate. Is this what Rintaro felt? When he looked at Iris, did he feel this need to have his lips on her? Did he yearn for her? But what could this mean? Were you falling for Kiyoomi? It couldn’t be. It’d only been a week. You were great friends – yes, friends! And friends didn’t go around kissing each other. Friends didn’t want their friends to kiss them.

But you had wanted him to, anyway, and now your dress felt suffocating.

Wordlessly, you stood up from your seat. You headed for the exit, or the restroom, you were unsure. All you knew was that you had to leave. You turned away from everyone who greeted you, pushed away anyone who asked for a photo, and your blood ran cold. What would the tabloids say? That you were a rude Princess? You were sure you look like a madman running out of the theatre when the night had barely even begun. Maybe you looked like a criminal caught in the middle of her act – and what crime? Adultery.

Tears pricked at your eyes. You willed them away, because you didn’t want to ruin your makeup. But you just… This was all a mistake. You should have never come to Itachiyama.

He was your husband’s brother!

You pushed the doors open, arms raised to call for a driver when a flash of lights bombarded you. It stung, blinding you for a moment until you stumbled back. A horde of reporters were shoving their phones and microphones in your face before you could process anything. You pushed back to the crowd, begging for reprieve, but there were too many of them, and only one of you. They all screamed your name, chanted your title, and in the midst of it all, you heard Rintaro’s name being spoken.

“Please,” you insisted, “I just want to get back to my car. Please, let me–”

“Your Highness! Princess!” a reported shoved his way through the crowd, his microphone hitting your lip hard enough that your teeth ached. Shit. You lowkey missed the strict customs in Inarizaki – people wouldn’t be so comfortable being in your personal space otherwise. But the reporter’s next words made your stomach drop.

“Did you visit here with Prince Kiyoomi as payback?”

“I – excuse me?”

Stunned into silence, you stared back at the man demanding answers from you. There was a crazed look in his eyes, his free hand clutching a camera that had taken multiple photos at the look of surprise in your face. Your sweat turned cold, and you took a step back. You headed back for the building, only to collide with a firm chest and a familiar scent washing over you. Before you could do anything, Kiyoomi had spun you around to face him, your head tucked in his neck as he pushed through the crowd. “Out of my way!”

You clung onto him like a child. You close your eyes, letting him shoulder all the pushing and shoving, all to keep you safe within his hold. The entire way back to the car, Kiyoomi bellowed at the people to give way for the both of you, and you’d never heard him sound so angry. Yet, you didn’t feel scared – at least, not of him.

The night was just taking an unexpectedly wrong turn, and you weren’t sure how much more you can handle.

“Kiyoomi,” you cried into his chest, “I don’t know what’s going on. I’m scared.”

“Do not answer them. Those are reporters and journalists crazed for the latest gossip.”

“Princess! Is it true your marriage is falling apart? Are you here in Itachiyama because of what the Crown Prince did? Answer us, Princess! What will be the future of the throne?”

The car came into view. Kiyoomi’s security team formed a barricade around you to allow you safe entry inside the car, puffing out their chests and shoving away anyone who dared tried to follow. Once inside, Kiyoomi barked on the driver to just move, and the car sped away. Your breathing slowly stabilized, but you were still far from being composed. In front of you, Kiyoomi had his hands balled into fists at his knees, his jaw clenched so tight you feared he’d pop a vein.

“Kiyoomi. What is going on? What were they talking about?”

Kiyoomi visibly relaxed at the sound of your voice. Dragging a hand down his face, he sighed, reaching for a tablet tucked away behind the seats and clicked on something. Then, he handed the tablet to you – and all your worst fears had now come to life. All the secrets you buried, the lies you’d kept – none of it was hidden anymore.

Trending for the past hour was an article recently published by a man named Kuroo Tetsurou, headlined ‘CROWN PRINCE RINTARO AND PRINCESS IRIS: LOVERS WITHOUT THEIR SIGNIFICANT OTHER?’

The headline photograph was taken from a window, the photo blurry yet all the details were clear enough. Rintaro, on the bed, leaning against the headboard with his dress shirt unbuttoned and falling down on his shoulders. Iris, on top of him, bare with only her chest censored by a thick, black line. She was kissing him, her hands looped around her neck. Rintaro held her tightly, too, like he was afraid of letting her go – his hand with your wedding ring on it cupping her cheek as he kissed her back. On his neck were multiple hickeys, and her hair let loose and wild.

You felt like you stopped breathing entirely.

“Sir,” mumbled the driver nervously, “Are we going back to the farmhouse?”

“No. Head for the airport. We’re going straight to the palace.”

“But… Sir, your mother is still at the-”

“Kanami will understand,” grunted Kiyoomi, who suddenly snatched the tablet from you and shut it off. You didn’t know whether to be thankful or not. Quite frankly, you didn’t know what to feel. You felt numb and about to go insane all at the same time. Kiyoomi was more composed, at least, but it seemed he knew about this earlier and came running after you. Sighing, he loosened his tie and leant back against his seat.

“We need to go back to Inarizaki.”

You swallowed. You knew it now – you weren’t any better than Rintaro in the photos. But you could be honest, you could tell the truth, you could make it all better and stop it before it gets worse.

“Kiyoomi,” you trembled, spinning your wedding ring around your finger. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

The Second Prince shut his eyes. His placid face a contrast to his fists tightening even more. “Don’t,” he said, his voice sounding more resigned. Funny, how he was inches away from you, and he suddenly felt so far away when he opened his eyes – and you couldn’t recognize the man sitting in front of you anymore. “Whatever it is, just don’t.”

[pucksandpower]

Ties That Bind

Charles Leclerc x royal!Reader + Max Verstappen x sister!Reader

Summary: life as Princess of the Netherlands is pretty perfect but when health issues become a (literal) royal pain, you discover a familial connection that will change your life forever

Warnings: struggles with infertility, child abandonment, serious health issues, medical procedures and treatments

This is what happens when I’m insane enough to try juggling writing an 8k+ word fic with studying in medical school

The night was a cascade of ethereal snowflakes, each one glistening under the pale moonlight, landing gracefully upon the earth. The silver car glided along the road, its headlights illuminating the path through the thick curtain of snow, like two piercing eyes navigating through sorrow.

Inside, Prince Frederik of the Netherlands drove in silent contemplation, the weight of the day’s news pressing heavily on his heart. Beside him, Princess Marianne stared out of the frosted window, her reflection capturing swollen eyes that glistened with fresh tears. Her fingers trembled slightly, crumpling yet another now irrelevant medical report indicating one more failed IVF attempt.

“I thought this time would be different,” Marianne whispered, her voice quivering. “I truly believed it.”

Frederik’s grip on the wheel tightened. He turned to his wife, pain evident in his eyes. “I know, my love. I know.”

As they drove, Frederik’s eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual by the side of the road. “What’s that?” He murmured, slowing the car.

Marianne followed his gaze. “It looks like a bundle ... stop the car!”

Frederik brought the vehicle to a halt. They both jumped out and hurried over to the mysterious object. As they approached, Marianne gasped. “Oh my God, Frederik ... it’s a baby!”

She quickly bent down to scoop the tiny, shivering form into her arms. The baby’s skin was cold, blue lips barely parting for shallow breaths as the thin pink blanket wrapped around it did little to fight the chill. “Who could do such a thing?” Marianne cried, holding the child close for warmth.

Frederik’s face hardened. “We need to get her to a hospital. Now.”

Back in the car, Marianne cradled the baby, trying to transfer her warmth. “Stay with us,” she murmured, tears spilling. “Please, stay with us.”

As they sped towards the hospital, Frederik reached over and held Marianne’s free hand. “It'’s a sign,” he whispered. “After everything we’ve been through today ... finding her like this ... it’s fate.”

Marianne looked down at the baby, her fingers gently brushing the soft wisps of hair on the child’s head. “Our little miracle in the snow,” she whispered back.

Frederik smiled faintly, squeezing Marianne's hand. “Yes, our snow angel. We’ll take care of her and she’ll take care of us.”

***

“You know, every time it snows, it feels like the world is celebrating the day we found you,” your father, now King Frederik, remarks, gazing out of the vast palace windows at the flurries descending from the sky.

You smile, reaching for a delicate pastry from the breakfast spread laid out before you. “And every snowflake reminds me of the warmth of this family that saved me from the cold.”

Your mother, Queen Marianne, hair now threaded with silver, gives you a loving glance. “Our snow angel, right when we needed you most.”

“Speaking of snow,” you muse, “I’m thinking of wearing the ice-blue gown for tonight’s gala. Thoughts?”

Your father raises an eyebrow, “For the Children’s Foundation event? Perfect choice. It complements the theme and matches the tiara your mother has picked for you to wear.”

You grin, “Who knew you had such a fashion sense?”

Your mother chuckles, “It’s a king thing. But he’s right. And with your sapphire necklace, you will be the talk of the gala.”

You take a sip of your tea, thinking of the evening ahead. “I want to ensure my speech captures the essence of our foundation’s work. It’s more than just another royal event, this is about making a real difference.”

Your father nods, “It always is for you. That genuine desire to impact lives, it’s how I know you will be a great Queen one day.”

You blush slightly, “I learned from the best.”

Your mother, with a hint of mischief, remarks, “And speaking of learning, have you decided on a dance partner for the first waltz? There’s quite a line-up available.”

You laugh, “Oh, Mom! Let’s not start matchmaking before breakfast is over.”

Your father joins in the mirth, “Give her a break, Marianne. Our snow angel must not melt.”

***

The regal hallways echo with the gentle patter of your heeled footsteps. Lately, the palace, your lifelong sanctuary, feels more like a maze. A sudden wave of dizziness makes you pause, leaning against a gilded wall for support.

“You okay there?” a soft voice calls. It’s your mother, her face etched with worry.

“Just a bit dizzy,” you mumble, attempting a reassuring smile.

She hurries over, her gown flowing. “You’ve been looking pale these past few days.”

Before you can reply, a sharp sensation pricks your nose. Touching it, you’re shocked to see blood on your fingertips. “Oh no,” you whisper, panic creeping into your voice.

Your mother’s eyes widen. “We need to see a doctor.”

“But the gala—”

“Forget the gala!” She interrupts. “Your health comes first.”

***

Inside the royal clinic, the room is a tense silence. Your father paces while your mother sits beside you, holding your hand tightly.

The family physician finally arrives, his expression somber. “Your Highness, Your Majesties,” he begins, “we’ve run several tests.”

“And?” Your father demands, halting his restless walk.

You take a deep, shaky breath, bracing yourself.

The doctor hesitates for a split second. “You have aplastic anemia.”

The room seems to close in. The words hang heavily, turning the opulent clinic cold.

Your mother’s voice trembles, “What does that mean?”

“It’s a condition where the bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells. This leads to fatigue, higher risk of infections, and uncontrolled bleeding,” the doctor explains.

Your mind races. The symptoms make sense now — the fatigue, dizziness, the nosebleed.

Your father’s face hardens, searching for hope. “What’s the treatment?”

The doctor looks grim, “The most effective treatment at this severity is a bone marrow transplant. We will need to find a matching donor.”

Your mother’s grip tightens on your hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We’ll find one. We have to.”

Your father nods. “We will move mountains if we have to.”

You muster a small smile, drawing strength from your parents. “One snowstorm at a time.”

***

“How long does it usually take to find a match?” Youu inquire, voice trembling ever so slightly.

Dr. Van der Meer, the lead hematologist on your case, sighs, “It varies, Your Highness. Some find a match within their family, others from the global database. It can take days or even months.”

Your mother breaks in desperately, “But surely, with our resources, we can expedite the process?”

Your father adds, “Every avenue, every connection we have at our disposal is yours to use, Doctor.”

Dr. Van der Meer nods, “I understand the urgency, Your Majesties. We’ve already started to search within the national database. Meanwhile, we advise immediate family to get tested first.”

You interject, a sense of realization dawning, “But I’m adopted. Our genetic makeup differs.”

Your father and mother exchange a heavy look, the weight of your situation pressing down on them.

“We still have a vast network, a whole nation even,” your father muses. “Surely someone out there is a match.”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates then says, “Actually, there has already been a hit from the database. A potential match.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Who?”

“We maintain confidentiality, Your Highness,” he replies. “But once we confirm the match and receive their consent, you will be informed.”

Your mother’s voice is tinged with hope. “So there’s a chance? A real chance?”

You lean forward eagerly. “When will we know more?”

Dr. Van der Meer offers a comforting smile. “Soon, Your Highness. For now, patience is our ally.”

***

“It’s been weeks, Doctor. Why haven’t we heard from the potential donor?” The frustration is clear in your mother’s voice.

Dr. Van der Meer looks up, choosing his words carefully. “The potential donor ... has some reservations.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “Reservations? Isn’t saving a life more important?”

The doctor clears his throat, “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Your Majesty. The potential donor is someone you’re familiar with.”

You lean forward, your curiosity piqued. “Who is it?”

There’s a momentary pause, the silence thickening. “Max Verstappen.”

Shock ripples through the room. The name isn’t just any name. It’s a name known to every Dutch citizen, celebrated in every corner of the nation.

Your mother blinks in disbelief. “The Formula 1 racer? We’ve met him multiple times at the Grand Prix. But why would he have reservations?”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates, “There’s more to it. We ran some further genetic tests, customary for close matches. The results were ... unexpected.”

Your father leans forward in anticipation. “Go on.”

The doctor takes a deep breath, “Max Verstappen is not just a match. He’s ... he’s your half-brother.”

The room goes still. The revelation hangs in the air, too staggering to fully comprehend.

You feel your world tilt. “That’s impossible.”

Your mother’s voice is a whisper, “How can that be?”

Dr. Van der Meer clears his throat. “The genetic markers were unmistakable. Given the rare degree of compatibility and the markers we found, there is no doubt.”

Your father runs a hand through his hair, trying to process the news. “So all these years, at every Grand Prix, we’ve been cheering for ... family?”

You chime in, a flurry of emotions whirling inside, “And he doesn’t know, does he?”

The doctor shakes his head, “No, not yet. That’s the reservation. Revealing this ... it changes everything for him too.”

Your mother is contemplative. “We’ve celebrated his victories, felt the pride of having him represent our country. And now, knowing he’s family ...”

You interject, “And now, we need him more than ever. Not as a driver, not as a national icon, but as family.”

Your father’s resolve strengthens. “We need to tell him. He deserves to know.”

***

“How do you even begin a conversation like this?” You wonder aloud, staring at the blank screen of your laptop.

Your father, deep in thought, answers, “Honestly, directly, and with sensitivity. It’s uncharted territory for all of us.”

Your mothers adds, “Perhaps start by expressing your genuine feelings, without the weight of our titles or his fame."

You nod slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Dear Max,” you repeat out loud as you begin typing, then pause. “Too formal?”

Your father shrugs, “It’s sincere. And that’s what matters.”

Taking a deep breath, you continue:

Dear Max,

This isn’t a typical letter and I struggle to find the right words. By now, you might have been informed by the medical team about our unexpected connection. I wanted to reach out personally, not as the Princess of Orange, but simply as ... family.

Your mother reads over your shoulder, “That’s a good start.”

I cannot imagine how jarring this news must be. It was for me too. All these years, our paths crossed, shared smiles exchanged, never knowing the deeper bond we shared.

“Maybe mention the Grand Prix, how it has been a tradition for us,” your father suggests.

Every year at the Dutch Grand Prix, my parents and I cheered for you, felt immense pride in your victories. The realization that those cheers were for family adds a layer of emotion I can’t quite put into words.

I understand if you need time to process this. But I want you to know that this revelation changes nothing about the respect and admiration I hold for you. However, it does add a depth of connection, a newfound kinship.

Your mother, her voice choked with emotion, suggests, “Maybe let him know why it’s important now, about your condition.”

The reason I am reaching out now is not just about our newfound connection but also because of a pressing health concern I am facing. I need a bone marrow transplant, and as it turns out, you are my best match.

“Reassure him,” your father adds. “It’s a big ask.”

I understand the weight of this request. There is no obligation, only hope. No matter your decision, I want you to know that discovering this bond, this link between us, is a gift in itself.

Please take all the time you need. Whatever you decide, I respect and cherish the connection we have discovered. Wishing you all the best on and off the track.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Your father, visibly moved, murmurs, “It’s perfect.”

Your mother nods in agreement, tears shimmering. “It’s from the heart. Now, we wait.”

***

The roaring engines on the racetrack outside fade as the door to the private lounge close behind you. Max Verstappen stands there, his usual confident demeanor replaced with apprehension. The weight of the recent revelations is thick in the air.

“You look different without the crown,” Max remarks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You chuckle softly, “And you without the helmet.”

The initial ice broken, the two of you sit. A beat of silence passes. Then Max, eyes searching yours, asks, “Why now?”

You take a deep breath. “I’ve always known I was adopted. Every snowy day, my parents would recount the tale of how they found their snow angel. I grew up surrounded by love and privilege, never lacking anything.” Your voice trembles slightly, “But there were nights ... nights I’d wonder about the person who left me there, in the snow. Why didn’t they want me? Why did they abandon me to the whims of a storm?”

Max’s expression softens, his own memories surfacing. “I grew up with my father’s strict guidance. Racing wasn’t just a passion, it was life. There was little room for anything else. I always thought I understood my family but this ...” He sighs, looking away. “It makes me question everything.”

You nod, shared uncertainty bringing you closer. “But through all this confusion, one thing is clear: we’re family. Blood, it seems, has a way of revealing itself.”

Max smiles ruefully, “You know, I have a sister, a full sister. Growing up, we were close but our paths divided. Racing consumed me. Now, discovering I have another sister, you, it’s ... overwhelming.”

You chuckle, “Two sisters. Lucky you.”

He grins, “Twice the protective instincts.”

The humor fades, replaced by raw emotion. “You know,” you whisper, tears brimming, “Despite everything, I’m grateful for our paths crossing like this. Even if it took a lifetime.”

Max reaches out, taking your hand. “Me too.”

The weight of the moment presses on both of you. You look at each other, eyes brimming with tears, souls bared.

In a sudden rush of emotion, you step forward, collapsing into Max’s embrace. He holds you tightly, as if trying to shield you from all the past hurts, regrets, and questions. The warmth of the hug contrasts sharply with the cold memory of that snowy night. In his embrace, the years of wondering, the pain of abandonment, seem to melt away.

Pulling back slightly, you look up into Max’s eyes. With a tearful smile, you whisper, “Brother.”

He grins back, “Sister. How would you feel about attending the next race, not as royalty but as my guest?”

You hesitate, the memories of previous races filled with formalities and protocols. “It will be different.”

Max wraps an arm around you shoulders, “Very. But I promise, you will see the world of racing like never before.”

***

The roar of the engines, the excitement of the crowd — it was all distantly familiar. Yet, standing beside Max, everything feels different.

As you walk through the paddock, Max’s pride is evident. “Guys,” he calls out to his mechanics, “Meet my sister.”

They look up, surprised, then smiles break out across their faces. “It’s an honor, Your Highness,” one of them greets.

Max nudges him, “Just call her by her name.”

You laugh in agreement, “It’s nice to meet you all without the formalities.”

Max continues his introductions, his enthusiasm infectious. When you reach Christian Horner, he looks pleasantly surprised. “It’s been a while,” he remarks, “Though our meetings were always, well, more formal.”

You nod, “It’s a different world from this side of the track.”

Max beams, “And she’s getting the full experience today.”

When the race starts, every moment feels magnified, more personal.

And then, the checkered flag waves for Max.

The Red Bull garage erupts in jubilation. During the celebration, Max, still in his car, locks eyes with you from across parc fermé. You can see the moisture, the emotion in his eyes. The moment he is out of his car, he races over, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“This win,” he whispers hoarsely, “it’s not just for me this time. It’s for us. For family.”

As the Dutch anthem plays during the podium ceremony, tears fill your eyes. The anthem, a proud symbol of your country and kingdom, now also symbolizes the new, ever-growing bond with your brother.

Max, standing tall on the podium, catches your eye and winks. And as the ceremony concludes, he suddenly turns, aiming his bottle of champagne right at you. The spray catches you off guard, laughter bubbling up as the cold liquid soaks you.

“You had to, didn’t you?” You laugh, wiping away the liquid before it can sting your eyes.

Max ruffles your hair, “It’s my new duty as your older brother!”

***

“Hey, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Max says, pulling you towards the thrumming heart of the afterparty.

The vibrant lights and chatter fill the room but everything seems to slow as you’re introduced to a lean figure with tousled hair and hypnotizing eyes. “This is Charles Leclerc,” Max grins, “One of the toughest guys I’ve raced against.”

Charles offers a charming smile, “Pleasure to meet you. Max speaks highly of you.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast to your brother. “Glad to hear that my bribe has been paying off.”

Charles laughs, “Well, considering today’s win, you might just be his favorite person.”

The two of you share a laugh, an effortless ease settling between you as you barely notice Max walking off with a wink shot your way.

“You’ve been to several races, haven’t you?” Charles asks, sipping his drink.

“In a more official capacity, yes. But today was ... different.”

He nods, his gaze intense, “Being family changes the perspective.”

Charles leans in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now that you’ve seen me on the track maybe I should show you some of my other talents?”

You raise an eyebrow, the thrill of the night’s excitement mixing with his words. “Oh? What other hidden skills do you possess?”

His voice drops to a sultry murmur. “Well, I make a mean pasta carbonara. Maybe I’ll whip it up for you someday.”

You laugh, the warmth of the moment spreading through you. “I’ll definitely hold you to that.”

Max, watching from a distance, nudges Carlos, “Look at them. Told you they’d hit it off.”

“You know, I’ve always been curious about the life of a princess,” Charles muses, a playful glint in his eye. “Is it all tiaras and tea parties?”

You smirk. “It’s more boring than you would think. But for a driver like you, every day’s a thrill, right? Speeding cars, roaring crowds, adoring fans?”

He grins, leaning closer, the proximity making your heart race. “Most days. But some nights, the thrill is ... elsewhere,” his gaze deepening, locked onto yours.

The two of you are drawn into a world of your own, the party’s noise fading into the background.

He brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer. “Have you ever considered doing a hot lap? It’s quite the rush.”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of his touch. “I don’t know about getting in a race car but I can think of something else I’d love to ride right now.”

As the club’s pulsating music envelops you, Charles leans in, his voice husky over the beat, “Care for a dance?”

You accept, and as you both move to the rhythm, the world around seems to disappear. The close proximity, the electric energy on the dance floor, and the feeling of his body moving against yours is intoxicating.

“Right now,” Charles murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear to be heard above the music, “I feel like the winner tonight.”

You smile, your gaze locked onto his, “The night is still young. Let’s see where it takes us.”

***

“I’ve noticed you’re attending more races lately,” Max comments, a teasing glint in his eyes as you both walk through the paddock.

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Well, I’ve developed quite an appreciation for the sport.”

Max chuckles, “Or for a certain Ferrari driver?”

Blushing, you retort, “Can’t it be both?”

Before Max can respond, Charles approaches, his smile brightening as he spots you. “Good to see you again,” he greets, though his eyes convey a warmth that words can’t.

“You too,” you reply in a voice softer than intended.

The three of you share some casual banter before Max excuses himself, leaving you alone with Charles.

“You know,” Charles starts, “it’s become the highlight of my race weekends, seeing you here.”

You smile, “I’ve come to realize that there’s more to F1 than just the thrill of the race. There are ... other attractions.”

Charles grins, “Is that so? Any attraction in particular?”

You playfully nudge him, “Don’t get too confident, Leclerc.”

Weekends spent at circuits become a regular fixture in your life. While you’re initially there for Max, the increasing time spent with Charles deepens your bond. The stolen glances during press conferences, the private moments away from the limelight, and the late-night conversations make the connection undeniable.

One evening, after a particularly intense race, Charles pulls you aside, his face flushed from the adrenaline. “Every time I cross the finish line and look towards the other garages, I hope to catch a glimpse of you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “And if you do?”

He smiles, “It either makes victory all the more sweet or the sting of defeat not quite as painful.”

***

“You’ve made the front page again,” Max remarks dryly, handing you a tabloid during breakfast.

You glance at the headline, The Princess and the Racer: F1’s Fairytale Romance accompanied by a candid shot of you and Charles out to dinner.

Charles groans, “They make it sound like a soap opera.”

You sigh, “It’s the price we pay, I guess.”

As weeks go by, the media scrutiny intensifies. Every public appearance and every minuscule gesture, is analyzed, often blown out of proportion. The weight of the world’s eyes strains the joy of your newfound relationship.

One evening, after a particularly invasive article speculating about a rushed engagement, Charles pulls you aside, his face drawn with concern. “I noticed you’ve been pale lately, more tired. Is it the stress from all this media attention?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. The truth is, it’s more than just the media. Your health has been deteriorating and you’ve been trying to hide it.

“It’s not just the media,” you admit.

His eyes are filled with worry. “What is it?”

Max, overhearing the conversation, interjects, “It’s her health. She didn't want to worry you.”

Charles looks at you in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You take a deep breath, “I didn’t want to add to the pressures of the season, to be another burden.”

He reaches out, holding you close, “You’re never a burden. We’re in this together.”

You take a shaky breath, drawing strength from his words. “I’ve been diagnosed with aplastic anemia. It’s a condition where my bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells.”

Charles pales, “That’s ... serious.”

You nod, “After this race, I’m starting chemotherapy to destroy the dysfunctional bone marrow in preparation for a transplant.”

Silence envelops the room. Charles processes the weight of the revelation, the enormity of the situation sinking in. “Why now?” He finally asks.

“Timing is crucial,” Max chimes in, “She’s been putting it off, not wanting to disrupt the season. But we can’t wait much longer.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wish you had told me sooner.”

You reach out, touching his arm, “I didn’t know how. Everything was happening so fast — our relationship, the media attention. I didn’t want to add more stress.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his voice choked with emotion. “Promise me, no more secrets.”

You nod, tears streaming down your face, “I promise.”

***

“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” You ask Charles as you both sit in the sterile hospital room, awaiting the doctor who would be overseeing your chemotherapy treatments.

Charles takes your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Every step of the way.”

The door opens and the doctor walks in, a gentle but serious look on her face. “Before we begin, there’s something important we need to discuss. The chemotherapy might affect your fertility. It’s not certain but there is a significant risk.”

You freeze. You had expected side effects, the potential hair loss, the fatigue. But this? This was unanticipated. This ripped your heart out of your chest.

Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his face pale. “Is there ... any way to mitigate that risk?”

The doctor nods, “We can retrieve and store your eggs. It’s a procedure done before chemotherapy in some cases. You will need hormone injections for about 10 to 12 days to stimulate the ovaries.”

You look at Charles, your eyes filled with tears, “It’s another delay.”

Charles brushes a tear from your cheek, “We face this together. I am here for you no matter what you decide.”

The days that follow are a whirlwind. Charles is by your side every step of the way, providing both emotional support and administering the daily injections.

Each evening, he carefully prepares the hormone shot. “Ready?” He asks, looking into your eyes.

You nod, trying to put on a brave face. But the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emotional toll. Still, with Charles by your side, each day becomes bearable.

One evening, as he administers the injection, he whispers, “I’m so proud of you. Your strength amazes me every day.”

Tears spring to your eyes. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you. “You’ll never have to.”

***

“Are you sure about this?” Charles asks, his fingers brushing yours as you lay on the hospital bed.

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I am. It’s a step towards preserving a potential future, one I hope to share with you.”

His eyes soften. “Every step, I’m here.”

The medical staff move around in the background, preparing for the procedure. The hum of machines and the sterile environment contrast starkly with the intimate bubble you and Charles share.

As the procedure begins, Charles holds your hand, his thumb drawing comforting circles on your skin. “Remember our trip to Monaco?” He murmurs, attempting to distract you. “The sea, the laughter, the little café by the pier?”

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you nod for the OBGYN to proceed. “The one with the overly sweet pastries?”

Charles chuckles, “That’s the one. Imagine us there, a decade from now, two kids in tow, arguing over whether chocolate or vanilla is better.”

The image he paints eases your tension, providing a temporary escape from the clinical room. The retrieval is swift but the emotional weight lingers.

“You did great,” Charles murmurs, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

You smile weakly, “One hurdle crossed.”

The next phase comes swiftly the following day: chemotherapy. The treatment center is full of artificial warmth — the walls painted a deep yellow and the heater working overtime to keep patients as comfortable as possible — but it does nothing to counteract the chill of fear that has taken over your body.

When the nurse enters with the IV bag for your chemotherapy, Charles stands up, his stance protective. “How does this work?”

She explains the process, her voice soft, “The medication will enter her bloodstream and target the rapidly growing cells. There might be some side effects but we will monitor her closely.”

You feel a pinch as the needle is inserted and soon the clear liquid starts making its way into your veins. You blink rapidly, willing the tears away before Charles can see them.

Attempting to lighten the mood, he starts recounting some of his funniest moments from racing. You chuckle at his anecdotes, grateful for the distraction.

Hours pass. The room is filled with a mix of medical beeps and Charles’ voice, offering a counterbalance of cold reality and warm comfort.

As the IV bag nears empty, you feel a wave of fatigue. Charles notices. “Rest,” he urges softly, his thumb caressing your hand.

You nod, closing your eyes, “Thank you for being my anchor.”

He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Always, for every challenge, every step. Always.”

***

“I still can’t believe you made him go,” your mother murmurs from the chair next to you. The hum of machines and the sterile scent of the hospital room are in stark contrast to the roaring engines and burning rubber of the track that you can almost sense through the television screen.

You manage a weak smile. “He belongs on the track, Mom. This race is crucial for the championship.”

“He wanted to stay,” your father adds. “He’s racing with a heavy heart.”

“I know,” you whisper, a tear trickling down. “But he’s strong. And I want him to win, for both of us.”

The room falls silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the machines. You can feel the potent cocktail of drugs coursing through your veins, sapping your strength but a necessary step to fight the disease within.

The TV in the corner broadcasts the race. You hear the commentator’s voice, “... Charles Leclerc, giving it his all today. You have to wonder where he’s drawing this intensity from.”

You know the answer.

The laps go by. With each turn, each overtake Charles makes, you can sense his determination, his desire to win not just for the title but for something else … someone else.

“You should rest,” your father advises, noticing your drooping eyelids.

But you resist, wanting to witness Charles cross the finish line.

The final laps are intense. Charles battles fiercely, and as he takes the checkered flag, the room bursts into subdued cheers.

“He did it!” Your mother exclaims.

You feel a swell of pride. “For us,” you whisper, before fatigue takes over and you drift into a deep sleep.

As consciousness slowly returns not too long after, the first thing you notice is the gentle vibration of your phone on the bedside table. Groggily reaching for it, you see a new message notification from a group chat with Charles and Max.

It’s a photo of Charles and Max, still in their race suits, grinning ear to ear. Charles holds up his first-place trophy while Max proudly displays his second. They’re both covered in champagne, evidence of the post-race celebrations.

These are for you. For our champion.

With shaky fingers, you type back:

My heroes. Thank you for being my strength. So proud of you both. Can’t wait to see you again.

Your mother, noticing your reaction, peers over your shoulder. “Those boys,” she says with a fond smile, “they really adore you.”

You nod, wiping away a tear. “I’m so lucky.”

***

“Hey, sis,” Max’s voice is soft, tinged with a mix of worry and hope as he sits beside you in the pre-op room, “Ready to share a bit more than just DNA?”

You manage a small smile, despite the anxiety. “As long as you don’t start claiming we share driving skills.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Promise.”

The doctor enters, clipboard in hand. “Both of you understand the procedure, correct? Max, we will be extracting bone marrow from your pelvic bone. It’s a relatively straightforward process but you might feel some discomfort.”

Max nods resolutely. “Anything for her.”

You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “Thank you, Max. This ... it means everything.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with a brotherly love that’s grown exponentially over the past few months. “We’re family. We look out for each other.”

As Max is wheeled away for his extraction, he offers a brave smile. “See you on the other side.”

Hours later, as you sit by his bedside, watching him slowly come around post-procedure, you squeeze his hand. “You okay?”

He groans, “Feels like I’ve done a doubleheader race without any breaks. But it’s worth it.”

Then comes your turn. Max, despite his exhaustion, insists on being present. The stem cells he donated are infused into you through a central line. It’s a simple procedure but one filled with so much hope and emotion.

Max watches closely, gripping your hand. “You got this,” he murmurs as the life-saving cells flow into your body.

You try to show a convincing smile before closing your eyes and praying to whoever’s listening that this works.

***

The pale blue walls of the hospital room have become all too familiar, the rhythmic beep of machines a constant in the background. You’re reclined on the bed, an IV line dripping nutrients and much-needed blood transfusions into your system. As your body adjusts to the new bone marrow, these are crucial.

Max is seated beside you, a crossword puzzle in hand. The chairs aren’t particularly comfortable but he’s still rarely left your side.

Max taps his pen against the paper thoughtfully. “Alright, here’s one for you. Seven letters: someone who is always there, no matter what.”

You raise an eyebrow, pondering. “Is it brother?”

He grins, “You’re getting good at this.”

You chuckle, “Well, I can’t help it when the answer is so obvious …”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I snuck in some of those chocolates you like from that little shop in town.”

Your eyes widen in mock horror. “You rebel. We’ll be banished from the kingdom.”

He winks, producing a small box from his bag. “Worth it.”

As you both indulge in the illicit treat, you realize just how much these little moments, these shared smiles and inside jokes, make the ordeal bearable.

Max notices your contemplative expression. “Hey, what’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have a brother who sneaks chocolates into a hospital for me.”

He extends his pinky towards you, “Always. Until the end of the race.”

You intertwine your own pinky with his to immortalize the promise, “And beyond.”

Just as the two of you are finishing the last of the chocolates, the door swings open quietly. Charles steps in, his eyes immediately seeking you out. There’s a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand, their vibrant colors standing out against the sterile environment.

“You two conspiring without me?” Charles teases, setting the flowers on the bedside table.

Max smirks, “Just ensuring she gets her daily dose of chocolate, doctor’s orders.”

Charles moves to your side and presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better now that my two favorite racers are here,” you reply with a smile.

Charles laughs, “I see. Well, the doctor outside told me your blood counts are improving. Seems the new bone marrow is getting to work.”

You nod hopefully. “One day at a time.”

Charles moves closer, taking your free hand. “Every day is a step closer to getting you out of here.”

Max, sensing the intimate moment, stands up, stretching. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Need to grab a coffee and give that crossword another go.”

Charles smiles gratefully at him, and as Max exits the room, you’re left in a bubble of comfort and warmth with your boyfriend.

***

“Grant our daughter strength and good news,” your mother’s prayer weaves through the tense atmosphere of the room.

Charles’ grip on your hand tightens and he whispers, “Whatever the news, we face it together.”

“Guide the hands of the doctors, let their knowledge lead to healing.”

Max, on your other side, offers a comforting squeeze, his face betraying his own anxiety. “You’ve come so far already.”

“And bless our family with your grace and protection.”

The prayer lingers in the air just as the door opens.

“Grant her the strength, the health, the life she deserves ...”

The doctor steps in, a manila envelope in hand. Everyone’s gaze immediately fixes on him, the room heavy with bated breath.

He looks around the room, making eye contact with each one of you, then finally says, “The results are in.”

You feel Charles’ hand tremble slightly … Max’s grip tighten … your father barely breathing behind you … a silent prayer still on your mother’s lips.

“The bone marrow has taken exceptionally well. All indicators and markers are positive.” The doctor smiles. “You’re officially in remission. You’re cured.”

A tidal wave of emotion crashes over the room. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, happiness and relief mingling in each drop.

Your mother’s whispered prayer crescendos into a heartfelt “thank you,” choked with emotion.

Your father, the ever-composed king, has moisture in his eyes as he holds you close, “Our snow angel, our miracle.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace next, his voice a shaky whisper, “You did it.”

Max is grinning from ear to ear. “Told you, sis. Until the end of the race and beyond.”

***

“Look at them,” Max says, nudging you as the camera pans over the pit crews, each member prominently sporting a bright red ribbon. “All in solidarity.”

Charles beams, joining the conversation. “It was Max’s idea. The ribbons. Both teams were eager to join in.”

You’re touched, tears threatening to spill. “It’s incredible. Both of you, your teams ... I’m speechless.”

The commentator on the screen picks up on the theme. “For those just tuning in, both the Ferrari and Red Bull teams are wearing red ribbons today in support of aplastic anemia awareness, a personal cause for them given the recent battle of the Princess of Orange with the condition.”

Mid-race, Max’s voice crackles over the team radio, “This one’s for you, sis.”

Charles, not to be outdone, pushes his car to the limit, the red ribbon painted on his helmet clearly visible every time the camera focuses on him.

Later, as you walk back out through the paddock, fans approach, many sporting red ribbons of their own. One young girl looks at you with stars in her eyes, “I wear this for my mom. She’s fighting too, just like you did.”

You pull her into a gentle hug. “She’s got this. I know she does.”

***

As soon as the statement goes live on the official website of the Netherlands Royal Family, the internet erupts.

The Royal House of the Netherlands is pleased to announce that Her Royal Highness, Y/N the Princess of Orange, and Mr. Charles Leclerc are officially courting.

Your phone buzzes incessantly with notifications. Charles, seated beside you, chuckles, “Well, there’s no going back now.”

Your father enters the room, a smile playing on his lips. “The people seem to be taking the news ... enthusiastically.”

Your mother, scrolling through her own device, adds, “And overwhelmingly positively. Listen to this: We’ve seen them together. Their chemistry is undeniable. Wishing them all the best!”

You exhale, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “I was so nervous about the reaction.”

Charles brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “We’re in this together, remember?”

Max bursts into the room with his usual energy, “You two are trending. The fans are loving it!”

Screens across the nation flash images of you and Charles — at the racetrack, during hospital visits, candid moments captured by keen-eyed photographers. Talk shows and news channels dive deep into analyzing your relationship, piecing together any crumbs of insight they might have.

A popular racing pundit remarks on a live broadcast, “Their bond is evident, both on and off the track. Charles’ performance has been exceptional since they've been together. It’s clear that they draw strength from each other.”

The public’s fascination is insatiable. Magazines are splashed with titles like Love in the Fast Lane. But despite the media frenzy, what touches you most are the personal messages. Fans share artwork, write songs, and pen heartfelt letters, celebrating love and the winding path that brought you both to this moment.

One evening, as you and Charles sit on the palace balcony overlooking the city, he turns to you, “They’re acting like we’re some sort of fairytale.”

You lean into him, “Maybe we are. It’s our story and I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

***

“You know,” your father begins, a playful glint in his eye as he slices into his steak, “I had an amusing conversation with Prince Albert the other day.”

Charles, taking a sip of his wine, raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Your father chuckles, “He said Monaco might need to extend an invitation for our next state visit given that we seem to have shared interests now.”

The table erupts in laughter. Your mother adds, teasingly, “And here I thought we were simply bonding over diplomatic ties.”

“So,” Max leans forward eagerly. “Any embarrassing stories about Y/N? I have to make up for all of the childhood adventures I’ve missed.”

“Oh, there are plenty! Remember the time she tried to drive a lawnmower and ended up in the rose bushes?” Your father says, trying to look serious.

Marianne chuckles, “Don’t remind me! Those were my favorite roses.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I was eight! And I thought it was a car!”

Charles grins, squeezing your hand under the table. “I can only imagine a mini version of you so determined behind the wheel.”

“And at her sixth birthday party,” your father recounts with a smirk, “she declared that she’d be ruling the kingdom by sundown and tried to hold a mock council meeting with her stuffed toys.”

Charles nudges you playfully, “Planning coups at six? Should I be worried?”

You swat him lightly, “It was a phase.”

As dessert is served, your mother turns contemplative. “You know, I’ve always believed in destiny. And seeing all of you here, witnessing the bonds and the love, it reaffirms that belief.”

Charles nods his agreement, “Life has a way of bringing the right people together.”

Your father raises his glass, “To family, in all its forms. To the journeys we embark on and the memories we create.”

The clinking of glasses has never sounded sweeter.

***

Charles, his face flushed with the victory of the 2025 World Championship, stands on the podium, trophy in hand. The cheering of the crowd is deafening but as he signals for a microphone, a hush descends.

“I’ve never done this before,” he starts emotionally, “naming my car, I mean. I watched Seb do it year after year and I always wondered what that felt like, to have such a connection.” He takes a deep breath, his gaze scanning the audience until it lands on you. “This season, I finally understood. My car, the one that just secured this championship, I named it after the most important person in my life.”

The crowd waits with bated breath.

“I named it,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, “after you. After the woman who has been my anchor, my strength.”

You feel tears prickling your eyes as the sheer intensity of his words hits you.

Charles signals and you’re gently nudged forward, guided up to the podium. The world seems to blur, the noise, the people, everything fading until it’s just you and him.

“Every race, every lap, I had two goals: to win for the team and to make you proud,” he confesses, his eyes never leaving yours. “You are my world. And today, in front of everyone here, in front of the world, I want to ask you one thing.”

He gets down on one knee and your hands move of their own volition to cover your mouth. Producing a gorgeous ring, Charles looks up at you, his eyes shimmering. “Will you marry me?”

The world stops.

The deafening cheers of the crowd seem quiet compared to the beating of your heart.

Tears stream down your face as you nod. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth than Max and Lando, the other two podium finishers, gleefully seize the moment. With mischievous grins, they uncork their champagne bottles, dousing both you and Charles in a bubbly shower. The liquid gold sparkles in the sunlight, adding to the magic of the moment.

Charles pulls you close, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as you both get soaked.

***

The grand cathedral, bathed in the soft glow of a thousand candles, echoes with the hushed whispers of eagerly waiting guests. Roses, lilies, and orchids cascade down the pillars, their fragrance mingling with the scent of incense.

Behind the doors of the bridal suite, Max stands beside you, dressed impeccably in a classic tux. There’s a brotherly tenderness in his eyes as he reaches out, smoothing the delicate lace of your dress to ensure that every detail is perfect.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmurs, the emotion of the day making his voice waver.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Man of Honor,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

As the first strains of the bridal march begin, the doors open, revealing the grand aisle, lined with well-wishers from all corners of the globe. Your father steps up and offers you his arm, his eyes glassy with pride and a hint of melancholy. “Ready, my snow angel?”

You nod, tears of happiness already blurring your vision. The world narrows down to the altar, where Charles stands, back straight in his crisp full dress uniform. As you make your way down the aisle, your eyes lock with his and the universe contracts to that singular point of connection.

Charles’ normally composed features give way as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes, also glistening with tears, convey a depth of feeling that words could never capture. Love, gratitude, wonder — all interwoven in that magnetic gaze.

His voice breaks as he whispers just for you, “You are my dream, my reality, my forever.”

Your own voice is thick with emotion, “And you are my heart, my soul, my love.”

As vows are exchanged and promises made, the world bears witness to a love that defied odds, overcame challenges, and brought together not just two souls but two worlds.

And as you both seal your commitment with a kiss, there is not a single dry eye in the cathedral. Because love, true love, is a force to be reckoned with, and today, it reigns supreme.

***

The soft whimpers of a newborn fill the air of the private birthing suite. Nestled in your arms, wrapped in a royal blue blanket, the baby prince stirs, his tiny fingers curling around one of yours.

Charles, sitting beside you, gazes down at your son with sheer wonder. “He’s perfect,” he says in a teary whisper.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “Our little miracle.” The journey, the IVF treatments with your frozen eggs , the hope, the fear — everything culminated in this singular, beautiful moment.

The door opens gently, revealing Max, his eyes wide as they take in the sight before him, and your parents, their faces a canvas of joy and pride.

Max approaches tentatively, his usual confidence replaced by an awe-inspired reverence. “May I?” He asks softly.

You nod, handing over the precious bundle. As Max holds the baby, a bond forms instantly. “Hey there, little one,” he coos, “Your godfather is here.”

Your mother, tears in her eyes, leans in, planting a gentle kiss on your son’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, our precious grandchild.”

Your father, hoarse with emotion, simply murmurs, “An angel for our snow angel.”

And you know what? You decide that the fans were right. Your life really is a fairytale.

[chronically-ghosted]

you call and I come running

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 8K

summary: a drunken confession leaves you and Javi on unsure ground. When an on the run narco douses you in an unknown, off-market drug, Javier has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over.

warnings: sex pollen, dub con due to sex pollen, minimal plot scaffolding to hold up a gratuitous amount of porn, minimally edited, feral!javi is best javi, the barest hint of breeding kink, not really butt stuff more like butt touching, light angst, no use of y/n, spanking

a/n: comes from @perotovar 's ask for my 100 follower milestone event: hi there! congrats on your milestone!! i saw your prompt list and saw "I’m so sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit." and "A whispered, “Fuck, can we do that again?” against the other’s lips." and thought it would be a really good combination for either javi p or max p? which ever one you feel fits better! 😊 (as for smut, only include it if you think it works!)

🤍Masterlist 🤍AO3 Link 

Bogota was begging for rain. At the end of summer, the city and its people had been suffering months of stifling, thick, humid air without a drop of relief. Sweat clung to exposed skin, dampening shirts and tightening waistbands. Heat weighed like a physical presence in the air while open windows and doors sought to tempt in some non-existent breeze, hoping to coax some pity out of the militant heatwave. But the heat and the moisture-thick air stayed, hovering like a cloud of mosquitoes, just as merciless and just as blood-thirsty. 

Night offered no consolation either. Stagnant and cloistered, the sun-bleached air greeted its visitors with a great, warm lick – like the wide tongue of a particularly aggressive bloodhound. The ongoing joke among the locals blamed the blackouts on all the fans, spinning throughout all hours of the day and night, instead of el gobierno barato. Only then came the sigh of ease, in front of whirling blades with ice water behind them. Flapping shirts and mopped brows. Only then, was there relief to the tension. 

Unfortunately, a running car would tip off any narcos in the area, so even that small miracle is denied to the two agents sitting in the darkness of la calle. A crack in the glass window releases a tendril of smoke, not enough to expect a breeze, not enough to wipe away the smear of sweat from across forearms and under knees. 

A drunken confession lingers even thicker in the air.

You thought you could do this. You really thought nothing would change – it was an accident after all. He didn’t mean it – he couldn’t – he was just teasing you, when he leaned over the sticky fourtop in the back of the bar at three in the morning, his breath tangy with the ghost of four glasses of whiskey, his body heat immense and overwhelming as he pressed into you and said – 

Whatever he said, you told him no.

Actually, you laughed and then said no. No, because he didn’t mean it, he couldn’t, he was just teasing you and he would never, ever, ever, ever know how much you actually wanted it and even if – even if you both wanted it, it could never, ever, ever, ever happen. 

It couldn’t. It was so absurd for him to even consider it, you laughed.

And then he never looked at you the same way.

You had done something irreversible. He had said the words, but you had done something irreversible to him. 

Something in the air had changed, maybe forever. And that, that you might have lost your partner, your friend, potential potential potential disappearing in a cloud of Marlboro smoke over bottles of cerveza, that was the worst part. 

He doesn’t look at you the same way.

Or at all. 

He smokes and he watches and he acts like you’re not in the seat next to him. Like his confession hasn’t cleaved him apart.

Nothing’s moved in hours. Neither the target or the shadows in the car. The tension presses up against the windows, hot and stifling. There is no relief.

“I didn’t want it like this, you know,” you say to the sun visor, arms crossed, low in your seat. “I . . . tried to see if Murphy would switch, but I didn’t think the tip would pan out so fast, and I didn’t . . . I didn’t want . . .”

The shadow next to you emerges with his face as he brings the glowing orange light of the cigarette to his mouth. Full lips, short thick hair below his nose, a jawline sharper than any hit of cocaine. 

“What did you expect?” he asks, his voice thick and heavy like oil. It clings to you.

You scowl into the darkness beyond your window. “For Murphy to me a fucking solid, for once. Covered his ass more than once after they adopted Olivia. I just wanted one goddamn –,”

He forcefully flicks the stub of his cigarette out the window as a precursor to punctuate his next sentence. “No. What did you want, if you didn’t want it like this?” 

The acidity in his tone stings you and you unintentionally flinch as if he had pressed the cigarette nub into your skin. 

“Javier, c’mon, that’s not fair.” 

He arches one eyebrow, his teeth clenched in his jaw, hollowing out a pocket of skin below his temple. The overhanging orange streetlights sap the color from his skin.

“So you get to make all the rules now. Got it.” He crunches up the empty box of cigarettes and chucks it in the back seat. You watch him with narrowed eyes as he settles back against the seat with his arms crossed. 

“Why do you have to make this difficult?” You snap. “You know this isn’t easy for me either.” 

“But it is easier than the alternative, right?” After two hours of ice cold silence, he finally looks at you and you can feel the spike of frost in your chest. The twitch in his jaw is the rage in his eyes taking physical form. “Easier than . . . trying. Right?” 

He looks away, already having confessed too much with whisky on his breath, and he can’t afford another slip-up. He knows this. You know this. You want to reach out and touch him but you worry he might physically slap you away if you do. You’ve hurt him in places Javier Peña doesn’t like to admit he has. 

“It’s not that simple,” you say to his thigh. “And you know it.” 

His jaw twitches again. “I’m not asking for your goddamn hand in marriage. I’m just — sick of this ‘will we, won’t we’ shit. I want –,”

“No.” You say and you can feel the word imprint under your sternum. “There’s too much at risk. We’ve been in this fight for too long to get benched and if Noonan even gets a whiff of anything out of whack with her agents, she’ll . . . I want to, Javi, can’t you see that? I really want to – in case I didn’t make that crystal fucking clear. I want to, but there’s no trying for people like us. In a place like this.” The firm weight in your voice pushes on something that makes him look at you again. That rage has dissipated, melted, leaving only a corporeal ache. His brown eyes were endless in their confusion, their disappointment, their hurt. Please, he begs without words. You swallow, your thumbnail digging into your palm to keep yourself from launching yourself across the bench seat of his truck and into his lap. “I want to, Javi. I want . . . you.” 

He drops your gaze as if it burned him. He shifts back, hand coming up to cover his mouth, the side of his knuckle rubbing his upper lip as if coaxing whatever was sitting just behind his teeth back down his throat. 

Javier stares out into the oppressive Bogota night, his clavicle dewy with sweat and he shakes his head.

“Save it.”

You actually flinch. God, you knew it was going to hurt but you never thought it would hurt this much. Hurts so much it claws up your chest with cut-metal knives until you can’t breathe. Until you can’t see as tears flood your eyes.

“Javi, please.” Your voice is calm, despite the small implosion in your chest. “Don’t–,”

“No, I mean – look.” He points out across the dashboard.

The door that has been shut tight for the past three hours has opened. El Corto, a man who lives up to his name, pokes his round face around the edge of the door, glancing up and down the street with the paranoia of someone who trafficks drugs for a living. You turn your head into your shoulder to act like you are adjusting the firearm on your hip to wipe your eyes. Beside you, Javier turns the safety of his handgun and slips it into the back of his jeans.

“You good?” He sounds like Javier, your friend, and that swell of confidence gives you the strength to kick down a door into a whole nest of narcos. You meet his eyes and nod. 

The air is no cooler out in the open when you slip out of Javier’s truck into the dark night of Bogota. Javier strides across the black street, eyes just as fast as El Corto, paranoia just as high. There’s never any telling if the narcos are alone and that’s why you hang back just a bit, eyes on Javier and a dozen other places. 

“El Corto,” Javier snaps, sharp and demanding. The voice of authority. The narco freezes, narrow shoulders going taught. You keep eyes on his hands, your own hovering over your weapon in case he chooses to go for his. “Ven aquí. Tenemos algunas–,”

Without warning, El Corto takes off running, darting off down an alleyway. 

“Fuck,” Javier hisses and pulls his shirt out of his pants, experience the cruelest teacher. But you’ve already passed him –  running your favorite way to unwind, train, and way to avoid your problems, tearing down the alleyway after the shadow sprinting into the night. 

There is something singular about running that is more addicting than any drug the narcos peddled. A chosen target. A finite end. The only thing you had to count on, the only thing to worry about, is how hard you had to pump your arms, the length of your stride, the control of your breathing. Hunting down narcos was a breeding ground for chaos. But not this. This made sense. 

El Corto, despite having about half your stride, makes up for his short stature with speed. You catch only a glimpse of his jacket, then his shoe. A mile through an empty street and he finally comes into view. You’re gaining on him. The unrestrained creature in your chest roars and blocks out the searing pain in your calves, under your ribs. God, you swear you can almost smell him.

Maybe all animals, big or small, can sense the moment before the trap ensnares around them because without warning, El Corto darts left, leaping over a wrought iron fence into the lower levels of an apartment building. He’s gone before you can blink.

Snarling, you squeeze the fence railing as you tuck your legs over it, the momentum of your run clearing you from the tips. 

A voice in your head and possibly behind you is yelling at you to wait, don’t go inside without backup, but you can’t stop. You can’t help it. If you can’t have who you want, this is what you want. This is what you need.

And you need a fucking win. 

You burst through the screen door to an empty concrete room – torn carpet, wall paint chipped away, maybe an old living room – a flash of jeans around the hallway at the end giving a fraction of an indication of your target. So you take off after him, rounding the corner. You watch as he nearly runs through a faded yellow door, the wood cracking and splintering from the force as it slams open into the wall. The door ricochets off the wall, nearly slamming close again, just as you reach it, but the brunt of your shoulder knocks it back again.

And something cracks you across the chest. 

Powder. Blue. Lots of it.

You stumble, your eyes and nostrils burning, as it seizes in your lungs. You cough and hack, trying desperately to unseal it from your lungs, but it barely budges, barely slides loose. Blind and gasping from the heat of your run and through the powder, you veer off course, stumbling into what feels like boxes. Your knees tremble, suddenly unsteady on your feet. 

Through your watery eyes, you watch as El Corto drops the plastic bag that used to contain the powder, a malicious glint in his eyes.

“Puta,” he spits, the slur hardly original for a female DEA agent. He steps back and sheds the gloves you didn’t realize he had been wearing, still watching you with twisted interest. 

You’re no longer coughing, but the air still hasn’t settled in your body. You feel the heat in your lungs rise, expand, then fall, against your skin, as if it is in sync with your heartbeat. With every breath, a sour, sticky warmth presses against every joint in your body, every bone. There’s a knot building at the base of your spine, tightening your hips, and you stumble until you’re seated on one of the boxes, which you now see as packing crates. 

You swallow but your mouth is dry. Head heavy. Distant. Your eyes feel swollen in your skull.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” you whisper. 

He’s not scowling at you, you realize, he’s leering. Eager. Excited. He takes a step towards you. 

A floor above, you hear the sound of the door being breached and Javier calling out your name. El Corto scowls, as though his favorite toy had been taken away, before he tears himself away to the narrow window on the other side of the room. More shipping crates have been stacked against the wall and El Corto scurries up it, unlatching the window. He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder at you.

“Diviértete para mí, putita,” he waves with three fingers as Javier crashes into the room, his gun raised. He spots El Corto just as he slips up through the narrow window – the space no bigger than the width of a child – his foot kicking down the tower of boxes. Javier nearly nabs his ankle, leaping up the concrete wall, as the narco disappears into the night.

His open palm striking against the humid wall is a wet slap. “Fuck,” he snarls, this time pounding with the heel of his fist, “we almost fucking had him. What the fuck ha–,”

He turns and meets your gaze for the first time. His mouth drops in horror.

Sweat blooming across your forehead, you lean over on a crate, limbs trembling, breathing uneven. Every scrap of fabric over your skin burns, your thighs burn, your blood burns, you are burning. The sweat peaks in droplets that run down the back of your neck, under your armpits. Whatever he hit you with makes you want to take off every inch of your clothes –maybe then you could fucking breathe – but even then, it wouldn’t be enough. 

He’s got you by the shoulders, forcing you to look at him, before you realize what’s happened.

“Talk to me.” Javier snaps, that authoritative force sharp and demanding, and it sends an aching bolt between your legs. You whimper in pain, your eyes fluttering. He shakes you. “Stay awake and tell me what happened. I need you to focus. ”

Your lips feel puffy, overripe and ready to split, your jaw tight and throbbing. “H-h-hit m-me with blu-ue – don’t–don’t know what i-it is.” 

Javier steps closer and the scent of his cologne hits you like a train. Groaning, a strange, unwelcome instinct yanks your head down into the curve of his neck, the source of the smell. The touch of his skin beneath your lips is a balm – cool egg yolk over a fresh burn – and you bury your face in deep.

“Oh, fucking Christ, Javi.” Your voice trembles, wavering down into a low moan. That same alien instinct latches your hands over his shoulder, nails digging into the cotton. But it’s not alien, you realize through the muggy, humid fog in your mind – you know this feeling. You are intimately aware of the coiling knot between your legs, your soaked underwear, the tightness of your nipples. But this can’t be happening. It shouldn’t. It shouldn’t hurt like this. 

You gasp, in real pain, a throb that starts clenching your cunt before rippling up your spine and locking your shoulders. You hunch against him, waiting for the contraction to pass. 

“What is it?” Javi holds you, panic evident in his voice. You swear you can hear his heartbeat in his neck. “What’s wrong? Talk to me, goddamn it.” He demands with no bite in his command. 

He peels you off him, you hiss, ripped out of the soothing embrace of his arms, and he makes you look at him. His eyes are wide, mouth twitching. The entirety of his chest is blue, most of powder from your skin covering his shirt.

He cups your cheeks, trying to see if the powder has left an acid burn, as another wave hits and you lock your body, now a battleground against the strangling desire to turn your face into his wide palm and inhale. There’s liquid making the crotch of your pants sticky and it’s embarrassing. It’s mortifying and silly and the ounce of sanity still left in your head keeps an iron grip on every muscle in your body – sanity telling you to not fucking do this. Don’t do this to him. Not when it would mean so much to him.

To you. 

But fuck, you want it. You need it. You might actually die without it.

Tears spring into your eyes, making a gooey muck as they slide down your cheeks and mix with the powder. Whatever this is, you have to fight it.

His eyes dart to your tears, the little bit of powder still on your face, and without thinking, he brushes your tears away with his thumbs.

Sanity cracks the whip – if it gets on him, then –

With the last ounce of strength, you shove him back, as far away from you as you possibly can. The second his warmth is gone from your skin, you tremble and your knees give out. Fresh tears, spurred on by the pain, by the fear, by the shame, spill from your eyes and you curl up against the wall. 

“D-don’t, Javi, don’t. I th-think it’s t-t-transderm-mal–,”

“What do you–,”

You watch helplessly as his pupils contract and then expand wildly, black swallowing that aching brown. He shakes his head like a bewildered animal, sweat already bleeding across his skin, and he stumbles back onto a springy metal cot on the opposite wall. He blinks, hand tightening around his knee. It makes his forearm flex and you have to physically close your eyes, the sight forcing your cunt to clench down on nothing. 

“What . . . what the fuck is this shit?”

You bite your lip, your chin tucked to your shoulder as your body cramps, punishing you for denying it the only source of relief. You squint at him and see he’s half-hard in his jeans. You whimper.

“I-I don’t know . . . new– new party drug?” You grunt, your head thrown back against the wall. God, your skin is going to melt right off your bones.

“This is way fucking worse than ecstacy,” Javier murmurs, his jaw tight. “Fuck, got a bit on me, but you . . .”

He blinks at you, eyes glassy, with sudden and total understanding, with perfect clarity why you shoved him away, and what exactly you need. 

He murmurs your name and you gasp, another cramp yanking new tears down your cheeks. 

“J-Javier,” you swallow thickly, “I know what I s-said before, a-and in the car, but if you ever cared about me, p-please . . . please, just –,”

You can’t encompass all that you need into words, but you hope he understands, is feeling kind despite all that you had done to him. Your bones ache, skin too tight.

He shakes his head, but weakly, his eyes caught on your throat, the wetness clinging to your lips. “You’re just saying that because of the drugs. We have to call Murphy. Get us to a hospital or something.”

“Javi,” you whine and maybe it is the drugs, or maybe he has an inkling of how much it hurts, but he’s across the room in an instant. He grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you to your feet. He drops his head and inhales like he can draw the heat from your blood. The tip of his nose dragged across your jaw is a cube of ice against the furnace of your skin. You shudder, hands clasping around his shoulders, dragging him against you, his hands cupping your hips as if to steady him. 

“I-I’ll give you this.” Javier Peña doesn’t stutter. Your eyelids weigh a thousand pounds as you draw your gaze up to him. “I’ll help, cariño, and then we call Murphy. Okay?” 

You nod, dizzy and overheated and sick with wanting. You nod and tilt your hips forward into his fingers as they pop open the button of your jeans. The sound of the slide of the zipper drives a shiver through you and you feel his cock, fully hard, against your thigh. 

His lips brush your cheek, his voice slurred, dripping slow in molasses, sweet and dark. “I’ll help. I’ll give you what you need.”

The first press of his fingers against your pussy rubs slippery and wet. With a sigh of relief, you drop your head against the wall, hips shoving into his hand, begging for more.

“Fuck,” he wheezes. “You’re already soaking.”

“More, Javier, more.” 

He grinds his cock against your thigh to soothe his own ache. He nods slowly as if dazed, his eyes locked onto to where his hand disappears inside your jeans. “Y-yeah, okay.”

If any hesitation remains, it’s gone when he sinks two fingers inside of you and taps up. You moan and he shoves his knee between your legs. 

“You like that, pretty girl? Does that help?”

“Yes,” you gasp into his neck, his fingers rocking into you. “Yes, Javier, yes!” 

His touch douses the ache, the fire, across your skin, in your spine. With every snap of his wrist, he draws away the heat from your exposed, too-sensitive nerves, easing the lighting storm in your low stomach. The noises you’re making, the noises your cunt makes against his fingers – it should embarrass you, should draw red up into your cheeks and ears, but it’s just more release. You yowl like an animal in heat and Javier’s groin jerks against you. You gain enough sentience to realize he’s fucking you with his jeans on up the wall, his hand never slowing or easing. You can feel yourself gush between his knuckles. 

“You’re almost there, muñeca, I can feel it. Just give it to me. Come for me,” he pants into your clavicle, the spread of bone across your chest. You tighten at the thought of his breath against your nipples, his teeth on the soft weight of your breast –

And you do. You come with the easy brush of his thumb against your clit. White lightning soothes the rage beneath your skin and you shudder in his arms, forehead collapsing against his shoulder. The snap of his hips against your thigh is a bruising rhythm, harsh, feral, an understanding that only something rough and wild can actually save your life. 

“Is that better, querida?” His wide palm pushes the hair back from your damp neck, cradling your heated cheek. His thumb brushes just under your bottom lip. You can feel his own fever, radiating from his skin. “Can we get you somewhere safe?”

But you’re still too high, too taut, to answer him. Another one builds, stacks up on itself every time his rock-hard cock digs into your hip. He scissors his fingers and you bear down onto his thigh. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, but without exhaustion or anger. He sounds almost gleeful. When he looks at you, his pupils are blown wide, sweat making his skin glow. The skin around his mouth is damp. “Alright, I’m not gonna stop. You can have one more. One more, querida.” 

His shoulders tense, the muscles in his back shifting, as he changes the angle of his fingers, renews the pressure of his thumb on your clit. He brushes against something deep inside of you, wet and spongy and never before reached and you arch your back in response, air sucked from your lungs. His thigh nearly lifts you off the floor. 

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” He taps the spot again and tears flood your eyes and spill down your cheeks. 

“Oh my god, Javi,” you murmur and he seems to like that. You clamp down around him and his hips stutter, his moan deep and coming from an ache in his chest. He inserts another finger and your cunt sucks him in, greedy for more. 

He eases back into his rhythm, raggedly humping your hip, the rough material of his jeans burning between your thighs. 

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” he breathes. “Fuck, I knew it would fucking feel this good. You’re clenching down on me so hard, baby.” 

On the tip of your next orgasm, the haze clears for just a second and you catch him in the eye. This isn’t just the drugs, you know, this isn’t just an excuse for both of you. This is hating to see the other one in pain. This is sharing a worry for a bit of yourself that lives in another body. What passes along the length of your gaze is the exact thing you feared losing. 

Selfishly, you’d rather not have him like this, than not having him at all. 

But this is what it could be, he tells you through an open, gasping mouth, through eyes that pin you to the wall, this is what we could have every day, every night. If you just let me in. 

If you just –

“Come for me.” 

You answer with his name, on a cry high and sharp, and you’re coming – harsh, fast, exploding as you drench him, his fingers pressing roughly into that one sweet spot. 

Javi slumps forward, the weight of him nearly stifling, as he gasps, his hips stilling, stuttering, stopping. His skin flushes cold for a second, sweat cooling his fever, his face buried in your neck. 

You feel it. Against your thigh. You swallow in surprise, the fog parting briefly again. 

“Javi, did you . . .”

He wrenches his hand out of you, releasing his grip on your hip as he lowers you down. 

“I’m not fucking calling Murphy,” he grits out.

*~*~*

Javier is a man of singular focus. Almost dogged and single-minded in his hunt, it’s rare he is even capable of listening to the voice of reason. It’s a different voice than his own that tells him when he’s doing something monumentally stupid. There’s a part of him that knows exactly why that voice sounds a lot like you, unconsciously knowing that you’re the only thing that could give him pause. And yet, there are times when he can shut the voice out, can shut out everything inside of him screaming at him not to do the thing he’s going to do. But this, this decision, genuinely has him torn. There is no right way to do this.

Well, there is a right way. One where he takes you to dinner, buys you flowers, walks you home, tucks your hair behind your ear, kisses you softly at first, then rough, until you beg him to come up the stairs. Despite what some may think, he is capable of being romantic. He can be sweet. He can ask nicely. 

But that is something he is not capable of right now. 

In his post-nut clarity – because, yes, he did come in his pants like a twelve year old with his first porn mag after having his fingers up your cunt for what was all too short – he realized the room you both were in was some sort of safehouse. 

A cot against the wall. A portable stove with something in the pan black and sticky. The crates are empty of any valuables – by the shape and length, most likely guns – but the few that are still full have a few bags of that elicit blue powder. He makes a mental note, somewhere on the very distant laundry list in his brain, to take a bag – with gloves on and wrapped up in several other baggies – to have it tested at the lab. Because whatever this stuff is, it might actually be more dangerous than cocaine.

Especially to idiots like him, he thinks roughly as he yanks the thread-bare mattress off its wiry frame onto the floor. He snatches up the cotton sleeping bag at the foot of the frame and unzips it, the inside facing down. This is such a monumentally stupid idea, he knows it is, but he can already feel that cramp building up his thighs, his cock throbbing awake, arousal clamping down on the base of his spine. And he just got a whiff of it. He can’t imagine what you’re feeling already. Behind him he hears you moan softly, never one to complain or whine when things get tough or hard, so he goes faster. He tucks up the other end of the sleeping bag in what he hopes is some semblance of comfort, but he wonders if that will even matter to either of you when it hits again which, judging by how hard his cock is growing, is eminent. The wet spot on his thigh, beneath his jeans, is sticky, uncomfortable. He needs no further reason to unbutton them. 

You moan, this time louder, higher, again and he turns to face you, his shirt already undone to his stomach.

You’re pale again, skin glossy and sickly wet. When your eyes flutter open, they’re glassy, gaze distant and unfocused. You twitch when that first cramp settles in deep. He thinks, his mind not entirely his own, about how deep the clutch of your cunt sucked in just his fingers and he shivers. He simultaneously wanted to get this over with and drag it out for days. Have you beneath him for days. 

Your legs tucked up beneath you from where he laid you down, Javi approaches quietly, kneeling as he takes off his shirt and goes to untie your boots. He touches your ankle as gently as he can and you shudder, cracking an eye open. 

“Javier, it’s coming back. It’s coming back and it hurts.”

In addition to the many, many agency violations, this is monumentally stupid because he’s obsessed with you. Has been for a while. Not just in a way that makes him want to fuck you for hours flat on your back, but in a way that your smile is the last thing he sees before he goes to sleep and the first thing on his mind when he wakes up. An obsession with your wellbeing, your safety, your happiness. A persistent coiling thought about your laugh, and strength, and the way you can make grown men twice your size tremble in fear. You’re a hunter, just like him, and with your beauty – your staggering, haunting beauty – how was he not supposed to immediately attach himself to you? It came on slowly, his pathological need to be near you, and once he realized what it was, there was no going back. No turning it off. 

He didn’t mean to tell you when he was drunk, but after bagging another narco, it was like he could see the light at the end of the tunnel. A brief glimpse into a world where you both were safe, and happy, and – god willing – together and in this world, he told you and he was brave about it and you said it back and he felt warm all over. But that was not this world, not his reality. In this one, he has to save you by doing the one thing that may truly well and good fuck him over. 

“Sit up, baby, that’s it.” He eases you into his arms and it’s like his touch drags you back into consciousness. Your fingers dig into his bare arms as you take in his exposed chest. 

“Javi, fuck, I don’t wanna beg, but before when you – you – I felt better. It cleared. I don’t know why or how, but with your fingers inside m-me, it . . . helped.” 

“I know, cariño, and I want to help more.” His thumbs press up under your jaw, tilting your head up to look him directly in the eyes. There’s fear there, pain, and it’s agonizing to him. “But I don’t know if that’s what you want.” 

“What I want? Javi, I–,” your eyes widen in understanding of what he’s offering, of what he’s scared to do. What he’s scared to take without your permission. 

You swallow, a pink flush crawling up your throat. “I . . . I don’t . . . I didn’t want our first time together to be anything like this, but . . .” You shake your head, shuffling closer to him, your breathing thinning as the drugs start to strike matches against your nerves. “I just don’t want you to think it doesn’t mean anything.” 

“It’s gonna mean everything to me, no matter how I get it.” He presses a soft kiss to the corner of your chin, just in front of his thumb. You nod, eyes squeezing shut, as you fight this arousal that claws into your skin like meat hooks. He pulls you to your feet, holding you steady as your knees try to lock up. He unbuttons your shirt with shaking hands. 

You touch his chest like you’ve never seen a man naked before. The hesitant, awed touch of you sends all the blood still remaining in his head straight into his cock. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he murmurs to your cheek, your shirt off your body, his hands tugging your jeans down your hips. You nod again, speechless in your relief, and follow your jeans to the ground. Twisting on the nest he made for you, you slide your bra off, your nipples already tight and perk and waiting for his mouth. You huff, a sound so unlike you it makes him genuinely concerned, as the front of your panties darken again. 

“It’s okay, Javi, this is what I want. I want this.” You hate being vulnerable, he knows this, your attitude a front that leaves no room for sexist comments in the bullpen. And yet, here you are, deflowered and begging for him. You spread your legs for him, eyelids heavy, and he can smell the arousal on you. 

He drops to his knees, unsure where to start first, but the blue powder coursing through his veins demanding he puts his hands on your hips, which he finally acquiesce to. 

“I don’t think I can be gentle,” he admits quietly. He wants to nip, suck, slurp every inch of you, wants to see that perfect body bend to his will, to his turning. He wants to fuck you open and stuff himself up inside you so deep it leaves a mark. In his haze, the instinct to fuck supplies him with an image of you pregnant, bred and full of him, and his cock twitches so hard he drops onto all fours over you. 

You slip your underwear over your toes and your knees take him by the ribs.

“Please, Javi, please.” 

He knows it must hurt, must be so blindingly painful for you to beg like this. You never asked anyone for anything and that independence turned him on and frustrated him to no end. 

“Please, be rough,” you ask him from under your lashes, your body writhing beneath him. His hips, on a separate system than the rest of him, thrust the rough teeth of his zipper against your cunt and you keen, the sound imprinting into every crevice and curve of his brain. “Make it hurt.”

Oh fuck, this might actually be the thing that kills him. 

He hushes you, stills your flushed whimpering with a kiss that ends in teeth against the high curve of your cheek. He noses to your mouth, then down to your ear, where he bites on your earlobe. He’s balancing on one hand as his other tugs his jeans down and off his hips. 

He wants to fuck your tits. Come all over them, have his spend flush up your throat, your chin. He wants to come so hard he blinds you with it. And then he wants to flip you over and fuck your ass with his come-lubed dick. 

You wriggle and whine, legs wrapping around his hips, tugging him down onto you when, half-a-mind away, he realizes he just said all of that outloud.

“Yes, Javi, you can have whatever you want. Fuck me however you want.” His blood is boiling now, the white-hot bomb settling itself in the base of his spine, his balls already tight. Why he’s dragging this out is beyond him and possibly a medical detriment to you. 

“Javi, just fucking put your cock ins–,”

He watches as every conscious thought wiped from your mind, brow heavy, mouth seared open as he plugs you full of him in one rough thrust. You shudder and his elbows buckle, his body locked up tight because if he moves, if he dares to rub his cock through your velvet, hot clutch, he’ll come right there. Your eyes roll back in your head as his cock makes space for itself inside you.

“Javi–,” he claps a wide palm over your mouth, his teeth straining in his jaw, his temple twitching.

“Baby, I know it hurts – I know it fucking does – but I need you to stay still.” It feels too good. You’re too hot, too slippery, and soft. He can feel the hum of words behind his fingers and he shakes his head. “Do not fucking move – I just need to – I have to –,” 

He inches in just a bit more and you both gasp to the ceiling when he bottoms out. Your rough curls against his pelvis sears him, hot and sweet like cinnamon. He drools when he thinks about eating his own come out of you.

You only get one word out, one word that sets his whole world on fire: “Please.” 

He rears back, yanks you up his thighs, hands cupping the backs of your knees and he plows into you. Your tiny fingers that have pulled countless triggers and clapped irons on criminals twitch, tightening into the smelly cotton fabric, your mouth contorted open. His pace, his thrusting, is relentless, unforgiving but the look on your face is pleased, an almost maniacal grin across your lips. 

“Oh, right there, Javi, just like that. Just like that.”

He’s faster than he is precise. Precise comes later when the bestial fog clears from his brain, when the lust bleeds out of his system, when he doesn’t want to hump you like an animal with his teeth bared and cock so deep inside of you it kisses your womb. 

Before his mind entirely succumbs to the mounting arousal, he’s grateful he had the foresight to take the mattress down. If he hadn’t, there’s a good chance he would have fuck you, the bed, and himself right through the paper-thin walls. 

And then he lets go. Lets this thing in his chest and hot behind his groin take over, lets himself indulge in whatever carnal, depraved thing sparks in his mind.

He’s fucking you so hard you’ll both have bruises by morning. 

He watches, transfixed, at the place where his soaked cock disappears through your puffy, wet lips into the mind-numbing heat of your pussy. He can’t stop watching. He barely feels your nails digging into his thighs. 

The walls of your pussy squeeze him and it makes him falter, hitch speed. His gaze is torn away and instantly, it focuses on the bounce and sway of your tits. Sweat droplets roll from your neck into the valley of your breasts and without hesitation he bends to catch them with his mouth, tugging you further down his cock. You cry out, hands digging into his hair, as his tongue drags a wet trail over the top of your breast, the tip flicking your rock hard nipple, then beneath the swell where he meets it with his teeth. 

You jerk, pleasure overwhelming. “Uh – oh – oh – fuck – Javi.” The words leave your mouth truncated, cut short by his rhythmic bouncing. He nuzzles your tit, streaking you with his own sweat, not able to stop fucking up into you to really get a good grip on your breast, but wanting to put the whole thing in his mouth. 

“I’m gonna do it right next time,” he swears fidelity to your skin. He grinds his teeth against your sternum. “Next time I fuck you I’m going to pull you apart bit by bit. Starting with these fucking tits and ending with my tongue up your cunt. Maybe your ass.”

Against his cheek, he feels your skin break out in ridges, your whole body shivering at his words. He leans up, grinning wildly and grinds particularly deep inside of you. You still haven’t fully opened your eyes.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you? You want my tongue up your ass. What about my cock, huh? Want my fat fucking cock inside there?” 

You whine, clawing at his chest, as you nod frantically. He could ask anything of you right now and you’d give it to him. And god, he wants so much.

“It’d hurt, baby, you know it would.”

You nod, words tumbling out of your mouth in a mindless babble. “I don’t care. I want it there. I want you inside me. I want it to hurt. I want you to fuck me raw, Javi.”

He groans, more like a growl, rapidly picking up his pace. He lifts your knees higher and fucks up, the change in angle making you moan so loudly it fills up his ears with blood.

“Tell me where you want it. Say it, querida.” 

“I want it in my fucking ass, Javi.” 

His jaw twitching, that primal, unrestrained urge in him wrapping itself around his spine, he shoves you off him. Wetness dribbles down his lap but he doesn’t let himself smell or see it for long, as he flips you onto your hands and knees, sliding in and pummeling your pussy from behind.

You whine, singing for his cock, and collapse onto your elbows, presenting your ass for him. The pair of you really are just fucking animals.

He presses his thumb to your tight hole, the wet slap of his balls against your ass suddenly the least obscene thing in the room. There’s barely enough room for his thumb there and he tips his head back at the thought that no one had ever taken you there before. His. All his and no one fucking else’s. 

“Javi,” you sob, that preening need gone from your voice as though you are begging him not to go further, but desire kept you from voicing what you actually wanted. 

His bottom lip twitches and he leans down and gently bites your shoulder, grounding you and clearing out all fear. Drugs or not, he’d never do anything you didn’t explicitly ask for, but the second this is all over, he’s going to get on his hands and knees and beg you to let him work your ass open. 

“Not tonight, cariño.” He slides his thumb out of you, his wrist twisting as he palms the meat of your ass. “But I’m not leaving this completely untouched.”

He smacks the jiggling flesh until he sees a pink hand print, earning him a yelp from you every time his palm lands. He feels fresh, sticky wetness soak his cock with each slap, enough for it to dribble down his thigh. He’s not going to shower for a week. 

The higher he climbs, the faster that animalistic heat leaves his blood. You’re not as pale as before, the skin of your back growing a nice healthy flush. As his grip around your hips tightens, he feels your cunt clench around him. If he won’t take your ass tonight, he still wants you puffy and sore. He leans back just to watch his cock pound your pink, abused hole.

“I’m close, Javi,” you admit breathlessly. He nods, leaning forward again, that image of your pussy split open for him deliciously sealed in his mind, and he drags his nose down your spine. Sweat from his chest drops and splatters against your skin.

“I know you are, I can feel it. Can I see your face? Watch you? Can I put you on top?”

You nod and he slips out of you for what he hopes will be the last time in his fucking life. He’s no longer drug-crazed, but he is drunk. Pussy drunk. Drunk on you. Imbibed by the juices trailing down his thighs. He shifts and you swing a leg over his hips, immediately swallow him deep inside you. 

Unlike the courtesy he gave you, you give him no time to adjust, grip his chest, and ride him within an inch of his life.

Your tits swinging in his face, he presses his fingers so tight into your thighs, he’ll be able to count the distinct bruises, and plants his feet. He meets you, thrust for thrust, and he watches your competitive nature battle your overwhelming chase for release. 

“Just come, cariño,” he pants. “You’ve done so good tonight. Just fucking come all over my lap. Let go.” 

His words melt something inside of you and you whimper, curling down over him, which he takes to wrap his arms around your back, and roll you under him. He kisses your chin, your temple, the corner of your mouth. His big palm cradling your head, he grinds low and deep, seeking out that place he touched with his fingers. 

“It’s alright. I’ve got you. You can come.” He prods that spot once and it’s all over. You clamp down on his cock, milking him for all he’s worth because as you arch, mouth open, tears down your face, he comes too. He comes and he comes and he comes until he drips out of you and that breaks another orgasm across you, this one bumpy and leaves you shaking. 

He feels dizzy, unsure up from down, the loudest sound he hears is his own blood rushing in his ears. He’s never been more exhausted. 

He can hear the vibration of you saying something against his throat, but nothing is quite working like it’s supposed to, so he slumps off you, his hand never leaving your skin, as he tugs you against him.

He’ll be dried and sticky in only a few hours – you both will – but that doesn’t matter right now. The only thing that does is the feeling of your heartbeat over his. 

*~*~*

Morning, along with the scent of rain, glides in through the open window and your fingers twitch as sunlight hits you. Your eyes fluttering open, you lift your head from the sleeping bag to see wet puddles on the floor under the window, the concrete streaked and stained with water. It must have rained sometime last night and, shockingly, you didn’t hear a thing.

The heatwave had finally broken. 

It’s not until you’re full awake do you realize his hand rests in the cup of your neck, thumb rubbing smooth, soft circles into the hard knot near your shoulder blade. You smile, groaning softly, becoming more relaxed by how good it feels. 

You roll over and greet his eyes. They’re brown again, the hungry blackness gone, but leaving an edge of uncertainty in its wake. 

He wants to know how you feel about last night.

“You fucked up,” you tell him and that worried crease appears between his eyebrows. You inch closer, your hand curling up against his jaw. “All that time last night, all the time you had me under you, and you didn’t kiss me once.”

You close your eyes, drop your head, and press a fervent, determined kiss against his pink lips. You can feel it as he swallows it in, his body shifting forward, hand coming up to your hip. But just as quickly as it starts, he pulls away. 

Javier shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says almost mournfully, eyes downcast. “I don’t want to know – what you taste like, if . . . I can’t kiss you if this is the last time.”

He’s still respecting your boundary, your wishes, while coated in his release and yours. He knows he can’t be selfish with you again.

You wet your lip, hand still on his cheek. 

“Javier, you saved my life last night. That was some kind of fucked up drug, but if you hadn’t been here and did what you did, I think I would have had a heart attack.” He shakes his head, ashamed and desperate to prove you wrong. You understand his hesitation. It felt too good for it to be anything other than a transgression. “And if anything, it showed me something I think I already knew but couldn’t find in myself to admit. I need you, Javi. I need you because I can’t live without you. Because I love you.”

His eyes light up when you return the words he uttered in the bar. None of this is how it should have been – in an abandoned narcos hideout, but god, there’s not a single thing you’d change. 

“Yeah, baby? You mean that?” You nod as hot, natural desire flashes in his eyes as he pulls your body under him and captures your mouth in his. His warm palm cups your hip, your ribs, up under your arm, and pushes your elbow to your head. There’s more to say, more to worry about, but that fucking heatwave over Bogota has finally broken and Javier Peña’s cum is dried and flaky between your thighs. 

“We should call Murphy,” you giggle, withdrawing your tongue from his mouth. He shakes his head, the blunt edge of his teeth against your cheek. “There’s a deadly new drug on the streets. Lives are at stake.”

“My dick is at stake,” he murmurs, lips hovering over your skin, drawing your knee up to his ribs as he slots himself between your thighs. The smile slides off your face as he thumbs your raw clit in rough, desperate circles. 

“I thought you said you were going to take it slow next time,” you huff, hips rolling against his stiff cock. 

“I will. Gonna take you to dinner. Cup your ass over a distractingly short dress. Buy you flowers and fucking gold jewelry . . . then I’m going to take you home and open you up with my fingers, then my tongue.” 

“So what’s this?” You gasp against his neck as he sinks his cock into you. 

He groans, grunts, as if he hadn’t spent the better part of the night making your cunt his personal possession. 

“This is me, fucking you, before breakfast. Then we call Murphy. Any objections?” 

You squeeze your knees around him, ankles hooked across his low back, sucking a mark into his neck. 

“Not at all.” 

When you do go public, not shying away from holding hands in the office, or openly walking in at the same time from the same car, Noonan is irate, but can’t bring herself to cut her two best agents loose. It seems catching Pablo Escobar matters more than some silly, little government-issued guidelines. She’d get her day in court, but not today. Not for a while. 

Noonan is annoyed. 

Murphy is not. 

“Came across some new party drugs and not a single thing happened, right?”

“You could have found it, taken it home for you and Connie to enjoy,” you say as you slide your arm across Javier’s back, his hand on your hip. He rarely ever takes his hands off you now. “But, no, you bailed on me instead.” 

“Sounds like you should be thanking me, instead of busting my balls.”

“He’s right, baby,” Javier nuzzles your neck. “Could have been him stuck in that basement with me, horny as a cat in fucking heat.” 

You shrug as Murphy makes a face. “I blame the heatwave.”

He leans into your ear. “And I blame your fucking ass in that skirt. I’m gonna take you home, make good on my promise. Any objections?”

“Not at all.” 

[softspeirs]

Reprieve (BoB/MoTA x OC)

Summary: What if Bucky and Buck managed to escape the forced march that night in Germany? What if in a really roundabout way, they got some help from some locals and found their way to the 101st? What if! Loosely follows the events of this AU. Author's Note: No romantic pairings (a bit of Speirs/OC mentioned). Features my BoB OC, Kat Gray. This is very much a "magic of fanfiction" story - doesn't fit with canon and certainly would not have happened in real life. It's fine - we're all insane here anyway. Enjoy! Warnings: mentions of PTSD, and descriptions of war-related injuries. Words: 8k+ (I am so sorry)

“Welcome back to the land of the living Major. You look like you’ve seen better days.” The woman’s American accented-voice is clear as a bell and yet Bucky still thinks he’s hallucinating. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

Bucky tries to sit up.

"Not so fast," she says, leaning over him so he can see her.

“Where am I?” He croaks.

"You’re in an aid station with the Airborne. You've been out for two days. Take it easy." She sounds familiar.

"Have we met?” he asks, ignoring her request to sit still. His ribs ache, and his throat feels so dry he feels like he’s swallowed sand.

"Once upon a pub in England, Major Egan." The woman busies herself around him, gathering bandages and other supplies, and when he can finally force his eyes to focus his gaze, he sees her, and he can't help but let out a breathy, disbelieving chuckle as he recognizes her.

"Of all the gin joints..."

She turns around and grins. "Something like that." She holds out her hand. "Corporal Kat Gray, sir. It's good to see you."

He takes her hand gratefully, squeezing. "I'd say the same, but--" he winces as he reaches up to touch his eye. He can't see out of his left eye at all. It's eerily similar to how he arrived at Stalag Luft III, and he wants to vomit at the thought. "How--"

"You and Major Cleven have had a rough few days." She says, her tone taking on a more somber tone. "He's just fine." She adds, reading the panic on his face. "He’s being debriefed by our CO.” She leans in. “I’m going to try to clean this a bit better,” she says gently. “I’m going to adjust you for a minute, but if you can look up for me, I won’t need to touch you much.”

He feels a strange mix of shame and relief at the way she’s talking to him - telling him what she’s going to do and giving him the power to say yes or no… it’s certainly an adjustment compared to what some visits to the infirmary in Germany were like.

He looks up at her, and she nods reassuringly, reaching to adjust him so she can see him better in the dim light. “How on Earth did you end up here?”

The last few days all feel like a blur, and Bucky bites back the rising panic at the thought of what his and Buck’s escape might mean for their friends. “Buck and I have been in a POW camp since ‘43.”

Kat is quiet, meeting his gaze with large, dark eyes. “I’m very sorry to hear that. Obviously you escaped. Nearly ran right into our outpost.”

He sighs, scratches at his jaw. "They evacuated the camp. We’d been having conversations with our guys for a week or so when we knew the Germans were going to march us. We agreed that a few of us should try to get back. I remember finally finding a window to make a run for it, and--" he stops as he flashes back to a dark night, moments of complete panic, and finally, watching Buck escape over that wall. "-- got the butt of a rifle for my troubles."

"That explains the bruising." She leans in, her fingers cool against his fevered forehead. "Did you have a previous injury here?" Her gaze is narrowed in on a spot somewhere near his cheekbone.

He really doesn't want to talk about it. It was hard enough trying to tell his guys what happened to him, and he's just not sure he has the words to try to describe it to someone else. He'll have to eventually. If they ever make it back... but that's about the only time he thinks he can manage to get the words out. "Yes." He says finally. "When I went down…. They walked us through a city that had been recently bombed, and between the civilians and the guards..." He trails off, jaw tight.

Her eyes are understanding. She doesn't press him, and he's grateful. Instead, she leans back against the wall at her back, folding her arms across her chest. "So I've got good news and bad news. The good news is I don’t think you’ll have any lasting damage, even in that eye. I don't think your orbital bone is broken, but you'll be sore for a while. The bad news is that you need to speak with our S-2, on account of how you might be a spy and everything."

Bucky blinks at her.

Kat smiles. "It’s just a joke. But… procedure. You know it goes. Technically I probably shouldn’t have asked you anything about how you got here.” She shrugs, waves a hand dismissively. She stands up straight, takes a few steps back from him. "Think you can walk?"

“Would it matter if I can’t?” He grumbles, pushing himself into a sitting position.

“Of course,” she frowns. He has to remind himself where he is and who he’s with. He’s gotten so used to hiding any major or minor injury, any sign of illness, and being forced to stay on his feet for what felt like hours on end, sometimes in the middle of the night.

Kat continues, “Though, sir, if you were to… as a Major, of course… give me permission to order Captain Nixon to come to you instead, I would really really enjoy that.”

.

Outside, he shields his eyes from the bright light with his right hand. His head throbs, but he keeps walking. He glances down at the woman beside him.

Helmet in her hand, he gets a better look at her now that they're not in a room lit with barely a single bulb.

"Where are we?" Bucky asks, voice low.

"Somewhere between Belgium and Bavaria." She says. "We’ve been here for a week, pulled off the line not too long ago.”

Her voice is scratchy, whether from overuse or from illness, he can't tell. She has a fading bruise on her left cheek, a mirror of the one on his face. She looks older than the last time he saw her.

He remembers her, fresh-faced and in a clean uniform on a pub night where he and Buck and Benny were all together and intact. Not a scratch on them or dust on their uniforms. He remembers her easy smile and the way her men closed ranks around her at the first sign of his flirting.

They walk a few more feet to a requisitioned building that's practically falling apart. It's warm though, and that's really all he cares about. That, and seeing for himself that Buck is here and alive.

He hears his low voice before he sees him. Buck is standing bent over a table covered in maps. Across from him are two captains - one he vaguely remembers and one he hasn't met yet. All three straighten at his approach.

"Major Egan, this is Captain Winters and Captain Nixon."

After two hasty salutes that Bucky feels uncomfortable receiving, Nixon's hand is the first outstretched for a shake. "Egan. Good to see you on your feet."

"Thanks." He replies distractedly as he looks at his friend. "Buck? Entertaining guests already?" He asks, gesturing at the room they're in - it clearly used to be a kitchen.

Buck smirks. "Should have remembered to get down the good silverware."

"What, uh…" He wants to ask what happened after the woods, after-- he remembers finding Buck in the woods, hands trembling and alone. He had waited for him, said he knew he'd catch up eventually, and said George was gone.

They walked the entire night and next day, sticking to the woods as much as possible until they got close enough to the front to hear American voices. It's a bit hazy after that. Between the certain head trauma and the exhaustion, he doesn't remember much.

Buck shakes his head, almost imperceptible if Bucky hadn’t been searching his expression. Later, it seems to say.

Nixon gets Bucky’s attention by clearing his throat. “If you can come with me for a minute, Major.” he says, gesturing to another room off to one side.

“Nix, I really don’t think–” Kat tries to interject.

“Kat, we can’t make exceptions.” Nixon says warningly, though his tone is nowhere near harsh. He turns back to Bucky. “Look, Major, I remember you, and I know you’ve already been through this with your far less kind hosts, but I’ve got to ask you a few questions before we do anything else.”

With a look at Buck, who nods reassuringly, Bucky goes.

They go through the whole thing - name, rank, serial number, what’s the national anthem, who is the President and when was he elected… the whole thing. All things considered, Bucky actually thinks Captain Nixon goes pretty easy on him.

They join the others after a few more minutes, Bucky absently rubbing his temples which are already starting to ache.

The taller man -- Winters -- seems to want to get down to business. He turns to Kat. "Corporal Gray. Hang around for a minute?"

"Yes sir." She says, finding a place to perch on a counter behind Buck. As she hoists herself up, Bucky catches the glimpse of a dirtied bandage that takes up nearly her entire arm as her sleeve rides up.

Trying to focus on the task at hand, he and Buck go over every second of their escape until Bucky can't remember much else. His jaw clenches as Gale recounts how he half carried, half dragged Bucky to the other side of a ditch so they could get to the American side of the line.

"Gotta say, you're a couple of lucky bastards," Nixon says. "A few hours later and that town would have been either empty or back in German hands." He meets Bucky's eyes.

They go over a map for a few more minutes."We were marching in this direction,” Buck says, pointing at the map, “But it’s hard to know for sure, and there's no way to know how long they were going to make us go."

"Well, they'll meet up with the Army at some point." Nixon says firmly. "Nothing classified about it - we're making gains in all directions. It won't be long."

Bucky nods, trusting him and his intuition. At least he could sleep at night knowing he didn't resign his friends to too many more months of hell.

"Any chance you'll be the one to break them out of there?" Bucky asks.

"It's hard to say." Winters says eventually. "We're assuming our next move is into Germany, possibly farther into the Reich than Berlin. We won't know until we get our orders." He looks apologetic, and both Bucky and Buck know that despite their rank, despite the fact that they’re all officers in the Army, Winters can’t tell them much more. He probably shouldn’t have told them any of this at all.

Winters switches gears, turning to Kat. "What's the diagnosis, Kat?"

"Concussion watch for Major Egan," she meets his eyes briefly, "Two broken ribs and obviously the damage to his left eye." Her tone is pretty clinical, but Bucky doesn't take it personally. "I'd like to get some food in both of them, and Major Cleven's got a cough I don't like the sound of."

"Well, he’ll fit right in then.” Nixon says.

Kat rolls her eyes and kicks the Captain lightly with one dangling foot. "I think the interrogation will have to continue another day. I'd like Roe to check them out too." She continues quietly. At their nod, she takes charge, a hand on Buck's shoulder to guide him out the door, and a glance over her shoulder at Bucky signaling that he should follow.

Outside, he finally asks. "Why is it you don't have one of those lapel pins yet, Gray?"

She snorts. "I should think it's obvious, Major."

"Really, the rank thing is all bullshit anyway." He says.

"John..." Buck grumbles as they walk.

"It's okay--" Kat says, stopping only when they hear a loud whistle overhead. Bucky's entire body tenses. They’d been hearing artillery in the distance at the stalag for weeks, but it’s different when it’s happening right over their heads. "Over here." Kat’s voice is firm, urgently directing them into a doorway.

"Is that--" Buck stops short of asking, the earth rumbling under their feet for a moment.

"Enemy artillery. They're not that accurate. We're too close- they're just on the other side of the river."

"And yet...." He looks down at the way she’s setting her helmet firmly down on her head and raises his eyebrows at the urgency in her voice.

She sighs. "Let me find you both a place to sleep and some food, and then I'll tell you what the last few months have been like."

Kat leads them upstairs where they're given a small kit with some essentials, and a few k-rations to split between the two of them. They've even got a chocolate bar to split, and Bucky swears he's never tasted anything so good in his life.

"Don't go bragging about that," the soldier who handed it to him says. "I'll never hear the end of it."

Kat chuckles from her spot on a beat-up sofa in the center of the room. It’s some sort of supply depot - different members of the company trail in and out, hauling boxes with ammo, rations, and even mail at one point. It’s clear many of them are bunking in here too.

She tells them about the last few months in Bastogne - her eyes go a little hazy and her face clouds over in grief as she skips some of the nastier parts. “Once you hear the whistle of artillery like that, you don’t forget what comes after. That’s why I’m a little jumpy. Even though they’re missing us with mortars all day, it's just…” She shrugs. “It’s never a sure thing.”

"Tell me about that arm, Kat." Bucky says, curiosity getting the better of him. "Let me guess, I should see the other guy?" He asks.

"Not exactly." She says, smile dimming. “Like I said, German artillery went off pretty much every day, at all hours. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

"Got knocked on her ass." Another man sitting opposite her says. His eyes have been narrowed on Buck and Bucky since they arrived.

"Oh, shut up, Lieb." Kat bites back, but there's no heat in her words.

Buck and Bucky share a look, the barest hint of a smile on Gale's face. The friendly banter makes Bucky ache for a simpler time, when they’d be doing nothing but giving each other shit and playing cards all night. It feels like a thousand years ago.

“I was wounded from shrapnel here,” she gestures at her arm. “Lost quite a bit of blood. Lucky for me, I was unconscious for the aftermath.”

More whistling suddenly sounds overhead. It sounds louder, closer than before. It's strange - Bucky knows how to anticipate enemy fighters, but this is uncharted territory for him.

"Everyone up." Kat orders, the few other men in the room standing hastily and gesturing that the Majors should follow them. "Wait--" She stops, pausing to listen. The urgency in her expression feels different than it did before, outside on the street.

"We gotta go, Kat." Liebgott says harshly, eyes a little wild.

Another whistle. The entire building shakes.

"Christ," Buck bites out through grit teeth.

On instinct, Kat reaches out to steady Bucky, one hand falling tight on his wrist. They keep each other upright, and he sees Liebgott doing the same thing on Kat's other side. His hand is clasped tight around her elbow, and then the next whistle comes screeching in.

"Go!" Buck says, always the leader, even when he's out of his element.

The four of them go racing down the steps, pausing only when the building shakes so violently, Bucky is sure it's going to come down with them still inside.

"Move!" Kat urges, pushing at his back when he falters. "I didn't nurse you back to life just to watch you die here, Major Egan." They all trip over each other halfway down the stairs when another blast hits, and Bucky coughs as dust and crumbled plaster rain down on them from above.

They've all stopped on the ground floor, crouched low as if that would stop an entire building from coming down on them. Buck's arm is over Kat's shoulders, Liebgott pressed tight to her other side.

"Medic!" The shout is nearby, and frantic. Kat squirms under Gale's arm.

"Major Cleven, I need you to let me up." She says, calm.

Buck blanches like he hadn't even realized he was doing it. "Sorry."

"No time for apologies, and none needed." She says. "Lieb, take them to the CP? They’re bunking there for the night."

With a quick smile, she's gone as if she had never been there in the first place, and they're left a little dazed, watching her go.

Out on the street, they hear raised voices, but Liebgott ushers them on, his steps quick. He keeps giving Bucky a look, so finally he decides to just tackle it head on.

"You don't have to keep looking at me like I'm going to steal your girl."

To his amazement, Liebgott's eyes go wide for a fraction of a second before he laughs, loudly. A cackle, really. "Major, she's not my girl. Though if you want a shiner to match the one you’ve already got, you keep on making the moves on her. In fact, I'd pay money to see what happens when--"

"Alright, alright." Bucky says. "I get the picture. Jesus."

"You haven't met Captain Speirs yet." Liebgott says, an amused smirk still on his face, stopping in front of yet another half crumbling building. "Third floor. Good luck. Doc Roe is up there too - Kat wanted you to see him."

Buck levels Bucky with an exasperated look as soon as they get inside. "Been awake for less than two hours and already causing trouble."

"Trouble finds me, Buck."

They head upstairs and walk right into an argument. A man is in the center of the room, hands on his hips. Another medic is in front of him, looking for all the world like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Uh-- sorry to interrupt." Gale, ever the peacemaker, speaks up.

The man turns, giving them a view of the captain's bars glinting on his garrison cap. He says nothing, turns back to the medic in front of him. "Roe, listen. I already told her she's better off in bed but just do me a favor and give her a shift tomorrow morning. She's out there doing god knows what no matter what we say anyway. Might as well do it where you can keep an eye on her."

He exhales, turns back to the two newcomers. "Majors Cleven and Egan? I’m Captain Speirs. You'll be bunking here until we can figure out what to do with you."

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t smirk. This is the infamous Captain Speirs that Kat may or may not be involved with.

"We hope we'll be out of your hair soon." Buck says.

"That'll be up to Doc Roe’s evaluation, I'm afraid." He gestures at the other medic, informally introducing them. "You've seen Kat already?"

Bucky nods. "Just got debriefed and almost shelled to death. She's somewhere dealing with a casualty."

Speirs' expression doesn't change too much, but it's enough that Bucky notices the way his jaw clenches and he shifts his weight.

"Man of few words." Bucky mutters under his breath.

"Better go see what's going on. No patrol tonight, so take your time, Roe, and for God's sake, make sure Lipton actually gets some sleep?"

"Yes, sir."

As Speirs leaves, the medic turns to them with a tired smile. "Sorry for all the commotion. We don't usually have visitors."

Bucky snorts. "You don't say." He settles himself on a chair while Roe has Buck move into a better light so he can see.

"I know Kat already did a preliminary check but I'll just do my own, if you don't mind." He frowns. "Those scars are awfully symmetrical, Major."

Bucky goes tense. Doesn't like the way Roe is sizing up his friend. Doesn't want Buck to have to relive any of it if he doesn't have to.

"Any of your jumps involve you going feet first through a German farmhouse window, Doc?" Buck rasps, eyebrow arching.

Roe hums, already moving to clean up a scrape from Buck's temple. "We had some nice fellas clear out a spot for us to land on our last jump."

"You also jump out of your planes on purpose."

Roe grins. "This is true." He wipes at a small spot of crusted blood near Buck's hairline. "This healed well enough. No infection. Seems like you might be stuck with them, though they might fade eventually."

Buck doesn't say anything. No more probing questions from the Doc either, for which Bucky is grateful.

“You and Kat both have that same cough…” He says, almost to himself. “We’ve got pneumonia going around, but your breathing sounds okay. Keep that scarf on,” he says, gesturing to the olive drab scarf tucked around Gale’s neck. “Try to stay warm. If we get another supply drop I might have something else for you, but it’ll probably have to wait until you get back home.”

Home. Thorpe Abbotts… it all seems so impossible.

"You're up, Major Egan." Roe says, waiting until he's seated in front of him to dab lightly at the bruising around his eye. "You're lucky you didn't lose this eye." He says mildly. "Looks like Kat cleaned it well; I'm not going to risk irritating it further." He stands back, crossing his arms. "About those ribs..."

Bucky bites back a wince and a noise of pain as Roe applies pressure to his midsection. “It’s not the first time. No time to let them heal up and they probably didn’t heal right the first time, either.

Roe meets his eyes. “Are you short of breath? Any stabbing pain?”

Bucky shrugs. "I've had worse."

Roe must read the expression on his face, because he doesn't push. Whether he can read in between the lines or not, he gets the message, and Bucky is grateful, because he can't talk about that night again. Not the night he was captured, and not the night he and Buck finally got out. He's just-- he wants to forget it ever happened.

"You'll bunk here with the other officers tonight." Roe says. "I'd get some rest before chow time, if I were you."

Buck and Bucky have no problem taking orders, and they're both almost asleep on their cots before their heads even hit the pillow. Bucky still feels anxious about how they're going to get back to England, but he hears the laughter of men outside, and is just grateful to be alive. To be back amongst allies, even if it's only temporary.

.

Bucky wakes early. He sits up slowly, groaning. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone move. “Jesus Christ, Kat.”

She cackles. “I’m so sorry. I was checking to see if you were still asleep.” She says, tone full of mirth.

He huffs as she laughs for a few more seconds before taking a step closer.

“How’s your head?”

He shrugs. “Sore.”

“Ribs?”

“Feel like I was kicked by a horse.”

“Do you think you can eat?”

He nods and Kat gestures that he should follow her. In the large living area, a few of the officers he met the day before are sitting around a long table, metal bowls with what looks like the world’s worst oatmeal in hand.

“Morning.” Captain Winters greets them both. He looks down at his wrist and checks his watch. “You should still be asleep.” He says pointedly to Kat, who has been doing her best to hide a cough in her elbow, but everyone can see the shadows under her eyes.

“Sorry sir. Wanted to check on the majors.”

“Where’s Buck?” Bucky asks suddenly, feeling guilty he hadn’t even checked.

“Took a walk.” Kat says. “Roe is with him.” She gestures for Bucky to sit, leans in to speak quietly to him. “He had a rough time sleeping.”

Bucky hadn’t heard a thing. He was so out of it, the exhaustion of the last week catching up to him.

Winters is watching him carefully. Clearing his throat, he asks, “So. Explain these nicknames to me.”

It’s so unexpected that Bucky can’t help but laugh. Bucky accepts the change in subject gratefully. He tells the whole story. Leaves out some of the more colorful details Gale would have added.

“You enlisted before Pearl Harbor?” Kat asks.

“So you beat us to the war in more ways than one,” Another officer at the other end of the table says, grinning. Bucky was introduced to Harry Welsh the night before, but he was so exhausted he doesn’t think he did more than exchange pleasantries. He likes him right away - he’s got a glint in his eye that showcases his good humor.

“Say, Gray, did you know if anyone in the Air Corps gets kicked off two crews, they get sent to the infantry?” Bucky leans back in his chair, accepts a bowl of what appears to be oatmeal from Kat as she passes it along.

“That explains a lot,” Welsh says with a wry smile.

Bucky grins. “Smartest guys in your division probably came from us first.”

Kat looks between the two men, shaking her head but smiling as she gives Bucky a faux stern look. “You’re confused, Major. We’re not just infantry. We’re the Airborne.”

The other Lieutenant down at the end of the table grins. “Could have used a few more of you bomber boys to clear the way for us on D-Day.”

“Kind of a shame I missed it, but I was otherwise occupied.” Bucky says. He looks away, not wanting to think too hard on what was going on in his head when they heard the invasion had started. It hadn’t been a good stretch of days for him.

“Morning,” Buck’s voice announces himself, and he comes in looking better than Bucky has seen him for weeks. The shadows under his eyes are still there, those scars on his cheeks prominent against his pale skin, but he looks more like himself.

“Major Cleven,” Kat says with a smile. “Got a bowl with your name on it.” Her tone is pleasant, but doesn’t leave any room for refusal. “Have a seat.”

A gentle smile tilts Buck’s mouth as he takes the bowl from her hands. “Yes ma’am.”

Buck and Bucky tuck in to their food, letting the chatter of Easy Company fill in the silence. Bucky feels…. Envious. It’s a strange feeling. He watches the way the officers and Kat and the various men who drift in and out of the building interact, and besides the guys in the Stalag, the boys in The 100th haven’t always been lucky enough to get to know their comrades like this.

It’s clear to him that Easy is a group that have been together a long time.

“What’s on your mind?” Buck asks, voice low.

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Just– wish the other guys were here. That’s all.”

Buck watches him closely. “Yeah.”

Kat is called away to the aid station before long, and they’re left with Captain Winters. He’s quiet, but asks them both where they’re from and how long they’ve been in the service. It’s an easy conversation, Lieutenant Welsh chiming in here and there before they both excuse themselves for a meeting.

“Something’s going down tonight.” Bucky says.

Buck nods, tucking another spoon of oatmeal into his mouth.

Kat comes back a little while later, lips in a tight line. The Majors watch her carefully, trying to figure out if they should go back to their rooms and give her some space.

“If you need something to do you can help me over here for a minute,” she says quietly. Her voice is flat.

“Everything okay?” Buck asks, tone gentle but inquiring. He’s good at this part - trying to get someone to open up without pushing. God knows Bucky has been on the receiving end of it more than enough times.

“Fine, I– I don’t know how much I can say.” She gestures for them to join her, and she hands Buck a handful of bandages to roll. “I’m just tired of losing people.” She says quietly, almost to herself.

Buck and Bucky don’t say anything – what is there to say? They know too how people - friends - are there one minute and gone the next. They busy themselves helping her, all three of them falling into a contemplative silence.

“You know,” Bucky says, “you’re keeping these guys alive, Kat. Even an idiot with only one eye can see that.”

That gets a smile, even a small one, and Bucky starts to feel for the first time like everything is going to be okay, eventually.

.

The door downstairs flies open with a bang in the middle of the night, and Bucky is on his feet before he even realizes what he’s doing. He has a flash of a memory - a clanging cell and screaming German voices - before he remembers where he is.

Hearing Kat’s loud voice doesn’t do anything to slow his heart rate. Across the hall, Buck is also up and moving, heading down the stairs with just one look at Bucky. Raised voices fill the space and for a minute Bucky can’t tell what’s happening.

“Here. Put him here!” Kat’s voice is high pitched and urgent, and he can hear the frustration in her voice clear as a bell.

“Majors, welcome to the patrol,” another gruff voice snaps, and a man with sergeant stripes turns to them. His face is exhausted. “Make yourselves useful and help Kat.”

“I need a light!” She calls out, looking around for anyone who can help. “Now!”

“Here–” The same sergeant is shoving past Bucky, holding out a lighter.

Buck and Bucky are moving, helping to hold down the soldier on the table so Kat can see.

“You’re all right, just keep still,” her voice lowers, hand pressed to the man’s forehead. “Major, there’s a syrette in my left pocket.”

It’s unclear which one of them she’s talking to, but Gale moves first, extracting the syrette quickly. “Better if you do it, Kat.” He says.

She takes it with nimble fingers, sticking it in the man’s shoulder. “I need Captain Speirs–” She breaks off, seeing someone over Bucky’s shoulder. She snaps her fingers. “Lip, I need the captain, we need a jeep.”

“Everyone else clear out, give her some space.”

“Not you–” Kat says, hand clasping Gale’s forearm. “Need help for one more minute. Need you to hold him here,” she says, gesturing towards the wounded man’s other shoulder.

With a deep breath, Buck does as instructed, bracing the man as Kat does something to his wound that has Bucky turning the other direction, suddenly woozy as the soldier lets out a harsh cry, writhing slightly under both Kat and Buck’s bracing hold.

Bucky moves closer despite his rolling stomach, wanting to help, but Kat lifts her head, shaking it at his approach.

“I don’t think so, Bucky. Not with those ribs.” She turns her attention to Sergeant Martin, still there with the lighter. “Sarge, I need that light closer.”

“Kat.” Buck’s voice is a little strangled, and Kat looks over quickly, eyes flicking down to the man on the table who has stopped writhing, eerily still.

She pushes him aside quickly, pressing two fingers to the man’s pulse. She sighs. “He’s okay, he’s just unconscious. Probably from the pain. It’ll be harder to move him that way.” She looks back at Martin, “Sarge, we need at least one other person.”

Just then, Lipton comes back in with Speirs hot on his heels, face tight with tension.

“Kat.” Speirs says, voice firm and full of relief all at once. “What happened?”

“Sniper to the shoulder. He’s stable but he needs a surgeon.” She responds without looking up, missing the look on the captain’s face when he sees her whole and intact.

“Martin.” Speirs barks.

The man doesn’t flinch, barely even takes his eyes off the younger private on the table. “We took fire almost immediately when we crossed the river but we got three prisoners. Liebgott and Web are trying to get some info out of them with Nixon.”

“And Patterson?” He gestures to the young private.

“Sniper, as soon as we turned a corner. No one saw him until he fired. We turned tail right after that.”

Speirs runs a hand down his face. Everyone in this room looks exhausted. Bucky wonders if he’s misreading the tension - they look how he’s felt for the last six months. “Get him in a jeep.”

Kat, Lipton, and Martin work quickly, leaving Buck and Bucky momentarily to stand there, trying to comprehend what just happened.

“Buck.”

His friend looks up, eyes refocusing, but he seems a million miles away.

“All right?”

“Fine. Just— he couldn’t have been eighteen.”

“He just turned nineteen two days ago.” Kat says roughly, reentering the room and shoving past them. “We had a party.” Her voice is a bitter, angry thing. “We keep doing these prisoner snatches, and we lost a man during the first one. It just feels so… pointless.” She looks up at them, schooling her expression. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be–”

The doors open again and Kat is back to being all business. Martin and Lipton come back inside a minute later, and the night stills, like nothing happened in the first place. Martin and Lipton lean against the now-empty table, arms crossed over their chests, and Kat all but collapses in a chair, hands trembling slightly.

“Appreciate your help, Majors.” Lipton says with an exhausted smile.

“Any time.” Bucky says. “Though I wasn’t much help.” He’s got that tone again, he knows he does, where he’s feeling like he’s not doing enough, that he’s not enough, and it earns him a sharp look from Buck.

“You two should go back to bed,” Kat says quietly. “We’re going to try to get you out of here tomorrow and it’ll be a long journey back to England.”

There’s a weird feeling brewing in Bucky’s gut where he almost doesn’t want to leave. It’s the venture into the unknown - every time they’ve been in a situation where it was going back home, back to England, or having something bad happen as the alternative, things have gone wrong.

Despite being on the front, this feels like the safest they’ve been in months, and he’s reluctant to give up this camaraderie.

Kat must read something on his face, because her shoulders straighten. “Major Egan, you’re going to go home. That’s– the rest of us don’t have that choice.”

Properly chagrined, Bucky nods. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Her expression is gentle, so he knows there was no bite behind her words, he just yet again is coming to terms with the fact that she’s been through hell and isn’t the same person he met all those years ago at the pub.

“Respectfully, sirs, off to bed with you both. Right now.”

Buck puts his hands up in surrender and heads up the stairs. Bucky trails behind him, Kat on his heels. Martin and Lipton bring up the rear, both looking like they could fall asleep standing up if need be.

After a whispered conversation in the hallway, Kat taps on Bucky’s door before entering. “I didn’t mean to be harsh, before.”

“You weren’t. You’re right.”

“Still, I know it’s not easy to feel… grateful, or relieved about your situation. Especially not after what you’ve been through.”

“It doesn’t need to be the ‘who has it worse’ Olympics, Gray.” He shrugs. “Two weeks ago it was probably me, but today and tonight it’s you.” He smiles at her. “Look, you’re going through this shit day in and day out and still putting on a brave face for everyone else.” He turns to face her fully. “Ever considered a transfer to the Air Corps?” He winks to let her know he’s kidding.

“Not in a million years, Major.” She nudges him with her elbow. “Get some rest, Bucky, and we’ll reexamine those ribs in the morning.”

“Thanks, Kat.”

.

The morning comes too soon for Bucky’s liking, and when he heads downstairs, there are only the remnants of the night’s watch group milling around. No sign of Kat anywhere, which makes Bucky a little anxious, but he heads inside the other room anyway, conversation dying as soon as he enters.

A lieutenant whose uniform looks so clean, it almost hurts to look at him snaps to attention.

“No, no, no.” Bucky says, tone wary. “Uh, at ease. No need for that.”

“Sir.” He says anyway, and there are a few snickers from the other men.

“Any chance for a coffee?” Bucky asks, sending a relieved smile at a man he hasn’t met yet who hands him a cup.

“It’s not hot yet but give me a minute.”

“Thanks, uh–” He squints at the stripes, “Sergeant–”

“Malarkey.”

A few more bodies filter into the room, and finally Kat appears, spending a second frowning and fussing over Bucky. She prods gently at the bruising around his eye and he winces, trying to cover up his reaction. She sees it anyway, lines between her brows getting deeper.

“Hurts worse than yesterday?”

“Not really. The same.” He replies. He’s extremely aware of all the eyes in the room being on him and Kat, and it makes him shift his weight, suddenly uncomfortable. “Why don’t you get a cup of coffee before it’s gone, huh?” He says. “Friends are waiting for you.”

Kat looks over her shoulder. “Yeah. Okay. But don’t think you’re getting away with pretending you’re fine, Bucky.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Kat gives him one last stern look before making a beeline for Liebgott in the corner who is holding an extra cup. He hands it over when she gets close, and Bucky watches the way the man eyes her carefully, like he’s trying to make sure she’s not going to fall apart any second.

It makes Bucky wonder about his guys, about the rest of the 100th and how they’re faring. He wonders how long the guilt will eat at him – probably until he sees for himself that they’re alive and well.

The mood in the room is tense, and Bucky wonders what happened before he came down, and notices one man’s bleary eyes on him. Bucky knows that look. The man’s attention quickly diverts to another fresh-faced private who enters the room quietly.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Webster?”

The room falls quiet.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, college boy.”

Bucky frowns and makes quick eye contact with Kat from across the room. Her expression is concerned.

“Are you drunk, trooper?” The lieutenant who had saluted Bucky asks, voice sharp.

“Leave me alone.”

Bucky has seen this before. Hell he’s been this before, though at least he had enough sense to not directly mouth off to Colonels Huglin or Harding… not in earshot anyway.

“Answer the question.”

“Yes, sir, I am drunk, sir. Drunk. Sick and tired of fucking patrols… taking orders.”

Sergeant Martin shifts on his seat. “Hey, Cobb. Shut up. It’s boring, okay?”

“Taking his side, Johnny?”

“Both of you–” Kat tries to interrupt.

“Shut up, Kat.”

A pin could drop three floors above them and everyone would hear it. Bucky’s jaw clenches tight, and he registers Buck entering the room behind him, footsteps quiet, clearly having overheard the entire thing.

Kat doesn’t look angry. She looks… sad? It makes Bucky wonder what happened to Cobb before he got to this point. Bucky knows the toll watching your friends die and feeling hopeless can take. He knows it doesn’t take much to reach a point you can’t come back from.

“Watch your mouth.” Liebgott fires back, taking half a step forward before Kat puts a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Sarge, they’re on their way in.” A voice from the doorway says, and Buck and Bucky move out of the way as Captain Winters and Speirs enter the room. They step out, not wanting to intrude more than they already have, but not before Malarkey hands them the promised cups of coffee that have been percolating for the last few minutes.

Bucky nods his thanks, and settles in a ripped up armchair across from Buck.

“Was hoping to get an update, but sounds like they might be in for another bad night.” Bucky says, taking a sip of the hot liquid. It’s not real coffee, but it’s warm, and he feels better almost instantly.

“What was all that about?”

Bucky shakes his head. “They’re– everyone’s tired.”

“He went after Kat.” Gale quirks a brow. “Doesn’t seem like that happens too often.”

“She held her own just fine.” Bucky says, smirking. “Besides, how many times have you had to stop me mouthing off like that? After all this shit… surprised it hasn’t happened sooner.”

They both stop for a second, savoring their coffee and trying to pretend they’re not eavesdropping.

“... I want you all to get a full night’s sleep tonight.” Captain Winters says, and the following silence is loud. Bucky’s eyebrows raise. “In the morning, you will report to me that you made it across the river into German lines, but were unable to secure any live prisoners. Understand?”

“I’ll be damned.” Buck whispers.

Everyone streams out, fresh smiles on their faces. It’s contagious, and Bucky stands when Winters greets him, leans in to shake his hand.

“Not a word, Major.”

“Of course.”

Speirs stops in front of them, and even he has upturned lips on his normally stoic face. Kat trails a few steps behind. Bucky can see it now, the way it seems like they’re extremely aware of the other one’s presence, like two magnets being drawn together, but trying to keep it quiet.

“Majors.” He says quietly. “Got an ETA on the transport to get you out of here. Tomorrow morning we’ll get you on a jeep to the hospital, and a ticket back to Thorpe Abbotts.”

Tomorrow.

It feels impossible. Buck’s hands are on his hips as he looks at the ground, a small smile growing on his face. Bucky imagines he looks the same way.

“Christ.” Bucky grins, throwing his arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Home.”

“Then we do whatever we can to bring our boys home with us.” Buck says firmly, eyes on his friend.

“They won’t let us fly–”

“I’m getting back behind that stick, John.”

Bucky nods. There’s no talking Gale out of something once he makes up his mind. And the scariest part is that Bucky knows he’ll be right there in the seat next to him if it comes down to it.

“Major Cleven,” Kat says, and she looks hesitant to interrupt. “I appreciate your ambition, but please take the time you need to fully recover.” She looks between them. “Both of you. Please.”

“Only if you do the same,” Buck says with a raised eyebrow, though his smile is assuring. “Heard you coughing all night.”

Bucky has forgotten that Speirs is still there leaning against a table in the corner, but sees him straighten out of the corner of his eye. He bites back a smile.

“Who is the medic here?” Kat asks archly.

Gale holds up his hands in surrender. “Just making sure you take your own advice.”

“You’re not the only one,” Speirs says quietly, but he too has an easy smile on his face, and with the way Kat double takes, it seems she’s just as surprised as the rest of them. “It should be a quiet night. We’ll get some chow and then get you both ready to go. Kat?”

“With you in a second,” she says, and watches as he leaves. She turns back to Buck and Bucky. “You heard Captain Winters, boys. A full night’s sleep is in order.” She crosses her arms over her chest, sending them a wry smile. “Is it weird that I’ll miss you both a little bit?”

“Don’t let tall, dark, and brooding over there hear you say that.” Bucky says quietly, an amused grin quirking the corners of his mouth.

Kat’s eyes widen. “Bucky! You can’t—”

“Jesus Christ.” Buck whispers, but he laughs too.

“I’m just teasing you. But seriously, Kat– you might not notice the way he looks at you, but I’ve only been here for two days and I can see it. Hell, every guy in there cares about you.” He gestures towards the nearly-empty room behind them. “You should hang on to that.” His voice is suddenly serious, and it makes Kat frown.

There’s so much she doesn’t know about what he’s been through in the last few months. There’s so much he doesn’t know about her. But they both know the toll war can take. They both know how easy it is to lose themselves in the horror of it.

“Can we do anything today to help?” Buck asks, trying to break the suddenly pensive mood, and Kat nods.

“If you’re up for it. We can find something.”

Hours later, they come back from helping Kat at the aid station feeling… dare Bucky say, fulfilled? He talked to so many guys, helped the ones who weren’t able write letters home to their parents and girls, and it gave him that bit of himself back, the piece he’s been trying to rediscover since he went down.

Mealtime is more subdued, but in a contented way that he hasn’t experienced in months. He’s still getting used to having halfway decent food to eat. Buck seems to be soaking it all in too - his quiet conversation with Welsh producing a few laughs and the sight of a smile on his best friend’s face gives him a little bit of hope that maybe they’re both going to be okay at the end of all of this.

.

The next morning they’re awoken by the sound of artillery in the distance. It’s not close enough to be alarmed, but Bucky was hoping for a quiet morning so they could make their getaway in peace.

He’s not really worried about anything else happening at this point, but they’re so close to enemy lines. That nagging thought in the back of his brain won’t fully go away, and probably won’t until he’s back on British soil again.

A knock on the door brings him out of his thoughts, and he straightens fully, finishing buttoning his shirt.

“Morning.” Kat says, looking tired, but happy. “We’re moving out soon. Time to go.”

Bucky nods. “Be down in a minute.”

They have nothing with them, he or Buck, so it doesn’t take them long to get ready. Downstairs in the CP, they’re greeted by the full cadre of officers.

“Good morning, majors.” Captain Winters says, saluting them as they enter. “We’ve got a transport for you back to the field hospital. You’ll link up there with the Red Cross, and then it’s an evacuation flight back to England.”

They say their goodbyes, and Bucky feels the melancholy mood settling in, even though he’s relieved to be on his way. He and Buck head outside with Kat and Doc Roe meets them at the truck.

“They’ll probably want to evaluate you again when you get to the hospital, but it should be quick.” He shakes both their hands, and then excuses himself, leaving them alone with Kat.

“I guess this is it,” Kat says, and Bucky and Buck share a look. She has no idea she’s echoing a conversation they had with each other years ago, but it makes them both smile, memories of an easier time when they had no idea what was coming next washing over them.

“Thank you, Kat.” Buck says, voice quiet and contemplative.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Kat says quietly. “I’m just happy you’re both okay and going home.”

Bucky shuffles his feet, unsure how to properly put into words what these few days with Easy Company have done for him and Buck both. Obviously the alternative could have been the end for both of them, but the universe putting them back in Kat Gray’s orbit still seems too good to be true.

“You take care of yourself.” Bucky says roughly, pointing at her.

“That’s my line.” Kat says, before closing the distance to reach for his hand, squeezing tight.

He returns the contact, unexpectedly feeling his throat getting thick. “You’ve got a good thing going here, Gray. Don’t do anything stupid, understand?”

“The same goes for you, Bucky.” She frowns. “I don’t like the idea of either of you flying again.”

Bucky shakes his head. “It’s a rule - downed pilots don’t get back in the seat. Buck just does best when he can lead. He’ll be itching to do something.”

“And you?”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “I really don’t know what the hell I want, Kat.” For this damned war to be over, he thinks.

“Kat, time to go.” A voice off to the side calls, and both she and Bucky turn to make eye contact with Captain Nixon.

“Coming.”

“Go on,” Bucky says. “Be safe.”

“You too, sir.”

Kat salutes him, which he still finds incredibly uncomfortable, but he returns it dutifully, smiling softly at her. He watches her walk over to Nixon, who hands her a pack that’s been sitting by his feet, and he can see the moment her posture changes and she prepares herself for whatever’s coming next.

“Train’s leaving the station, John.” Buck drawls.

Bucky turns to his friend and takes his offered hand as Buck hauls him into the back of the transport truck. The engine starts, and Bucky takes a minute to say a quiet prayer for Easy Company as they grow smaller in the distance, hoping that better things on the horizon are coming for all of them.

[torukmaktoskxawng]

'anla - part seven

Series Masterlist Summary: The next generation is getting ready to complete their Iknimaya. Ao'nung and Y/n aren't exactly hiding, but people are finally noticing. Pairing: Ao'nung/Fem!Na'vi!Sully Reader Warnings: Mature language, overprotective parent, heated arguments, heated gazes (in a sexy way), fluff, coming of age, mentions of mating, mentions of drowning and death, etc posted on ao3 Word Count: 8k+ Tag: #'anla ao'nung fic Na'vi Words: Marui - house/pod, ilu - plesiosaur like animal, tulkun - whale like animal, skxawng - moron, akula - shark like animal, olo'eyktan - clan leader, ma'yawntu - my love, paskalin - honey, syulang - flower, tìyawn - love, tsahik - spiritual leader, tswin/kuru - queue braid, tsakarem - tsahik in training, tsurak - skimwing, ikran - mountain banshee, tsaheylu - the bond, swoa - intoxicating beverage, oel ngati kameie - I See you, ma'yawntutsyìp - my darling, nantang - viperwolf, ma'ite - my daughter, taronyu - hunter Taglist (bold indicates "could not tag"): @bangtanxberm @aonungmyaddiction @lv9su @aisselasstuff @yourusername1 @amortencjja @king-julian6201 @gg-trini @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @mikeyswifie @heart-an0n @iloveavatar @urdads-gf  @kentfisherswifee6 @sakurayuki8655-blog @ken-zah @nilrilie @g-l-1-t-c-h-3-r @iovemoonyy @sopluto @frvv A/N: Two chapters in just two days??? Anyway, like I said the last chapter, I had to split my writing into two parts since it was getting to be over 10,000 words, so here is the next part!

The trip back to the village was a quiet one, Y/n's mind still reeling about her conversation with Neteyam. Jake thankfully didn't ask and acted as a pillar of strength when they returned home. He made one look at Neytiri and she opted out of saying anything, gladly letting her husband and her daughter return to the marui but not before she held them both in her arms out of relief that things would be alright between them. Y/n went to bed early, exhausted from all of the events of the day that resulted in the grief come bouncing back. If she woke up in the middle of the night to find herself in a cuddle pile of both Na'vi and human siblings, she didn't mention it, and none of the Sullys made any comments the following morning. Everyone was just happy that bonds were mending and hearts were healing. They were one step closer to feeling like a family again.

Lo'ak was visibly more comfortable walking beside Y/n that morning, knowing that she and their father had talked, and was happy to no longer walk on eggshells around either of them. Y/n appeared more relaxed as well, despite receiving some odd-looking glares from nearby Metkayina girls. To ignore the stares and lighten the mood a little more, Y/n shoved her little brother into the water before he could even blink. The resulting splash sent Y/n laughing and Lo'ak sputtering when his resurfaced, vowing revenge. It was then that Ao'nung and Rotxo showed up, grinning down at Lo'ak's predicament while standing beside Y/n.

"Quit messing around, Lo'ak," Ao'nung teased good-naturedly, "We got work to do today."

Lo'ak frowned, slightly embarrassed but summoned an ilu for himself. The other teens do the same and they head out to work, all the while Rotxo explains today's task to the Sully children, "When training to be a warrior among the Metkayina, you have to ride an ilu to chase away predators that threaten the young."

"Bro, we used ilu to rescue a tulkun and fought against Sky People," Lo'ak retorts, "I think that should count."

"He's got a point," Y/n added, "I think we rescued plenty of our young doing that."

Lo'ak squints his eyes in his sister's direction, "I couldn't tell if that was sarcastic or not."

"Figure it out, skxawng."

"It is all about tradition," Ao'nung explained, "I am sure the Elders would appreciate us keeping up with old traditions despite we have done enough to become warriors ten times over already despite our young age."

"So we're only doing this to impress a bunch of old people?" Lo'ak questioned with an added groan, getting splashed by Y/n in the process.

"Lo, for someone who just tries to fit in--"

"I know, I know," he waved her off half-heartedly.

"I'd like to see you talk that way to Grandmother."

A bit of color drains from Lo'ak's face, but otherwise he says nothing. Ao'nung laughed as they leisurely swayed in the water, leaning over in Lo'ak's direction, "They say that the Elders see and hear all. I would watch my back if I were you, Lo'ak te Suli. Maybe make a necklace for them as an apology."

Y/n laughs while Rotxo's smile slowly turns up into a mischievous grin, eyeing Ao'nung while opening his mouth, his eyes all-knowing, "Speaking of necklaces, that is a very nice arrowhead, Y/n. Akula?"

Ao'nung spun to glare at Rotxo in warning while Y/n briefly pressed a finger to the arrowhead she had yet to take off. She quickly retracts her touch and pointedly doesn't look at Rotxo, "Yes, thank you."

By now, Lo'ak is also staring at the necklace, eyes widening each time his brain puts another piece of the puzzle together, head tilting to Ao'nung, then Y/n, then back again. Rotxo could see Lo'ak's realization slowly dawning on his face and decided not to let up for the sake of teasing his friend, "Did you make it? Or was it given to you?"

"The necklace is mine... the tooth was a gift."

"Oh? From who?" Rotxo's big eyes practically sparkle with mirth, staring directly at Lo'ak as he adds, "You know, speaking of tradition, usually when a Na'vi gifts another something as special as that, it means they are courting--"

"I think we should split up on our patrol," Lo'ak abruptly states, briefly glaring daggers at Ao'nung while urging his ilu forward to swim beside Rotxo, "As I am about ready to strangle both of you, I will be going with Rotxo."

"Sure," Ao'nung shrugged, "Meet back here around midday?"

"Alright. See ya then."

Ao'nung and Y/n watch Lo'ak and Rotxo speed their ilu up and swim away, jumping in and out of the water before disappearing on the horizon. The pair waits until they are completely alone before Y/n flashes a side-eye glance in Ao'nung's direction, "You told Rotxo?"

"I didn't tell him anything," he defends, "But practically everyone has been asking. They all probably know."

"Yeah... 'Teyam used to tease me about it." She smiled sadly at the memory.

"Did he? I was so sure he would have killed me."

"No, he was the brother you didn't have to worry about," she huffed a small laugh, "Lo'ak and Spider on the other hand... well, you've been punched by the one before, and Spider might be more level-headed but you have never seen him truly angry."

A small glimmer flashed in Ao'nung's eyes, a wave of respect for the human boy washing over him, "That's intriguing."

She snorts quietly, her eyes returning to the spot where the other pair of teenagers disappeared, "I'm pretty sure Lo'ak has known about us for a while, maybe before I even knew there was an 'us.' So I wouldn't worry about him. He's just acting like a child."

She raises an eyebrow when Ao'nung emits a small growl, "Maybe your brother should worry about me if what I heard about him and Tsireya is true."

"Oh, please. They have been fond of each other since the day they met, don't act like you didn't notice." Y/n rolled her eyes.

"I am going to kill him."

"You will do no such thing if you know what's good for you," she glared dangerously back, though Ao'nung noted that it was not as heated or as threatening as her usual glares, "You cannot hate him for seeing your sister and then turn around to see his. Besides, I think your mother doesn't mind it after she and I talked that one time we were foraging. She heard my side of things and I think she actually approves of Lo'ak and Tsireya now."

Ao'nung goes back to that day when he found Y/n and his mother walking out of the forest together, his ears sheepishly pinning back against his skull when he remembered what had happened after Y/n had left, "My mother asked about you."

Y/n's eyes widened, "She did?"

"And she tells my father everything, so..."

"Same here. I think our sisters know, but they are not saying anything. They would take it to their grave if we asked them." Y/n smiles to herself.

"It wouldn't matter. This whole village is full of spinsters," Ao'nung snidely comments, "Everyone's business is everyone's business."

He watched as the gears openly turned in Y/n's head, her eyes looking to the sky while she asked, "... Is that why there were girls staring at me down by the docks this morning?"

"I do not know," initially, he shrugs, but she watches as Ao'nung's eyes slowly start to sparkle as his teasing grin reemerges, "Maybe they are jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Of course," he flaunts dramatically, "Jealous that a forest girl from a faraway place managed to steal the future olo'eyktan out from under their noses."

Her scowl immediately pitches into a laugh when he reaches over and briefly grabs her tail. Y/n pulled away from him before he could do it again, still laughing while trying to evade his hand.

They urge their ilu to swim a bit more after that, chasing one another playfully until they get to their next spot for patrol. By the time they got there, Ao'nung noticed that Y/n was staring off into space and looking a little unsure of herself, "What is it?"

Her eyes and ears lower, gaze pointedly staring down at her hands, "We mentioned honoring tradition earlier, then just now you reminded me of your stature. Maybe the Elders wouldn't appreciate the chief's son choosing a forest girl over one of their own."

Ao'nung scoffed, "The Elders don't care about that sort of thing. You are Na'vi. That's all that matters to them."

"But even you didn't think we were true Na'vi," her eyes flick up to his and his blood turned cold under her stare, "Not when we first arrived."

He slouched, ears drooping while his eyes softened into regret, fingers twitching with the need to reach out to her, but remained in his lap, "I was wrong."

"Maybe. But there are others who still think the same way you did. They still look at me, Lo'ak, and Kiri and think we are freaks. I am pretty sure even Tuk has more friends than us because she at least looks Na'vi."

"That is not why she has more friends," Ao'nung tries to smile, "Tuk is Tuk."

Y/n hums to herself, feeling one corner of her mouth twitch at the fond thought of her baby sister, "That's true."

"You..." Her eyes flick back up to Ao'nung when his voice didn't sound very confident. He wouldn't look her in the eyes, clearly feeling out of his comfort zone. She patiently waited for him to speak, occupying herself by watching drips of water fall off his brow or glisten in his hair, the sun reflecting off his wet braids like diamonds. Y/n's chest squeezed, but it wasn't an uncomfortable feeling. It was warm and it was spreading over her like a comforting blanket that her mother would leave beside the fire. Her thoughts are disrupted when Ao'nung finally finds the courage to look up, "You have never once doubted yourself like that. Lo'ak and Kiri sometimes still look at themselves and hate what they see, but not you. You've never doubted yourself, Y/n, so why start now?"

"It doesn't matter whether or not I despise how I look," she carefully answers, feeling small and scrutinized under his disbelieving gaze, "It matters what everyone else would think if they knew you were courting a deformed freak."

"You are not deformed."

"No?" She bitterly questioned, frowning as she lifted up her hand to him, purposely wiggling her pinky finger, "This doesn't freak you out? It is alien."

"So what?" He reached out for her hand, "An extra finger just means there is more of you to hold."

The response stuns her to the point she didn't react when Ao'nung slipped his hand into hers. Looking down, she stared at their joined hands, fingers wrapped around one another in an ornament of two different colors. Looking back, their skin tones complimented each other beautifully together, and the contrast just made sense. Y/n was still amazed about how big Ao'nung's hand was compared to hers, despite being the same age. Once those thoughts vanish, all that's left are Ao'nung's smooth words and the color slowly rising in her ears.

Y/n scoffs, trying to play it off, "Do you think yourself charming?"

Ao'nung grinned, "Only for you, ma'yawntu."

The term of endearment surprises her out of a laugh, playfully horrified, "Eywa, no."

"Paskalin?"

"Stop."

"Syulang?"

"Please, you are embarrassing."

"I got all day, tìyawn." Ao'nung laughed, "What would you like me to call you?"

"How about my name?" She asked sarcastically.

His smile was wide, bright, and downright beautiful. It took all of Y/n's willpower not to melt right then and there, "Of course, Forest Girl. It's what I prefer anyway."

"I'm sure it is, Seaweed Brain."

~~~~~~~~~

Ronal's baby was born in the traditional way, in a water birth ceremony called the First Breath, where the whole clan gathers around in shallow water to celebrate. Now, normally the tsahik would help the mother guide her newborn to the surface to take its first breath, but seeing as Ronal was the one expecting, one village healer and Tsireya were chosen to help her. This was a new kind of ceremony for the Sullys so they hadn't fully participated until after the baby was born, then they proceeded to celebrate with the rest of the Metkayina.

Kailani was a beautiful baby girl and everyone adored her. Nearly everyone wanted to see her and hold her. As the newest baby in the village, she had earned herself a lot of attention and was loved by all, especially her older brother and sister. Ao'nung was little enough that he couldn't remember when Tsireya was born, and Tsireya had always been the youngest, so this was the first time either of the chief's children experienced what it was like to have a new baby in the family... and it showed.

This became obvious a month into Kailani's life when Tuk came out of nowhere and started to drag Y/n and Kiri by their hands toward Ronal and Tonowari's marui, "Come on, come on! I wanna see the baby!"

The teen girls reluctantly follow their little sister, smiling fondly at Tuk's excitement. It was adorable to see that Tuk didn't have much experience with babies either. Approaching the pod, it was obvious neither tsahik nor olo'eyktan was home, and yet there were soft cries coming out of the marui. Tuk drops her sisters' hands and runs in while Y/n and Kiri dutifully follow. Walking inside, they find Tsireya and Ao'nung sitting close together, appearing a little worried and exhausted while looking down at the small baby lying in her big brother's arms. Both of the reef teenagers looked up when they heard someone enter, and Tsireya waved them over, "Have either of you seen our mother?"

Kiri and Y/n exchange a look before the former responds, "She's in the healer's hut. A warrior came in all scraped up from getting thrown against the coral reef."

"What is wrong?" Y/n asked.

"She won't stop crying," Tsireya admits shamefully, looking a little distraught, "We do not know why. We fed and changed her, but--"

"Have my sisters help," Tuk confidently offers without missing a beat, proud at her idea, "They know about babies. They helped Mama take care of me when I was little."

Tsireya and Ao'nung pointedly look up at the older Sully sisters, their eyes desperately pleading. Kiri was initially going to scoff at Tuk for her idea before Y/n wordlessly stepped forward and knelt down in front of Ao'nung. One look and she could tell why Kailani was so upset. Her tiny body wasn't exactly held close to Ao'nung's body but was instead held in his arms and in his lap. It didn't look comfortable and Y/n pitied the child.

"Here," Y/n offered, leaning over and helping Ao'nung adjust his hold on his baby sister, having him lift Kailani up from his lap and making sure he kept supporting her neck, "Babies need a lot of skin-to-skin contact at the beginning of their lives. It helps them bond with their mothers and other members of their family."

Y/n helps Ao'nung lift Kai until she's nestled snugly against his chest, her face protected in the crook of his neck. Almost immediately, the baby calms down, trying to bury her cold little nose into her brother's warm skin. Ao'nung is unable to speak or look away from Y/n, his ears only perking up as a sign he is listening when she keeps on explaining, "Try not to pinch her tswin. Without any hair to protect it yet, the tswin can be extra sensitive."

Kiri smiled softly to herself as Y/n continued to list several things Tsireya and Ao'nung could do, both of them listening with intense determination, all the while Kiri could only think about her older sister. It really was a shame that Y/n didn't want to take on the role of tsakarem, instead passing it along to Kiri when her adopted sister had shown an interest. Y/n still remembered a thing or two about healing from when Mo'at had begun to teach her, but from what Kiri understood, Y/n would get easily distracted and would beg their grandmother to dismiss her so she could go find Neteyam and train alongside him to become a warrior. Mo'at eventually gave in, fondly stating how Y/n was just like her mother, then proceeded to name Kiri her successor.

While Y/n may not like the method of healing and preferred hunting, she was still pretty knowledgeable when it was needed, and as Tuk said, she and Kiri remembered what it was like having a new baby in the family. Tsireya and Ao'nung appeared incredibly grateful for Y/n... but Kiri couldn't help but grin under her hand while looking at the way Ao'nung was staring at her older sister. The way his mouth formed such a secretive smile without the intention of showing it, his eyes subtly falling from Y/n's eyes to watch her lips as she spoke before flicking back up to her eyes before anyone would notice. But Kiri noticed, and she eventually had to look away because she felt as though she was intruding on something so intimate.

Rotxo had told Kiri and Spider about the mysterious arrowhead-shaped tooth that suddenly appeared around Y/n's neck one day, but the adopted Sullys didn't want to believe it. Lo'ak had scoffed, rolling his eyes and refusing to talk about it, but Neytiri had overheard and had this all-knowing smile on her face as she cooked over the hearth when her children walked back into the marui after bidding Rotxo goodnight. Jake and Tuk were none the wiser but Kiri had a feeling that her father was like Lo'ak, trying to ignore that something was clearly going on between Ao'nung and Y/n. Now, it was more obvious than ever.

~~~~~~~~~

While Y/n had not been able to complete all of her rites of passage alongside Rotxo and Ao'nung, she and the other Sully children still cheered them on and celebrated alongside them, especially after watching in amazement to see how a young Metkayina must finish certain challenges alongside their bonded tulkun brother or sister. After finishing those trials, along with taming their own skimwings, Ao'nung and Rotxo were gifted a special article of clothing, their first tattoo as warriors of the clan, and three beads for their songcords. Everyone was proud of the reef boys, now celebrated as young men among their People.

Next was going to be Y/n. She was determined to follow suit, as were Lo'ak and Kiri. They went out to practice for their trials every day, playfully competing with one another. Whilst Kiri was planning on becoming a healer in the tribe, she still wanted to tame a tsurak as her rite of passage and receive a Metkayina tattoo meant to signify healing. Jake and Neytiri were not sure how to feel about three of their children rushing toward adulthood, but they were supportive either way. The older Sully children tried very hard not to exclude Spider in the many training exercises, but he goodnaturedly shooed them away and told them to have fun and train hard. He may not be able to follow them, but he will still cheer them on from the sidelines, being there in spirit.

Lo'ak passed his trial with Payakan with flying colors, and now he and his sisters would move on to taming their own tsurak. Kiri did so with ease, her attachment to Eywa helping her befriend the mighty skimwing instead of mastering it. All of her siblings cheered for her from the docks, watching her disappear to wander with her new friend beyond the sea wall. Lo'ak was determined to go next, and while it looked a little rocky at times, he too, mastered his own warrior's mount, and Jake yelped and whooped proudly for his son. Lo'ak also left the safety of the lagoon to explore with his new friend and likely introduce him to Payakan.

When it was Y/n's turn to go tame a skimwing, Ao'nung approached her and spoke quietly under his breath, "Remember. The tsurak are temperamental creatures. Much like an ikran, you have to work hard to form a strong and loyal bond with them."

"Got it," Y/n nodded in acknowledgment, wrapping leather around her knuckles per her father's advice. Speaking of whom, Jake was approaching his daughter so Ao'nung simply nodded his head toward Toruk Makto and walked away to stand beside his own father.

Jake narrowed his eyes as he watched Ao'nung leave before softening his gaze and speaking down to his firstborn, "You're your mother's daughter. That makes you the best flyer and hunter on an ikran, so this will be a cakewalk for you. Tonowari told me that the ikran and the tsurak share a distant ancestor, so it's easy to see where they get their stubbornness from. You know how to tame stubbornness. You'll be a pro at this."

Y/n tried her very best not to visibly shrink up under her father's advice and praise. She wants to stand tall and proud under his words of affirmation now that they're starting to see eye-to-eye, but it is still a work in progress. She's not used to her father being so encouraging as of late, due to him stressing out over the war, moving away, and losing a son, so it was still a big step that needed adjusting. So, Y/n instead smiled widely up at her father and whispered a small thank you before rushing over to get the tsahik and olo'eyktan's blessing.

Ronal and Tonowari bid Y/n good luck with their own hidden smiles while Tsireya shared her confidence for her friend and lifted Kailani's arm up to wave at the Sully girl for encouragement. Ao'nung flashed his forest girl his own secret smile and a small nod, barely noticeable to the naked eye. Y/n practically beamed and with a new wave of confidence, turned and ran down the long dock to the very end, diving gracefully into the water.

All forms of sealife greet her underwater, her breath held as she forced herself not to get distracted. Since that fateful day against the Sky People, Y/n had been training herself to hold her breath longer, hoping to never have to worry anyone over her drowning ever again, not wanting to be a burden. Without wasting any time, she called out for a skimwing to approach her.

She had managed to find a school of fish Ao'nung told her was the tsurak's favorite snack, so she swam close to the fish and continued to call out, her heart singing when her strategy worked and a familiar beast gradually glided toward her, its powerful, scaled body creating a disturbance in the water. Looking like a Terran gharial, the tsurak approached with purpose and demanded to be respected, other small fish species quickly scattering to avoid it. With its long, sword-like snout, it gave itself personal space, and with its beady, soulless eyes, it analyzed Y/n. For an animal that was nearly domesticated with the Metkayina, Y/n wasn't worried about whether or not the creature deemed her as a threat, but then again, she looked different compared to all the other Na'vi the tsurak likely grew up with, and it was possible the skimwing could smell the part of her that descends from demons.

Y/n didn't take the kind and befriending approach as Kiri did. That form of taming only works for someone as Eywa-blessed at Y/n's adopted sister. Instead, she kept herself between the beast and its likely prey, the schoolfish behind her. The threat was clear. If it wanted to eat, the tsurak would have to go through her first.

The reptilian-looking fish didn't appear insulted by the threat and leisurely swayed side to side, jaw gradually opening and closing to breathe while stuck in place, showing off its small rows of razor-sharp teeth while staring Y/n down and waiting for the right opening to strike. Y/n slowly and carefully pulled her kuru braid over her shoulder all the while keeping her eyes locked on the tsurak. As they continued with this ocean version of a standoff, Y/n gradually began to inch forward, only moving in small, very slow strokes of water.

When she got too close, the tsurak opened its jaws and snapped down, quick as lightning, but Y/n was prepared for it. Much like taming an ikran, she quickly moved out of the way before the creature could bite her head off and, using her knuckles and palms now wrapped in leather, clamped down on the jaws of the creature, keeping it shut with as much muscle she could muster while using her newly found momentum to quickly swim onto the skimwing's back, never letting go. Knowing she would only have a second before the creature was no longer stunned, Y/n let go of the jaw with one hand and quickly grabbed her braid, immediately forming the tsaheylu.

The beast wiggled and then paused, swaying calmly back and forth as the connection was made. With her lungs slightly beginning to burn, Y/n didn't panic but also didn't hesitate to give the creature the order to resurface, now letting her other hand let go of the tsurak's snout in good faith. She promises to let the tsurak eat, later, if he swam up for air.

As quick as a bullet, the tsurak follows its new rider's order, shooting up through the water at great speed. Y/n nearly forgot to hang on tight, clamping her thighs down on the creature's back as tight as she could, her ears beginning to pop at the very sudden water pressure as they rose higher toward the surface. Sunlight was coming in fast and, before she knew it, Y/n was out of the water, leaping through the air, and plunging back into the ocean, all while still holding on tightly to the back of her very own tsurak. The beast resurfaces more gently this time and stays leisurely swimming above the water, giving Y/n much-needed time to breathe. She smiles when she can hear scattered cheering from the beach and docks but keeps on task, trying to stay focused. She has yet to fly with her new ride.

Adjusting her grip on the creature, she gives her new order, clenching her thighs again while preparing for the powerful beast's ascent. The tsurak begins to speed up, faster and faster until it's zipping through the water like a ship. Eventually, it gains enough momentum and the creature lets out its wings, extending them until they begin to catch air, and then the body rises out of the water. Y/n hangs on tight, stamping down the anxiety in her gut, sharing her determination and willpower through her new bond so the skimwing knows she means business. There is no room for failure.

The tsurak doesn't stumble, doesn't break, and doesn't lose focus. As they sail, the pair sails gracefully without a single wiggle or wobble. Y/n can faintly hear cheering in the distance but doesn't let it phase her. One more test. She gives the order and holds her breath, immediately bending down and pressing her body tightly against the creature's back.

The tsurak retracts its wings and points its snout down, briefly falling through the air before diving straight into the water below. The impact and mighty force of it all was much more powerful than riding an ilu, and Y/n had to hold on for dear life. Water rushed through her ears and she squinted her eyes in order to see better, but she held on and she held firmly. She would rather get her arm pulled off than let go, so she held on tighter, her leather wraps doing the trick to give her a better grip. One last order and Y/n feels the pair of them shooting back up through the water and into the air again, and this time, Y/n hoots triumphantly at the top of her lungs, hanging on tightly with one hand but throwing her other fist in the air, her trial complete.

Several people are cheering with her on the beach and in the water. Spider, Tuk, and Jake are whooping and hollering like party animals, ecstatic for their daughter and sister. Ao'nung and Rotxo are cheering alongside them, along with several other Metkayina watching the event. Y/n beams proudly at all of them from a distance, then proceeds to follow Kiri and Lo'ak's lead and head for open waters.

Ao'nung is smiling just as proudly from the beach, and once Y/n takes off, so does he. The chief's son immediately breaks into a sprint down the side of the beach, diving into the water before another word can be said. Once below the surface, he calls for his own skimwing and takes off after the Sully girl.

The only one who appeared to notice Ao'nung slip away was Neytiri, but she appeared to be smiling as she watched the reef boy chase after her daughter. A brief wave of déjà vu washed over her as she watched until she couldn't see either tsurak anymore. She smiled fondly, proud and filled with unimaginable joy as she had witnessed history repeat itself, much like it had with her when she first chased after Jake on their ikran.

The new warriors do not stay out for long. When eclipse comes, Y/n, Ao'nung, Lo'ak, and Kiri return for the Sully children's ceremony. The sunlight disappears and it's replaced with a bioluminescent glow everywhere, as far as the eyes could see. Lo'ak, Y/n, and Kiri stand before Ronal and Tonowari as they are presented with their rewards, their article of clothing, and the beads for their songcords to signify this triumphant milestone of adulthood. The Na'vi believe that every person is born twice and the second time is when a Na'vi finds his or her place among the People forever.

Once Ronal and Tonowari bestow the three Sullys their first tattoos, they were officially one with the Metkayina, marked with warrior and healer ink. Everyone gathered around the new young adults and congratulated them, making room for the parents to squeeze their way through the crowd and finally gather their children up. Neytiri held her children against her, joyous tears in her eyes even as her heart broke, mourning their childhoods but celebrating their futures. Jake held his children just as tightly but didn't make a sound, afraid of what would come out if he tried to talk.

The ceremony gave way to celebration, large bonfires lining up and down the beach, the flames rising high into the night sky, embers blinking down on Eywa's children along with the stars above. The Metkayina dance together in wide circles around the fires, conjoined in several different rings, moving in opposite directions as they sang, talked, laughed, ate, and drank to their hearts' content.  

Y/n found herself dancing around a fire that was shared by most of the newest warriors of the tribe, people around her own age, and her brother and Kiri. There were so many fires along the beach, however, so it would be nearly impossible to find out which ones her other family members were socializing at, hidden among the chaotic crowds of flailing limbs and boisterous songs. She allowed herself to let loose and cared little about what others thought of her, letting the swoa warm her stomach and the fire her skin. She stuck close to Kiri and Tsireya for a short while before the chief's daughter ran off to find Lo'ak. Y/n and Kiri playfully rolled their eyes before the latter decided to turn in for the night-- which is just code for she was going to keep Spider company so their adopted brother didn't feel left out. Y/n let her sister go without complaint, giving her a brief hug and voicing how proud she was of her. Kiri smiled brightly under the praise and took off, leaving Y/n's heart feeling warm as well. Getting roped back into dancing, Y/n danced without a care in the world, not bothered by whether or not she looked bad, and sang with the others until she was breathless. The celebration was getting to be too disorderly with everyone having so much fun that faces had begun to blur and sometimes when people danced, they were spinning too fast to figure out their bearings. 

But Y/n let her feet carry her to her intended destination, and that was right into Ao'nung's arms. With her family elsewhere and other Metkayina having too much fun to otherwise gape at the sight, Y/n danced with the chief's son for practically the whole night, tired and out of breath, but never wanting to stop. She couldn't help it. With the fire lighting one side of his face and the bioluminescent ocean lighting the other, Ao'nung looked ethereal, and Y/n couldn't stop her rapidly beating heart even if she wanted to.  

Ao'nung only looked at her, never caring about who saw them, his smile gentle and eyes proud, not helping the flips Y/n's stomach was taking. Her body felt like it was on fire in the best way possible under his gaze, and maybe it was the lighting, maybe it was the liquid courage, or maybe it was the way he was looking at her, but her mind was open and her voice was knocked loose from her throat as she pulled her reef boy close to her and whispered so only he could hear the words that she knew, deep down, were only meant for him, "Ao'nung. Oel ngati kameie."

Ao'nung's eyes briefly widened, mouth falling open in shock, yet he couldn't take a breath in. The fire didn't help the blooming fire in the forest girl's yellow eyes, piercing up at his and leaving him breathless, unable to come up for air. She didn't look afraid or even bothered by his reaction, instead, she smiled, a little cheekily, as if she could see just how much she affected him. Slowly, he comes back to his senses, a smile slowly creeping up his lips once more. His hands gently cup both sides of her face, marveling at how her entire head fit perfectly in his palms, while her reasonably smaller hands move to hold his sides, keeping his body close to hers. Ao'nung leans in, taking a small breath in through his nose, memorizing her scent before he gently fits his lips against hers, to which she responds in kind. The kiss tasted like sea salt and swoa, but neither complained, closing their eyes and reveling in their closeness.

Despite her lessons, Y/n regrettably needed to pull away for air, and when the kiss broke, her soft pants ghosted across Ao'nung's skin, hot and prickly, and when her eyes opened, she stared up at him through her eyelashes, cheeks slightly flushed. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to relax his body, his heart racing to the tempo of drums playing somewhere in the crowd. Eventually, his mind clears and he manages to find words again, leaning his forehead into his forest girl's.

"Ma'yawntutsyìp Y/n. Oel ngati kameie."

~~~~~~~~~

Neytiri sees everything when it comes to her children, especially her firstborn daughter. That girl is a spitting image of the mother who birthed her, except for the little human features she inherited from her father, so Neytiri often knew what was going on in Y/n's head because she had been in her daughter's footsteps. Neytiri was young once. She knew what it was like to be in love.

Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite had seen the lingering glances, the stares when the other wasn't looking, and the smiles that were only shared between each other. Furthermore, Neytiri had noticed the arrowhead on Y/n's necklace the second she came home that day, and then the mother noticed Ao'nung anxiously waiting to get out there and chase her daughter into the sea astride their tsurak. And of course, even in the vast crowds lining the beach the night of Y/n's ceremony, Neytiri could see the young pair kissing, unbothered by the amount of people around them. It felt as though no one had seen them but her. 

And yet, she had not said a word. Much like Y/n and Ao'nung's sisters, Neytiri intended to take their secret to the grave if it meant seeing her eldest daughter smile again. Sure, Neytiri was fiercely protective of her children, but she would never refuse her child when it came to whatever made them happy... especially after she had lost Neteyam.

So Neytiri kept quiet and just watched from a distance. Now that three of her children were seen as adults among the Metkayina, their tattoos a physical sign as such, she wasn't gonna go around telling them what to do anymore and just enjoyed their company while it lasted. After all, soon they will choose men or women to be with... and not long after that, Neytiri will find her marui emptier than the day before.

One fateful day, Neytiri found herself alone with Y/n in their family pod, cooking some fish over the fire to prepare meals for the rest of the Sullys to take with them throughout the day. It was a quiet and comfortable morning until Ao'nung showed up, respectfully greeting Neytiri before asking Y/n if she would like to join the other warriors on a hunt that afternoon.

Y/n perked up at the offer, her smile brightening under Ao'nung's gaze. Wordlessly, she nudges Neytiri's shoulder with her forehead, and her mother leans into the touch before the daughter draws away and stands up. Y/n briefly grabs Ao'nung's arm before diving into the water with the intention of having him follow her. Ao'nung stayed a second longer, lingering in the doorway of Neytiri's home when he noticed the woman staring at him. Despite wanting her daughter's happiness, Neytiri also wants her daughter to be safe, so she briefly glares at the chief's son before simply looking back down at her task, "If she gets hurt, I pluck your eyes out."

For some reason, he knew she wasn't talking about the hunting party.

That same night, during communal dinner, Neytiri could see just how obvious Ao'nung and Y/n looked. Instead of sitting with her family, Y/n sat with his, conversing between him and Tsireya without a care in the world. Occasionally, the chief's son would try to sneak a kiss on the forest girl's cheek, hiding it by pretending to whisper in her ear. Y/n would smile shyly, her pinky finger subtly reaching out for his hand whilst she talked to his sister.

This time, Neytiri wasn't the only one who noticed, and she cursed herself for not trying to distract her husband sooner instead of openly gawking at the young pair with him. The moment Ao'nung reached for Y/n's pinky finger, Neytiri could feel her husband tense up beside her. Immediately, she knew what was about her happen once her mate quickly stood up and she was helpless to stop it. 

"Jake--" She had gotten up as well but it was too late. Her mate had already stormed off in the direction of their daughter. Several eyes throughout the communal meal turned in their direction and Neytiri could feel their stares prickling along her back, her other children now aware of something wrong when she stood.

"Mama?" Tuk asked.

The older Sully children immediately clock the situation once they follow their mother's gaze, seeing their father clearly out for blood as he beelines for the chief's family. Spider immediately scrambles to his feet, "Shit--"

Neytiri didn't know whether to hiss at or agree with Spider's observation, her feet taking her to where Jake was going, the rest of her children now standing up to follow her as well, abandoning their meals. Neytiri would not make it in time, but even from where she was, she could hear the commotion already starting when Jake reached down and grabbed Y/n's arm, pulling her to her feet and away from Ao'nung, "Alright, young lady. Time to talk."

"Dad, what--"

Ao'nung immediately rose to his feet without thinking. Neytiri almost pitied him, "Sir--"

Jake's glare fell on Ao'nung, his voice dropping low to a tone only the military side of him could produce, "And you, boy. Did you mate with my daughter?"

"Dad!"

Y/n's exclamation further drew the attention of the tsahik and olo'eyktan, along with even more Metkayina sitting around the growing commotion. Neytiri could see Ronal and Tonowari stand up as well, their eyes only on Jake and their son, dread forming in her gut at the idea of what might happen next. Ronal handed Kailani over to Tsireya and marched with her mate over to the confrontation as Jake continued to talk down to her son. 

"And whatever you say better be the answer I'm hoping for, young man. So choose your words wisely."

Neytiri finally reached her husband and grabbed his arm, opening her mouth to try and get him to calm down while the rest of their children stood around them and simply observed with worried glances. Ao'nung glared only at Jake, his shoulders squared back, and stepped up no doubt to defiantly say something stupid before Y/n stopped him from where she stood behind her father.

"Ao'nung," she warned loudly, to which his eyes flicked to hers at the sound of her voice.

Time stilled as everyone turned to Y/n, waiting to hear what she had to say, even her father. She didn't look at anyone else other than her lover. All Y/n had to do was flatten her ears and just ever so slightly tilt her head, eyes locked on his the whole time for Ao'nung to get the message, loud and clear. His shoulders lower and visibly calms himself under her stare, and in response, Ao'nung merely nods. The young Metkayina backed down, stepping away from Toruk Makto and glancing off to the side, eyes and ears lowered like an injured nantang pup. Jake's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, glancing between Ao'nung and his daughter, trying to figure out what had just happened.

From beside Lo'ak, Kiri silently gasps behind her hand as she whispers to the younger brother, "Oh, my Eywa. He's so whipped for her."

"Bro-- shut up," Lo'ak hissed back, glaring at his sister's tiny amused smile while Spider laughed under his breath.

Jake didn't have time to berate his other children as he shook off his confusion and his wife's arm, letting go of Y/n's bicep but keeping her frozen to the spot under his cold, scrutinizing glare, "Look at me, young lady," she refused at first, eyes flicking elsewhere in shame and fear, "Look at me."

Her frown twitches just as the fear dissipates, her usual distaste for authority returning. Her eyes harden as she purposely and slowly glares up at her father through her eyebrows, her entire posture now defiant and standing strong against him.

Either Jake didn't notice this subtle change in body language or he didn't care, glaring right back at her, "Tell me the truth. It's a simple yes or no. Did you mate with him?"

She flashed her fangs, grinding out her response between her teeth, "No, sir."

"Do you plan on it?"

"I do not see how that is any of your business anymore."

"Y/n, where I'm from, you're still too young to have a family," he points back to Ao'nung without ever taking his eyes off his daughter, "And he is the chief's son--"

"You can't tell me who I can or cannot be with when Mom went against everyone and everything she believed in to be with you," her tone was strong and accusatory, throwing Jake into a state of shock as he nearly stumbles back. Y/n stood strong against her father, her words bold and as destructive as a tsunami wave, "I would not exist if you hadn't gone off and mated with the chief's daughter so don't you dare try to sound as if you are above such scandal." 

"Oh, snap," Spider muttered, earning an elbow to his chest from Lo'ak.

The entire commotion had been driven to silence, everyone waiting with bated breath as to what would happen next. Neytiri felt both fear and pride for her daughter, again, feeling history repeat itself through the eyes of her child. Tonowari finally broke the silence and the stand-off by stepping between Jake and Y/n and placing a comforting hand on Toruk Makto's shoulder, all the while pointedly staring at each and every Na'vi who was openly watching the family feud, "I think it is time for everyone to return to their meals."

Ronal backs up her mate's demand by glaring at all the bystanders, "Go on."

The Metkayina scatter, either to return to their seats or avert their eyes back to their food, the silence now filled with casual mumbling among the People. Jake's ears droop when he realizes the size of the audience he attracted by his outburst and he has the decency to look ashamed. He peers back to his family and mutters, "Lo'ak. Spider. Take the girls home."

"I can walk myself home, thank you very much," Y/n snarled dangerously, stepping around Tonowari and her father and stomping through the parting sea of Na'vi who dared to get in her way.

Tuk pouted and stomped her foot defiantly, "So can I!"

Kiri sighs in mental exhaustion toward her baby sister, "Tuk..." 

Once the other Sully kids gathered and vanished from the meal, Tonowari glanced between Ao'nung and Jake, "Let us return to my home to further discuss this."

Ronal gestured Neytiri over to her before looking over her shoulder to address Tsireya, "Stay here, ma'ite."

Tsireya nodded appropriately, keeping Kailani close to her chest as she flashed a small look of encouragement to Ao'nung. She watched her parents and brother walk out of the community marui, the Sullys following suit. Neytiri walks out into the night with her husband's hand in hers, squeezing his fingers in encouragement.

Once the group was safe inside Ronal and Tonowari's home, Jake immediately apologized, "Brother, forgive me for my actions against your family. I was out of line and your son did not deserve my behavior toward him."

Tonowari raised his hand to gently silence him, "I will not fault a father for just trying to protect his child. There is nothing to forgive. Ao'nung is still young and has much to learn. Before he began to court your daughter, he should have gone to you for your blessing immediately."

Ao'nung, clearly embarrassed, kept his head down while he quietly whined, "Father, please--"

"You are the one who wishes to court Toruk Makto's daughter, boy," Tonowari directed his gaze to his son, eyes darkening but not as a threat, but in disappointment, "As the future of our clan, you should have done what tradition demands."

Jake took pity on Ao'nung, watching the way a father looked down on his son, immediately thrown back to the past when he, too, looked down on Neteyam and Lo'ak, and instantly knew he had to speak up this time, "No. I don't blame your son for not coming to me. I don't deserve that sort of respect. Y/n is strong-willed and she knows I don't deserve the respect of being her father or any traditions that require me to be so. If anything, she would much rather have Ao'nung ask for my sons' blessings over my own because her brothers respect her as an individual who can make her own decisions... unlike me."

Tonowari nods, looking back to meet eyes with his mate. Ronal shares a silent conversation with him before the chief turns back to the Sullys, "If it is any consultation, Jakesully, Ronal and I have approved of this match a long time ago."

Ao'nung's head perks up with interest, "You did?"

Jake's question echoed Ao'nung's, equally shocked, "You did?"

The chief explains with a distant look in his eyes, "I was much like my son at that age. Arrogant, crude, and desperate to please the other reef boys around me. All it took was to find Ma Ronal to get my head back on straight. From that day on, I only ever ran after her." 

Ronal pointedly looks at Neytiri, her chin held high, "Even though he is destined to be olo'eyktan one day, my son has never shown interest in a mate. Never. Not once. That is... until he met your daughter."

Neytiri took Ronal's stare as an opening for her to add to the discussion, raising her hand to gently take her husband's arm to grab his attention, "Jake. I already knew."

Jake turned back to her, still shocked and sounding like a broken record, "You did?"

"Everyone did," she nodded, smiling slightly, "Apart from you. Why do you think none of us have said anything before now? It is because we have accepted it and even approved of the match. We all would have said something sooner if we were against it. Y/n is taronyu now and she does not need our permission to live her life anymore. She never had."

Jake takes a moment to collect his thoughts, breathing deeply in and out slowly through his nose. He stared off into space, conflicted with a war going on in his head before Neytiri simply squeezed his arm and he returned to the present. Jake looked back at his wife before raising his white flag, turning his gaze onto Ao'nung with an expression of guilt.

"I am sorry, Ao'nung. I shouldn't have accused you of anything. I know Y/n is capable of taking care of herself and I know she wouldn't have given you the time of day if she didn't think you were a good man," Ao'nung stands up straighter, appearing grateful and nodding to Jake before the former marine turned to Tonowari, "We'll take our leave now. I apologize for interrupting your supper."

Jake takes Neytiri's hand again and they walk home, speaking as they walk so their conversation is kept private before they would have to face their children, "Does he have to court her now? They're too young."

Neytiri hums in agreement, "Courting sometimes takes years, Ma Jake."

"It wasn't with us."

She hums again, only it was full of fond amusement, "If I recall, you never courted me."

A small grin played on his lips, a little drained from tonight's events, but it was genuine all the same as he playfully spoke, "No, but if I recall, you knew exactly what you were doing taking me out there to the Tree of Voices, alone, wearing your hair like that and wearing that lovely top--"

"Ma Jake!" Neytiri gasped in astonishment, gently slapping his chest and laughing as they finally made it home.

The parents quiet their amusement before they walk into the marui, instantly met with five pairs of eyes, four yellow and one brown. While the rest of their children stared expectedly at them, Y/n immediately looked away, ears pulled back in embarrassment and tucking her knees up to her chest.

Jake immediately beelines for Y/n, slowly sitting down beside her as he wraps an arm around her shoulders, "I'm sorry."

Conflict flashes over her face. It felt as though she and her father were back at square one, fighting as though they hadn't already sorted out their issues. Then again, this wasn't Neteyam, or the war, or Y/n's depression. Jake was just trying to be the classic overprotective parent he was always meant to be. He wasn't acting as a soldier. He was acting as a father, and that's all Y/n had ever wanted from him. Slowly, she melts into her father's embrace and sighs, "I know. You were just being my father. That is not something I'll ever blame you for. Just... don't be so embarrassing next time."

Jake and the rest of the children laugh while he just holds Y/n close. Neytiri smiles at the scene, trying to memorize it as best as she can so she can share it with Neteyam the next time she visits her son. After all, Y/n was one step closer to moving out of their family marui and wouldn't be able to hug her father like this as often as they used to. As sad as that made Neytiri feel, she was comforted by the fact that Ao'nung was kind and good to her daughter, and she would never be alone again.

A/N: The next part will be the final! Basically, I wrote everything that I wanted for this story, and the rest of it can be told in just one more chapter, so I hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have!

[mountttmase]

Winter Sun - Chapter 6

Note - happy valentines guys 🥺 the second to last chapter I actually can’t believe it like how did we get here. I know a lot of you have been dreading this moment and won’t actually read it until next week but I hope you enjoy and I’m sorry in advance 😌🩷 I know it’s not the best thing to read on a day like today but I would love some feedback so please let me know what you think if you’d like to 🩷

Pairing - Mason Mount × Reader

Word count - 8k

Warnings - series will contain fluff, smut & angst

Masterlist

Waking up wrapped up in Masons arms wasn’t something you ever pictured at the start of this holiday. Another rule broken but you could look past this one.

He was adorable, his hair a mess as it fell over his forehead making him look even more boyish and charming than usual and his eyebrows were pinched together making him almost look irritated but it was his pretty pink pout you loved the most. Wanting to reach down so you could kiss him properly but you knew you shouldn’t.

As quickly and as quietly as you could, you got yourself out of his grip and made your way back to your room. Popping a gentle kiss on his head as you did so before getting ready for your last day by the pool. You wanted to get there a little earlier today just in case Ben was waiting for you and your suspicions were confirmed when you found him outside already.

‘You all ready for your lesson, y/n?’ Ben smiled as soon as you stepped outside and you nodded at him shyly.

Truth be told, you were a little apprehensive about coming out here today after the drama of yesterday. Not wanting everyone to look at you sympathetically or for anyone to make a fuss but thankfully it was just Ben and Woody out here for the moment and when the latter sent you a bright smile you returned it.

‘I think so’

‘Good I was researching all night and I think I’ve devised the perfect lesson’ he smiled proudly so after a big deep breath you made your way to the steps of the pool and Ben came to stand next to you. ‘It’s not so deep just here, should come to your waist so you’ll be alright’ he smiled but when he held his hand out you took it before following him into the pool.

You felt your knees shake a little with each step you took but soon enough you’d made it all the way down and Ben was right, the water was just past your waist and you felt like half the battle was done already.

You started off holding onto the sides, letting your body float with a little help from Woody before you could do it on your own and you began to kick your legs.

‘What’s going on out here?’ You suddenly heard, looking up to see Mason stood just outside the door with an unreadable expression on his face.

‘Swimming lesson’ Ben told him, looking up at him nervously as they hadn’t spoken since Mason snapped at him yesterday but you knew Mason couldn’t stay mad at him for long.

Mason didn’t answer, just nodded his head once before walking back inside and you felt your heart sink. He hadn’t even looked at you before going in and you wondered if you should follow him in but Ben was ready for the next part of your lesson so you just ignored it for now.

You and Ben were surprised at how quickly you managed to pick up the basics but no one was more surprised than Carly. Excitedly squealing as you showed her your new tricks before grabbing her phone to take some photos in order to commemorate the big moment.

Mason still hadn't come back outside even after everyone else had and once your lesson was over and once you’d dried off you still couldn’t find him inside anywhere but when you came outside again there he was sat. All on his own on the table to the opposite side of where the pair of you could normally be found.

You wanted to speak to him but his attitude this morning was making you feel unsure of yourself until you gave yourself a pep talk. This was Mason, the boy who kissed you like you were his own yesterday and whose arms you fell asleep in last night so you shook yourself off and made your way over to him.

‘Mase?’ You asked, standing in front of him so that he’d look at you and when he eventually did were shocked at his blank expression. ‘Why are you sat over here all alone?

He didn’t answer you, just shrugged before looking back at his phone and you didn’t know what to do. He’d never been this way with you before ever and you were shocked at how cold he was acting towards you after yesterday.

‘Can I get you a drink? Anything to eat?’

‘No thanks’

You were stumped, your tummy sinking lower the longer he looked away from you so eventually you did the only thing you could and walked away from him. Going back to your own lounger and sitting down but you could see Ben moving out of the corner of your eye.

‘I’ll go have a word with him. We haven’t spoken since yesterday so it’s probably me he’s in a mood with’ he told you. Watching him stalk off over to the other side of the pool and chat to Mason for a few seconds before their pair of them went out of sight.

You weren’t sure what you’d done to make him not want to talk to you or even sit by you so you let Ben go and see to him. Watching the pair of them stand up and walk down to the grassy area that was just out of sight and even though it was none of your business you were itching to know what they were talking about.

When they came back Mason was smiling and laughing with Ben but he still didn’t come and sit with you. Making it clear that it was you he had the issue with and you felt your eyes fill with tears. You tried blinking them away but it was no use, you were upset and confused and no longer wanted to be out there with him so you quickly got up and rushed back inside to your room. You knew he was watching you leave but he made no attempt to follow you and you didn’t know if you were sad or relieved about it.

‘Stop crying’ you whispered to yourself once you were in the safy of your bathroom. Fanning your face and dabbing your eyes to try and stop yourself having a full on meltdown but you were so confused by his actions you didn’t know how to behave.

You thought about spending the rest of the day in your room but that seemed a little dramatic so with one final look in the mirror you made your way outside again. Not before chucking on a cover up as you felt a little uncomfortable being so exposed in front of him again for some reason but by the time you were back outside Mason had moved again. Sat on his side of your shared lounger and your heart gave a thump at the sight of him.

You didn’t know what to do, would it be awkward if you went and sat there again? Or would it be more awkward if you went and sat somewhere else?

In the end you went back over, sitting up right as he was laid back and you made no attempt to even look at him until you felt his fingers close around your wrist. Turing to look at him with a blank expression as his eyes looked deeply into yours.

He didn’t say a word, just patted his chest with his free hand as an invitation for you to lay on him and even though you desperately didn’t want to give into him that quickly you felt yourself shuffling around to face him. Laying back in his arms so you could place your head on his chest and when he squeezed you tightly you felt yourself on the brink once more.

‘Why did you get dressed?’ He asked you quietly, his hand reaching up and under your top so he could lightly run his fingers across your skin but you just shook your head as you nuzzled into him further. Not able to string a few words together as you were feeling shy and unsure of yourself but he only held you tighter.

You knew this was his way of saying sorry without actually saying it and even though you so desperately wanted to talk to him about what was bothering him, you also didn’t want to push your luck and push him away any further away.

So you laid there in silence. Listening to one another’s breathing as Ben's music played over the speakers in the background. The warm sun on your skin as you soaked up the last of it that you could only for it to hit you that this was probably the last time you’d be able to lay like this with Mason out here.

Everything seemed to have turned into a mess overnight and the prospect of this being the last time you could do this together had you subconsciously cling onto him a little harder.

‘I’m just popping inside to get a drink’ he suddenly murmured against you forehead, pulling away slightly but in your panic you held him in place.

‘I can get that’ you told him, the incessant need to please him taking over as you went to sit up but he was holding onto you tightly and you couldn’t move.

‘It’s okay, I’ll get it’ he whispered. ‘Would you like anything?’

‘No thanks’ you told him. Releasing him so he could go and when he came back you noticed he had a bottle of water for you anyway.

This time he didn’t invite you to lay with him, crawling next to you and placing his head on your chest this time and your hand automatically went into his hair so you could run your fingers through it. Feeling him hum into your neck as you stroked his skin and when he reached up under your top again you let him. His fingers splayed out against your ribs so he could hold you close before hooking his leg over yours.

You felt him shuffling about again soon after. Keeping his hand on your body but rolling you onto your side as he laid his head on the pillow next to yours so you could face each other. The small smile on his lips settled you slightly but his sad eyes were throwing you off.

Ever the unexpected, he lent forward just a touch to place a kiss on the end of your nose before settling back down again. Shutting his eyes but you didn’t follow suit. You wanted to really look at him but you hated the way your heart thumped in your chest as you did.

You’d hadn't realised it until this week but he really was the prettiest man you’d ever seen. There was nothing about him you didn’t like and looking at him like this was making your tummy flutter.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open, boring into yours and you knew you’d been caught looking at him. Your cheeks flushing as soon as his lips curved up into a little smile before you watched him raise his head. Looking around to see if anyone was looking your way or paying attention to him but everyone must have been preoccupied as he swiftly dipped his head to place the softest and sweetest kiss to your lips.

‘Sorry’ you whispered but he didn’t reply. Just pulled you further into his body again so you could cuddle into his chest but this time you let yourself go. Falling asleep on him as he pressed kisses to your head every so often.

No matter what the pair of you did that day, Mason was by your side. When you went inside to make some lunch he was there, helping you get everything you needed as he trailed his fingers across your skin repeatedly.

When the rest of the boys asked if he wanted to join them for a quick game on the grass he told them he was too tired and fell asleep with his head in your lap as you chatted away to the girls until you all decided it was getting late and you wanted to get ready for tonight.

Mason still wasn’t very talkative even though he was being clingy and you wanted to do something to snap him out of it so you found your most outrageous outfit in hopes the tight black leather skirt and off the shoulder top would lift his mood but you were nervous to see him again after how today had gone.

Carly texted to let you know she was ready and heading to the living room so you grabbed your bag and headed out to join her. Mason clearly had the same idea as you and was leaving his room at the same and your mouth went dry as you looked him up and down.

He always dressed well but he looked so sexy right now. His white vest hugging him in all the right places and not leaving much to the imagination as his baggy trousers sat nicely on his hips whilst the white over shirt tied it all nicely together. His white outfit unconsciously making the pair of you look like yin and Yang and you felt drawn to him. Walking towards him like he had some sort of magnetic force but it was the look in his eyes that made your knees weak.

He looked hungry, eyes flickering all over your face as he met you in the middle of the hall and you wanted to melt into him. His hand coming up to cup your face and you lent into his palm as his eyes focused on your lips. Licking his own subconsciously as he leant forward, bumping your nose gently before leaning down to kiss you but the sound of Carly’s voice from upstairs made you both stop in your tracks. His lips barely a centimetre from yours as his warm breath fanned your face but he was pulling back, placing his lips on your forehead now before linking his fingers through yours and walking you upstairs.

He dropped your hand as you neared the top. Not wanting anyone to see you like that together but the thing that confused you was the way he didn’t want to even stand near you now. Sticking with the boys as they tried to order a taxi and when they eventually came you ended up in two different ones.

Dinner was fine, Mason perked up a little and it was the most you’d heard him speak all day but the only issue was he was talking to everyone else but you. Thankfully with everyone joining in you didn’t feel too awkward about it but you didn’t get to share dessert like usual and your heart felt heavier the more the evening went on.

The bar you had booked for the evening was only a short walk away and you stuck with Lauren as Mason spoke to Chilly in front of you and when he didn’t wait for you to go in with him you felt even worse linking your arm through Lauren’s as Dec guided you to your table.

You’d noticed it all week, girls eyes lingering on Mason but his eyes rarely left yours so you never worried about him going to speak to anyone else. Tonight was different though.

He was looking everywhere but you, standing and chatting with Woody and Kayla and you stuck to Carly’s side as you needed a laugh and she was always the best person to go to for that.

Eventually all the girls were together, squeezed in a booth with Lauren on your other side now but when the boys came back from the bar Mason was nowhere to be seen.

‘Where’s Mase?’ Carly asked, looking up at Ben in confusion but when he nodded back to the bar with a cheeky smile your tummy dropped for the millionth time that day. You knew what that face meant and you didn’t want to hear it at all.

‘He’s chatting some girl up at the bar. I think she’s Italian so she barely understands him’

‘Of course he is’

‘Hey give the guy a break, he’s been good all week, barely looked at anyone so no one got uncomfortable with some random girl around. Let him let his hair down a bit’

‘Is that why he’s had a face like a slapped arse all day?’ Dec laughed, sitting himself next to Lauren before reaching over to tap your knee. ‘You next then, y/n? I’ve been waiting all week to set you up with someone’

‘I’m alright, thanks’ you smiled, looking down at your lap but you didn’t miss the look in his eyes. Deep down you knew he knew something was going on but you were too upset thinking about Mason talking to another girl to think about that right now. You were just thankful at least you couldn’t see him for now.

It was difficult trying to talk to everyone when you were feeling so miserable. Trying to smile and keep up with what everyone was saying but you knew you kept going in on yourself and staring into space and ignoring everyone.

‘You okay?’ Carly whispered, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as you were in your own head and the sound of her voice made you jump.

‘Y-yeah sorry, just in my old little world there’ you laughed but the look of concern on her face made you squirm.

‘Are you sure? Has something happened? I know what you’re like and you like to bottle it in but you would tell me wouldn’t you?’

‘Yeah, of course’ you breathed, downing the rest of your drink before sending her a smile. ‘Do you fancy a dance? I could do with shaking my butt around a bit’ you laughed and thankfully she agreed. Pulling the rest of the girls with you but as soon as you were out from the safety of the booth you were right in his eyeline.

You could only see the back of her but you could tell she was his type from a mile off. Petite but curvy and leggy with tanned skin and flowing shiny hair but it was his hand resting on her waist that was the real kicker. Hers on his chest as she laughed at whatever he was saying in her ear and the sight made your skin prickle uncomfortably.

It was fair to say you’d been tipsy most nights on this holiday, but all you could think about right now was getting black out drunk. You didn't even want to acknowledge Mason existed right now so on your way to the dance floor you stopped by a different bar and grabbed some shots. Downing them like they were water but they were having the desired effect. Joining the girls and for once you didn’t care what you looked like or if Mason was watching and liked what he saw. You were having fun with your girls like you should have done this whole week and when a waitress came by with a tray of shots you got one everytime.

You could barely see or hear a thing, all you could do was feel the music as it moved through you and under any normal circumstances you knew it was silly to get in this state but right now you just wanted to forget everything and everyone.

You stumbled back to your table alone. Wanting to down some water before you went back to dance again and you noticed Mason still wasn’t with the boys. Your eyes searching for him and you spotted him sitting at a different table with the girl from the bar and a few of her friends who all appeared to be fawning over him and you could tell he was in his element. Not even paying you a glance whilst you were nearby and you couldn’t help but let out a scoff as you finished your water.

‘You okay?’ Woody asked, holding into your arm as you stumbled slightly but you just sent him a bright smile in hopes he’d see you were fine.

‘I’m gooooood’ you slurred, tapping his chest lightly. ‘Gonna go back for a dance’ you told him, watching both of his faces look at you with a frown before you felt someone else’s hand on your shoulder.

‘Come on, we’ll come with you’ Ben told you, linking your arm as Woody took the other and even though you knew you shouldn’t, you risked a glance back over to Mason who was still flirting his little socks off but you could see Dec going over to join him now.

As soon as you were back on the safety of the dance floor you felt yourself let go again. Watching Ben join Carly as they whispered about something and you knew it was about you from the way she was looking at you.

You wanted to know what they were saying, getting ready to go and join them until you felt someone’s hands on your waist and you knew who it was immediately. Masons aftershave overtaking your senses as he pressed himself into your back but you were in no state to fight him off. Melting into his body like you always did and you cursed yourself for having this reaction.

‘You alright?’ He asked in your ear. Goosebumps rising on your skin immediately but his sudden concern for you was making you angry.

‘What do you care’ you mumbled loud enough for him to hopefully hear as you tried to pull away from him but he was too strong for you. Holding you flush against his body and you thought better than to try and wiggle away again.

‘Let’s go sit down okay?’ He told you, pulling you off of the dance floor and back over to your table where there were a few bottles of water sitting waiting. He opened one for you immediately and helped you take a few glugs before tilting your face up to meet his.

Even blurred you hated how pretty he was, his brows furrowed into a frown as his eyes scanned your face and you wanted to pull away from him but you couldn’t. He was your weakness and even if he’d been dangling other girls in your face tonight you still wanted to be next to him now.

‘I’ll get you something to eat, yeah? Sober you up a bit’

‘Whatever’ you huffed, pulling your face out of his grip so you could go back to sulking and he left you to it. Disappearing for five minutes before coming back with a white box.

‘I had to bribe the bouncer so I could bring these in so you better eat them. Most expensive chips in the world, these’ he told you, opening the box up and setting them in front of you. Even though you were mad at him your heart still fluttered at the way he’d made sure there was a little blob of mayo on the side.

You didn’t thank him, but sat and ate your chips quietly between sips of water. The room slowly stopping spinning as you ate and when Mason put his arm around you so he could pull you closer you let him.

‘You alright now?’ He asked in your ear, kissing your temple gently as he reached for a chip but you just let him. Not wanting to talk to him after he’d barely said a word to you all day and he knew you were pissed at him. ‘Not gonna answer me no?’ He chuckled, his tone infuriating you but you didn’t have a chance to fight back. Everyone else coming back to join you and eyeing your box of chips curiously.

‘Another round?’ Woody asked the group, everyone cheering but Mason shook his head for the pair of you and you huffed out of annoyance.

‘I’ve only just got you back to semi sober, no more yeah’

You again didn’t answer him with words. Shrugging your shoulders as he laughed in your ear before kissing the nape of your neck. You hated how affectionate he was being, but you also didn’t want to part from him so you just sat quietly as he spoke to the others. Trying to ignore Carly’s glances from across the table as you knew she’d picked up on your mood and you’d have to come up with some sort of explanation.

‘I hope I didn’t ruin everyone’s night’ you told her as you all started to leave later on in the early morning. Choosing to walk back as you weren’t too far but thankfully Ben and Mason were trailing behind so you could speak to Carly in front of them. ‘I didn’t mean to get so drunk’

‘No you’re fine’ she smiled, linking her arm through yours even tighter. ‘Is everything okay though?’

‘Yeah fine I just, maybe I’m a bit worried about the flight tomorrow’ you told her. Again feeling awful for lying but it was technically true. The thought of a few hours next to a silent Mason as you freaked out in the sky was eating away at you but as always Carly reassured you things were fine and she’d be there if you needed her.

‘You sure that’s all? I know what you’re like and I know you like to keep it all inside’ she told you. Her tone was soft and not accusatory at all and you felt your lip wobble at how understanding she always seemed to be. ‘You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to but if you need to then I’m always here’

‘I know Carly, you know I’m bad with my words sometimes but you know you're my go to when I’ve sorted myself out and built up the courage’

‘I know’ she laughed. Wrapping her arm around your shoulder so you could hug while you walked back. ‘And when you’ve built it up again, you come and find me, yeah?’

‘I promise’ you whispered. Wanting to break down and spill everything to her there but you couldn’t. It was against the rules.

The boys came and joined you closer to the house, Mason reaching for your hand but you wrapped your arms around yourself so he didn’t get the chance and he kept his hands to himself after that. Stuffing them into his pockets and keeping his head down as he followed you inside to say goodnight to everyone.

When the time came, you followed Mason down to your rooms. Not even acknowledging him as you made it to your doors and you quickly opened yours before shutting it tight, hoping he would get the message you didn’t want to talk but only a few seconds later you heard a few gentle taps.

You knew what would happen if you let him in and even though he’d been off with you all day and had pissed you off beyond belief you still found yourself walking over there and opening it for him.

‘Can I come in?’

You didn’t answer with words, just shrugged before turning away and walking back in your room. Not even bothering to look to see if he’d followed but you soon enough heard the door click shut and felt his presence behind you.

‘You still don’t wanna talk to me?’

‘You haven’t spoken to me all day pretty much’ you shrugged, facing away from him as you took your shoes off.

‘That’s not true’

‘I’m not gonna argue with you’ you told him, hoping you could brush past him to get to your suitcase but he was quick to stop you.

‘Come here’ he sighed, taking hold of your arm gently so he could turn you to face him before cupping your jaw with his free hand. His soft eyes on yours and you tried not to melt under them but as always he was making it difficult for you. ‘It's our last night here, I don’t want us to be upset with each other.

‘Apart from that half an hour you sat with me you ignored me all night, Mason’

‘You were busy-‘

‘No you were busy’ you told him, pulling out of his grip and you watched his eyes turn hard.

‘Bit like you were busy this morning huh?’

‘What are you on about?’

‘Forget it, I’m going to bed’ he huffed, turning away from you and back over to the door but the sight made you finally lose your cool.

‘You’re fucking infuriating sometimes I swear’ you exploded. ‘You’ve spent the whole night with a load of random girls in your lap and you think I’ll want to just hang out with you now?’

‘Why do you care?’

‘Cause it’s one of the rules, remember? No flirting with other people but it’s fine when you do it? You barely say a word to me today but just because you got me some chips you think everything’s fine now?’

‘Can you not see I’m trying to protect you? Protect us? All week I’ve been dodging questions about us so I thought I’d make it look believable if I talked to someone else. It didn’t fucking mean anything. As for the rules, it was one not to kiss but we’ve done that multiple times’ he fought back. His voice louder than he’d intended it to be but you were furious and passed caring if anyone heard you.

‘Oh whatever, you just say and do whatever you want to get your own way’

‘You want me to do what I want yeah?’ He growled, slamming his fist against your door before reaching for you and pressing you up against it with his hand wrapped tightly around your throat. ‘Cause all I’ve wanted all night was to fuck you senseless. Why do you think I haven’t been around you huh? Cause I can’t fucking control myself around you anymore’

You couldn’t deny his little outburst excited you and when he squeezed the sides on your neck that little bit tighter you couldn’t control the whimper that left your lips.

‘Fucking do it then. If that’s what you want’

‘Is it what you want?’ He whispered, eyes burning into yours and all you could muster was a little nod. ‘Words baby, I need you to tell me with words’

‘Yes’

You couldn’t talk anymore after that. His lips claiming yours as your knees went weak but thankfully you were still pressed up against the door by his body and when he reached down to hoist your legs up around his waist you jumped to help as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

‘You want me to fuck you here yeah? Fuck you up against this door like the little brat you are’ he muttered, trying his hardest to undo his zip and push his boxers down and once he had you felt his tip pressing up against your underwear.

‘Please Mase’ you whimpered, awkwardly reaching down so you could move them to the side and as soon as you were open to him he was pushing inside of you. Not giving you a second to adjust but you welcomed the slight sting as he drove himself into you. Using you like he never had done before as you buried your face in his neck but the gentle bite of your shoulder let you know he wasn’t happy you were hiding.

‘Look at me when I’m fucking you’ he grumbled in your ear, letting you raise your eyes to look into his dark ones and the sight made him snap his hips faster before slowing down again. Pounding into you with hard measured thrusts and you thought you might explode on the spot before he suddenly ground to a halt. Leaving you unsatisfied as you tried to move your hips against him. ‘Get down, get undressed and get on all fours for me’

You did as he asked, not wanting to argue whilst he was in this weird sort of trance so you rid yourself of your clothes as he did the same before getting on your bed and onto all fours.

Again he gave you no warning and simply grabbed your hips so he could position you where he wanted you before slamming back in and you cried out as your body slumped forward. He was quick to wrap his hand around your hair and pull you straight back up and into his body, tongue tasting the back of your neck as he licked and sucked away at your skin and you knew you were teetering on the edge.

He pulled out suddenly, making you gasp before you felt his tongue soothe the emptiness. Hands on your thighs as he massaged them roughly before flipping you onto your back suddenly so he could enter you again.

You’d never had sex like this before. Him treating you like a rag doll that he would throw about for his own amusement but you couldn’t deny it was turning you on more than you thought it would. The sloppy sounds you were making together made your insides quiver and the way he was holding your arms by your head as he stared into your soul made you buck your hips up into him. Meeting his movements before you both hit your breaking point. Hitting your highs in tandem before he collapsed onto you.

You werent quite sure what would happen next but Mason didn’t seem to be moving from his current position. Head in your neck with just about enough room to breathe as he held you whilst your fingers found themselves lost in his hair until you moved them to his back. Your fingertips stroking up and down with a featherlight touch just as you knew he loved and you felt him melt into you with every passing second.

Was he falling asleep? Did he want to stay here with you tonight? Was he still mad at you? Were you mad at him?

You couldn’t think anymore as he started to move. Fingers trailing up and down your sides with the same gentleness you were showing him and the sensation made you squirm but the kisses he was pressing to your neck made you gasp.

You could feel him inside you. Hardening again as he kissed and touched your body and even though you weren’t sure you had it in you to go again, you let him work you both up until he was resting on his forearms with his nose brushing against your own.

His eyes were different this time though, lighter and softer, like the weight of the world had been lifted from him which was only mirrored by the soft smile on his lips as he began to thrust in and out of you steadily again.

‘So fucking beautiful’ he sighed, reaching down to place the most tender and loving kiss to your lips. ‘What have you done to me baby? I can’t keep away’

‘Mase-‘

‘Shhh’ he interrupted, continuing to press delicate kisses all over your face as he rolled himself into you and you knew your cheeks were burning from the intimacy of it all. A stark contrast to how he’d treated you not so long ago. ‘Let me take care of you’

So you did, and it was nothing like what the pair of you had ever done before. Bar the last round, sex with Mason had been fun and goofy, two people who cared about each other exploring the others bodies as they made each other feel good but right now? It was intimate, slow and sexy. He wasn't just trying to get the pair of you off this time he was seeping into your skin and you felt consumed by him.

You’d never made love to anyone before, but if you had to guess what it felt like then this would probably be it. He was worshipping you like you were his one and only, forehead resting on yours so he could look straight into your eyes as he made you cum before his face lost in your neck as he calmed himself down.

When he finally got his breath back he rolled off of you almost immediately, standing to pick up his clothes so he could get dressed before turning to you awkwardly and sitting on the end of the bed. His body was turned away from you and a sense of dread filled you immediately. Clearly he wouldn’t be staying for a cuddle tonight, watching him playing with his fingers absentmindedly and even though you couldn’t see his face you knew whatever was about to come out of his mouth you wouldn’t like.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to go too far I-‘

‘Mase it’s fine’

‘You sure? He asked and you nodded even though he couldn’t see you. ‘Well I suppose it’s good to go out with a bang’ he told you trying to make a joke out of the situation like usual in jokes it could relive some of the awkwardness but it just made you feel worse. He was practically confirming that this could be your last time together and you felt your eyes sting immediately. ‘End of the week, end of the agreement right?’

‘Um yeah’ you replied, coughing halfway through to try and cover up the pain in your voice. Pulling the sheets around you even further as you felt far too exposed right now even though he didn’t seem to want to look your way anymore.

‘Thanks for… you know. We’ll just keep it as our little secret, no one else needs to know’ he mumbled, sounding like he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. ‘I’ll head out then’’ he told you, before turning slightly to look at you but you kept your head down so he reached for your hand so he could place a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

Whilst his touches normally thrilled you, this just hurt and you let the pain consume you as he placed your hand down onto the bed before getting up and leaving.

You had nothing to say to him, hurt and upset bubbling up in your chest as your hand came over your mouth to hold back your sobs as you finally let your emotions out as soon as the door clicked shut.

You were unbelievably hurt by the whole thing, the way he’d been with you since you’d woken up, a stark contrast from the day before and him leaving you like this now was just the final nail in the coffin.

The thought of him hearing you cry made you want to die so you just turned onto your side and hid your face in the pillow so it could absorb your sobs. Your body shaking as you cried it out and it took you a while to calm down. Even then falling back into crying for a few minutes every so often.

It felt like a break up, worse than a break up because you’d only gotten a taste of him before he shut everything down and left you open and exposed. Now you just felt cheap and a little bit dirty as you still felt him everywhere but you knew he wanted nothing else to do with you now.

In the end you jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom. Standing under the shower for longer than necessary as you tried to scrub away all memories of the last week but nothing seemed to make the uneasy feeling dissipate.

Sleep didn’t come easy either as you tossed and turned all night and you knew you looked like hell when you woke up so when you saw Carly in the kitchen with Ben you tried to look at them as little as possible.

‘You alright, y/n?’ She asked as you popped yourself down in front of her and no matter how much you tried to convince her you were fine you knew she was sceptical.

‘You look like Mason just before he left’ Ben laughed, spoon in the air so he could gesture to your eyes. ‘Said they must of used some new cleaner that was super strong and made his eyes all puffy’

‘Left? Where’s he gone?’ You asked, wondering if he’d gone gone or just popped to the shop and right now you didn’t know which scenario you preferred.

‘Home, I thought you knew?’ Carly told you, her head tilting to the side in confusion. ‘He’s gone straight to Manchester and his flight was super early’

‘Oh’ you uttered, your heart plummeting. ‘yeah, sorry just slipped my mind I guess’

‘He came and woke us up this morning, said he had to get back for an emergency but he said he’d told you’ Carly uttered and she stirred her tea.

‘Oh right, I was out of it still, maybe I forgot’ you told them and thankfully they just nodded and smiled along.

‘Don’t worry, you’re sitting next to me on the flight. Managed to change it and get us three in a row together so you’re not on your own’ she smiled, thinking that was probably your first thought but right now you didnt care. He’d left without so much as a goodbye and all you wanted was to break down in her arms. You were beyond confused with the last 24 hours so you quickly excused yourself and walked out the patio doors.

You went and sat outside, far enough away from the door in hopes that you couldn’t be seen and you let your emotions get the better of you. Tears freely falling down your face as you sat there crying silently. Not even having the energy to sob or make any noise but the tears kept flowing down your face as you wallowed in complete misery.

‘What you doing out here?’ You heard suddenly, wiping your eyes quickly before looking up to find Dec right next you but his face dropped as soon as he saw how upset you were. ‘Hey? What’s going on?’

‘Nothing, I’m fine-‘

‘Well you’re clearly not’ he said, taking a seat next to you. ‘Do you want me to go get Carly?’

‘No no, I don’t want anyone to see me like this’ you laughed. Wiping your face furiously but the tears kept flowing.

‘Talk to me then, what’s made you so upset’

You didn’t know what to say, the words on the tip of your tongue but you were conflicted as to what you should do. Dec was Mason's best friend and you knew it properly wasn’t the best idea to confide in him but you knew in the back of your mind he was still suspicious of the pair of you so you threw caution to the wind and spilled your guts. Breaking one of the last rules you had left.

‘It’s Mason’ you sighed, a weight suddenly lifting as you knew you were about to tell all but Dec looked none the wiser to what you were about to say. ‘I’ve been lying to you, to everyone, we both have and I’m so so sorry’ You whispered. Watching his eyebrows pinch together in confusion and you knew you had to tell him the truth fully. ‘This whole week we’ve been… seeing each other’ you told him. Hoping that would be enough information for him and by the solemn nod of his head you knew he understood.

‘I had my suspicions’ he laughed, tapping your thigh comfortingly. ‘When did it start?’

‘Bens house the other week. He was tipsy and being super flirty, we both were, and I don’t know how but it just happened’ you told him, looking up to face him but thankfully he wasn’t looking at you disapprovingly. ‘He told me he wanted to pay for me to come away as I was the only one that couldn’t make it and that if I wanted to we could carry on sleeping together for the week and-‘

‘Wait, hang on?’ He interrupted, his face looking angry and you knew what he was thinking straight away. ‘He paid for you to come away so you’d sleep with him? I swear to god-‘

‘No it’s not like that’ you laughed. ‘The sleeping together part was just an added thing on top, he didn’t want paying back or anything like that but that’s why I’ve been cooking for him and buying him ice cream, like trying to do anything to say thank you’

‘You know you didn’t need to do any of that? Masons many things but I know he would have paid for you without making you do all that’ he frowned before it looked like a lightbulb went off in his head. ‘So what’s happened, are you upset about that girl last night?’

‘No… well yes but that’s not all of it. He was off with me for all of yesterday and I had no idea why, then there was the girls but when we got back he still wanted to sleep with me before he… just ended everything’ you sniffed. ‘He was so cold after, like just said I guess we’re done and went back to his room I felt humiliated’

‘I’m sorry, y/n’ he sighed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as he gave you a minute to calm down.

‘Don’t apologise, it’s not your fault’ you told him but you could tell from his body language he had more to say.

‘Look you didn’t hear this from me, but he’s always liked you y/n. Whether that is just in a friendly capacity or more I know he’s got a soft spot for you. Whatever he’s done I don’t think he would have meant it, in his weird little mind he’s probably thinking this is the best for both of you without realising how much he’s messing up’ he reassured you. ‘Last night when you were out of it, we could all tell something was wrong. That's why I went and got him but I hadn’t even finished saying what was wrong with you before he was up and trying to find you’

‘Really?’ You sniffed, wiping your eyes. Thinking back to how he’d looked after you in the club last night and your eyes filled tears once more. ‘It’s not him, it’s me. We set rules and broke all of them but the most important was no feelings and I really thought i could do it but… he’s really fucking hard not to like’ you laughed causing Dec to laugh along with you as he squeezed you a little tighter.

‘I’ll have a word with him’

‘No don’t’ you panicked, shaking your head as you wiped your tears. ‘It’s not gonna make any difference and I’d rather he didn’t know how I felt’ you sighed. ‘I just wanna forget it and go back to normal with him, if that’s possible’

From the way Dec was looking at you, you both knew it might never be possible to be normal with Mason again but thankfully he didn’t say anymore on the matter. ‘Will you be alright?’

‘I’ll be fine’

‘We’ll be home before you know it. But don’t let him ruin what’s been a nice week’

‘I won’t’ you smiled. Thinking back to all the good times you’d had with and without Mason this week and even though it had ended in the worst possible way you were still so happy you got to be there with everyone.

y/n

liked by benchilwell, carlywlms_, woody_ and others

y/n learning extremely valuable life lessons courtesy of chilly 🌶️

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benchilwell the best student I’ve ever had

y/n the only student you’ve ever had 😩

carlywlms_ LOOK AT YOU A REAL LIFE MERMAID 🧜‍♀️

y/n I KNOW RIGHT WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT IT 🐳

woody_ um sorry was I invisible out there?

y/n sorry woody 🥺 you were an excellent assistant

declanrice show off

y/n can’t help it I’m a fast learner

okaylaaa I actually can’t believe how quickly you picked that up you’re a natural

y/n swimming date when we’re home?

okaylaaa you’re on

laurenfryer_ is there anything she can’t do?

y/n hold down a stable relationship

__nads I’m inspired 🤭 feeling an ocean themed cupcake collection when you’re back 🪼

y/n you’re so right let’s do it 🌊🐡🐙

Tagged: @footiehoemcfc @prideofpd @yoursselo @chelseachilly @willow-writer-ivy @mm-vii @katharinanadiaa @mmountseb @carlottawllms @saltyheartnightmare @masonmtxo @harvestmount @chillymountsjess @treblebluesblog @pulisicsgirl @bluesswift @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps

[oscarseyebrow]

Enkindle

gif by the wonderful @nowritingonthewall 💖

Pairings: din djarin x female reader  Rating: explicit. 18+ Word count: 8k Warnings: explicit smut, fingering, unprotected p-in-v, dirty talk, friends to lovers, one bed, cursing, slight hint of din not being an experienced kisser.  Masterlist | Taglist

“What do you mean you only have one room left?” 

Din is not impressed, and despite the modulated tone of his voice, his frustration is as clear as the thawing snow trickling over his armor. He has been tested more than enough today, and you’re starting to fear that this could be the straw to break the bantha’s back.

The owner of the room in question–an elderly Lasat with half an ear missing–sighs out her annoyance at having to repeat herself again. Clearly Din had heard her the first time. 

Her gritty voice holds a tone that is almost less impressed than Din’s when she gives him her final reply: “One room. Take it or leave it, big guy.” 

A silence stretches in the dimly-lit reception area. The towering Mandalorin and broad-yet-stubby Lasat share a stubborn glare across the small desk, neither of them willing to look away first. Not many people would attempt to stare down a man dressed in full beskar, but it’s clear that she will not be intimidated by the armor. You’re sure a somewhat disgruntled Mandalorian isn’t the worst customer she’s ever had the displeasure of dealing with in this shady area of town. 

You stand to the side, dithering silently while rubbing at the arm of your damp jacket. It makes no difference at all to the wet fabric, the chill had settled into your bones hours ago while you trudged through the snow after a failed hunt.  

One room. It would be fine. Maker, at this point, you would take the damn barn if it meant not having to go back out into the cold again. 

Very slowly, Din’s head turns until he is able to see you. 

The look on your face says it all: you don’t care about the room. You’re too cold to give a shit. The only thing you want is to get out of your wet clothes and step into a hot shower. 

“Fine,” your hunting partner finally grumbles. “We’ll take it.” 

One room doesn’t necessarily mean one bed. You had stayed in plenty of dives where more than one bed was available in a shared room. Sometimes, places like this would often cram in as many bunks as possible to make money. 

This would most likely be a similar kind of set-up.

Not even a second after the door to the room slides open, you realise how wrong you are. 

This is not similar. It’s not similar at all. 

There is only one bed. 

One small, not-so-big, unable to comfortably share, tiny bed.

Fuck. 

“It’s okay,” you lie through your chattering teeth. “You take the bed. I’ll take a…” 

There’s no shower. There’s no fucking shower. 

One bed is something you could come around to, maybe, but the thought of not being able to step into the warmth of a shower and feel the water cascading over your frozen skin causes a disappointment to sit heavily in your stomach. It had been the only thing getting you through the miles of trudging across the snow with Din: cold, hungry, pissed off. 

“We can work the job together,” he had said before leaving Nevaro. “It will be quicker that way.” 

If it wouldn’t inflict too much pain on your cold hands, you would smack him right here and now for thinking anything involving this planet would be quick and simple. 

“You’re having the bed,” Din’s voice scrapes with a firm edge, the exhaustion notable as he begins the process of removing his weapons. 

“No, you take it. It’s fine.” 

“I’m not taking the bed.” 

“You’ve been complaining for hours about being tired,” you shoot back and prepare to continue, but Din cuts you off. 

“And you’ve been whining for hours about being cold, so take the bed, warm up and get some damn sleep.” 

A long silence follows Din’s words. His helmet fixes you in place, unmoving, unrelenting in his stubborn stand. It’s almost identical to the one you had seen him take up with the Lasat out front, and as a show of your own stubbornness, you fold your arms across your chest and tighten your jaw to fight your chattering teeth. 

“Don’t start,” Din warns you. 

You know each other well, having worked for Greef Karga for longer than either of you would care to admit. Din was always a lone hunter, much like yourself, but somehow a friendship had developed between the two of you a couple of years back. You liked to think that you had both come to a point in your lives where a little company wasn’t so bad. One hunt had turned into two, two into three, and before either of you had realised, you had spent more hunts together than apart. 

So yes, Din knew that you were standing your ground with him, just as he was with you. 

“You need it more…you’re older. Your back isn’t what it used to be.”

Din tilts his helmet slowly: “I’m going to let that one go.” 

“Like you let our bounty go?” 

“Hey,” his tone lacks any sort of playful edge now. “I said I would let that one comment go, don’t push it.” 

With a huff, you turn your back on him and walk across to what you assume is supposed to be the refresher. The door barely closes, and even when it does finally click into place, you’re able to touch each wall without fully extending your arms. 

“Wonderful,” you mutter under your breath. “Absolutely love this for me.” 

The light above the sink flickers and temporarily illuminates names that have been etched into the wall over the years: some have hearts around them, memories of nights spent in a cheap room together while others have dates and other little messages to accompany them. It holds your attention for longer than it should as you stand there, dripping and cold, wondering what their stories are.

Were they partners? Lovers? Had they come here for a secret affair? How many others had stood in front of this mirror reading those names, wondering the same thing? 

You make quick work of splashing water on your face—you’re not sure why you hoped it would be anything more than freezing cold—then groan when you realise there’s nothing that comes close to resembling a towel.

Of course. Of fucking course. 

You’re still grumbling to yourself when you slide out of the fresher, then pause to look at Din. His armor is gone, now set out neatly beside the bed where it glints in the limited light from the dusty window. It’s a strange thing to see in a place like this: something beautiful, laid out with precision on a carpet blotched with stains of varying colour and size. He has shown so much care toward something when nothing else in the room has ever been treated with that level of dignity and respect. 

But that’s not all he has removed. 

The thick, woven fabric of his flak vest is gone, laid out to dry alongside his cape and gloves. Din is clearly removing his cold, wet layers and you beg yourself to divert your eyes, offer him the same respect he often does for you. It’s almost impossible, though. 

“I had an idea,” Din breaks the silence in the room as he turns to face you. 

You want to listen to him, really, you do. But you’re distracted by the way the wet material of his black undershirt sticks to his body. He reaches to slide down the suspenders from his shoulders and you swallow thickly, now forcing your eyes to focus elsewhere in the room. 

This is Din. You should not be looking at him this way. Sure, you had often wondered what sex with him would be like—you were only human, after all. You had taken the risky glance here and there while travelling together, but only when you knew he was too busy to catch you staring. He was your hunting partner, your friend. There had never been any reason to complicate that and try to make it into something more. 

You both met your needs elsewhere, with other people. Din had never wanted that from you. There had been plenty of opportunities, moments where you found yourselves just a little too close, lingering touches and hands accidentally brushing while reaching for the same tool or controls on the ship. But nothing more. Never anything more. Din simply isn’t interested in you like that. 

“We can share.”

It seems like a perfectly acceptable solution to share a bed with a friend…just one night, sleeping back-to-back. 

When he gets no reply from you, he tries to bring you around to the idea: “And considering there’s no heating in this place, it would probably be beneficial to share. The temperature outside is going to drop further tonight and we need to try and stay warm.” 

His tone is so matter of fact. It’s clear that Din has thought this through. 

How does he make it sound so casual? 

You attempt to inhale slowly but all you can manage is another shiver as your teeth start chattering again. Din is right; there’s no heating in this room, and you need to warm up. It wouldn’t do either of you any good to spend the night freezing cold and wet. It was important to rest up and prepare to make another attempt at tracking the bounty in the morning.  

“F—fine,” you agree. “I’ll take that side.” 

You motion to the left side of the bed and watch as his helmet follows, taking note of your preference. Din doesn’t argue, he simply nods and accepts your terms. 

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” you repeat and turn your attention to the bed again. 

Neither of you move. 

The whole situation suddenly feels awkward, as though you’re both reconsidering Din’s great idea and desperately trying to think of a better solution. It comes down to very simple facts: you suck it up and share a bed, or you freeze. 

“I’ll turn around,” Din offers after a moment. “You need to get those wet clothes off before you get in bed, so…just tell me when you’re ready.” 

True to his word, Din turns himself around so that his back is to you, giving you as much privacy as he can. You watch him for a moment and let a hint of a smile settle on your lips. How could you not? Din is caring and polite. He’d always done everything he could to ensure you were comfortable in his presence, especially when spending extended periods of time together in what little space the Crest had to offer.

You trust him not to look. You know that he won’t. His word is his promise, so you slowly peel the wet layers from your skin and hiss as the cold air causes another involuntary shiver to pass through your muscles. 

Nothing is dry. Every item of clothing you have is soaked through: your socks and pants, your jacket, shirt and tank top. There’s absolutely nothing left to salvage, nothing that you can sleep in…aside from your underwear. 

You have to warn him. 

“Din…” you murmur and look up just in time to see him starting to turn around. “No! Don’t look!” you shriek and throw your arms over yourself to cover your exposed body. 

That’s not why you called his name. It wasn’t confirmation that it was safe for him to turn around. You just wanted to tell him you were going to have to sleep in your underwear. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I thought—shit,” Din’s helmet whips around quicker than you’ve ever seen him move before. “I didn’t…I didn’t see anything, I promise.” 

He sounds truly mortified, and before you can stop yourself, you laugh. This whole situation is one long, hilarious fuck-up: losing the bounty, being too far away from the ship to make it back in one night, the shitty excuse of a room. One bed. It’s all fucked. 

“I’m sorry,” you laugh. “I just…I have nothing to wear and I didn’t want to surprise you by only wearing underwear so I wanted to warn you but then you started turning around and I panicked and…yeah.” 

There’s another long silence while you watch Din’s shoulders rise and fall with his steady breaths. Your eyes wander further, exploring the broadness of his back, the way his damp shirt defines the shape of his muscles and the softness of his body beneath the thin fabric. 

“Are all of your clothes wet?” Din asks after a moment. 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh.” 

The silence returns. 

This time, he shifts his weight to his other foot and lowers his helmet slightly. Is this a bad idea? Should you put your wet clothes back on and insist that you’re fine with not having the bed? 

You shiver again, your body’s attempt to warm itself. 

“Okay,” he finally sighs. 

“Okay?” 

“Get under the blankets. You need to warm up. I can hear your teeth chattering from over here…just tell me when it’s actually safe to look,” Din explains with full sincerity. 

Your teeth find your bottom lip as you try to carry out the impossible task of suppressing your smile. He’s doing his best to make this situation as comfortable as possible. There’s very little dignity to be had in this dingy little room, but he’s trying to save yours. 

The bed creaks and groans in protest the second you lift a leg onto it. It whines as you shuffle down beneath the scratchy blankets. There are chings and clangs while you turn onto your side and scoot as close to the edge of the bed as you possibly can without falling out of it. 

Then finally, when you settle, you give Din the confirmation he has been waiting for: “It’s safe to look at me now.” 

You don’t know if he does look at you. Why would he? What you meant was that it was now safe for him to look around the room, not specifically at you. Should you correct what you meant by that? No…no, you just need to not say anything else. 

You shake your head to yourself and close your eyes, willing yourself to fall asleep quickly. You’re too cold. Your fingers and toes are still tingling, your muscles too tense, and the voices next door are much too loud through the thin walls. 

Eventually, the room plummets into darkness, and a few seconds later, the bed shifts under Din’s weight. You can tell he’s moving with caution, taking care not to disturb you as he attempts to fit himself into what little space is left. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs when his elbow accidentally catches you. 

You open your mouth to tell him it’s okay, that he doesn’t need to apologise, but you’re suddenly distracted by the warmth of a brief touch. It’s Din’s skin, meaning the black undershirt you were admiring is now gone. He’s shirtless. Din Djarin, intimidating Mandalorian, feared bounty hunter, shirtless, in bed with you. 

Okay, you need to think sensibly and logically about this. You have seen Din’s skin plenty of times before: you have patched him up countless times, unintentionally bumped into him while he has been changing. Maker, you have even accidentally walked in on him fucking someone on more than one occasion. His skin is nothing new—you have seen it and felt it before. 

But never in the same bed. Never anything more than what is necessary. No, this is necessary. This is your only option. Din suggested this because you need the warmth and he needs a place to sleep. 

That’s it. That’s all there is to it. 

So why does your mind keep coming back to the image of him standing before you, his wet long-sleeve sticking to his body… 

Before you can stop them, your teeth begin to chatter again and another shiver takes over your body. The blankets aren’t helping. The chill has settled deep within your bones and isn’t letting up. The hours of being out in the snow are taking their toll, and you already know that come morning, your clothes will still be damp and uncomfortable to put back on. 

The thought of dragging cold fabric over your skin has you shivering again. 

Din moves a little behind you, no doubt trying to get himself into more of a comfortable position, and you think he may have found one when you hear him sigh. 

“Come here,” he murmurs. 

The words are almost as unsure as you are—did you hear him correctly? Had he told you to go closer to him? 

“Excuse me?” 

“Look,” Din starts and then pauses with another small sigh. He’s trying to find the right words. “You’re freezing cold. You’re keeping us both awake. The quickest way you’re going to warm up is if you share some of my body heat.” 

A long silence falls between you. 

Again, he somehow manages to make it sound so normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. The words roll out like he’s explaining a hunting plan to you or giving you some information regarding the planet you’re going to be landing on. Despite the way your heart races and uncertainty sits heavily in your thoughts, Din makes a fair point. 

Should you ask if he’s sure? No, he wouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t sure. 

It’s strange, unfamiliar territory as you shuffle back a little on the bed until you’re met with the warmth of Din’s chest. Stars, he’s carrying enough heat to warm up the whole damn room. 

You find a comfortable position and then close your eyes when his arm rests against your side. He’s respectful in where he lays his hand: it doesn’t venture anywhere it’s not supposed to. He crosses no lines, and after a moment, you feel the front of his helmet touch the back of your head. 

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly. “It’s easier to sleep at this angle, but I can move if y—”

“It’s fine,” you reassure him. 

With Din’s head resting against yours, you listen to the rhythm of his soft breaths: slow and controlled, barely audible through the modulator if it wasn’t for him being so close behind you. There’s a comfortable warmth that radiates from him and easily seeps into your limbs. It cocoons you, thaws the deep chill that had latched onto your bones. 

It may have been the smallest bed, but you had never felt so settled. With each breath he takes, his chest brushes against your back and offers gentle encouragement to release some of the tension you’re still holding in your muscles. 

This doesn’t have to be anything more than what this moment is: two friends huddling together to share some warmth. The tightness in your shoulders begins to ease, allowing you to mould yourself more comfortably against Din. Eventually, your breathing finds a similar rhythm; slow, steady, relaxed. 

Until you reposition your legs and hear Din’s breath involuntarily hitch. 

Your eyes snap open in the darkness. During your adjustment, your hips press back a little too far, causing your ass to come into contact with Din’s crotch. There’s no mistaking the feeling of his hard cock pressing against you, restrained only by the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. 

Okay, you need to return to some sensible, logical thinking about the given situation and not react impulsively. 

Din has never been interested in you like that…has he? No, no. This is simply a natural reaction to being pressed close to someone after such a long time between intimate contact. This is nothing more than two friends sharing a bed, staying warm on a cold evening after a long day of hard work.

You’re suddenly aware of the deafening silence: not even your breathing helps to ease it as you hold it in your chest, unsure of what you’re supposed to do or say. You remain frozen, in all sense of the word, and acknowledge the building desire to grind back against Din in the darkness, to feel him take hold of you and fuck you open and—

“I’m—I’m so sorry. I can’t really—fuck. I didn’t mean…” Din’s frantic apology begins to tumble from him before he can fully form a coherent sentence. 

He’s panicking. He’s embarrassed and attempting to put some space between you but you quickly grab hold of his forearm to keep him in place. You don’t want him to go. You don’t want space. 

You want him to stay. 

“Are you attracted to me, Din?” The question is out before you can talk yourself down. You have to know. 

It takes a moment for any sort of response to arise, but you finally hear it, quiet yet confident as it scrapes through his modulator: “Yes.” 

Maybe, just like you, Din has never wanted to complicate things. The friendship and connection that you have works well as it is. There has never been any reason to change that or risk the embarrassment of finding out if any mutual feelings were shared. 

Until now. 

You swallow thickly, all too aware of the heat from his forearm radiating against your palm. His cock, thick and heavy, presses against the curve of your ass as you both take a moment to process the reality of the situation. Perhaps trying to process this isn’t the best thing to do. You know that you’ll end up overthinking everything, just as Din will, so before either of you have a chance to reason yourselves out of this, you slide your hand down over his arm and lace your fingers through his. 

“Have you ever thought about fucking me?” 

“All the time,” Din confesses without hesitation. 

With your hand closed over the top of his, you guide it up over your side so that he can feel your skin. You hear a noticeable change in his breathing: it becomes more shallow, a little heavier, while you take your time with smoothing his hand across your body. 

“What do you think about?” 

Din’s response is instant this time, a sense of relief evident in the one word he speaks: “Everything.”

You slide his hand up to cup your breast through your bra and squeeze, then with a somewhat innocent tone to your voice, you ask: “Why don’t you share some of those thoughts with me?”

Maybe this is simply a case of wanting what you’ve never been able to have: these unexpected circumstances have offered you both an opportunity you would have otherwise never taken. In the morning, it may be the worst decision either of you could have made…but for tonight, all you’re able to think about is the way his large hand squeezes at the supple flesh of your breast again.  

“I think about fucking that smart, pretty mouth of yours,” his tone is suddenly sinful, and gods, it catches you completely off guard as you exhale shakily. “I think about how good it would feel to fuck you right after a hunt while you’re all worked up and disheveled.” 

You’ve thought about that, too. On the nights you’ve spent with your fingers deep inside of your cunt, hips rolling while chasing your release to the thought of how Din would tear your pants down over your legs and sink his fingers into you. You’ve always imagined they would stretch you open and fill you perfectly, curl in just the right way until you were begging him to fuck you. 

“Keep going,” you urge him. 

“Sometimes, I think about how wet you would feel around my cock while you ride me in the pilot’s chair.”

Din’s hand releases your breast and slides upwards across your chest. You know he can feel the way your heart pounds with excitement beneath his touch, the way your body warms against him, flushed with desire. 

“I think about holding you while you tremble and cum around me, how beautiful you would look. I think about how you would moan my name, how good it would sound coming from you. Not Mando, not baby…you would moan my name.” 

“Din…” you speak it in a way that you never have before. It’s something so personal; breathier, softer. 

His hand smooths back down over your chest, pausing only to hook the tips of his fingers into the cup of your bra and tug it down to expose your breast completely. For a bounty hunter, you note how soft Din’s hands are. There’s no callouses as he traps your nipple between two fingers, no rough skin when he pinches the sensitive bud and tugs just enough to cause a spark of pleasure to pulse straight down to your core. 

“How long have you wanted me to touch you like this?” he asks. 

Despite the modulated tone of his voice, the sultry edge still washes over you like an exquisite silk, and you feel the effects of it everywhere. 

“For so long.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

It’s hard to focus when he squeezes your nipple again. You try to form the sentence in your head while his hand follows the curve of your ribs and you attempt to respond just as his fingers inch lower until they meet the edge of your underwear.

“I… I didn’t think you were interested,” you confess in a voice that’s barely louder than a whisper. 

“Weren’t you curious to find out?” 

“I didn’t want to look like an idiot if you weren’t attracted to me…” 

Din’s fingers dip beneath the thin fabric, but instead of settling where you ache for his touch, he traces them lightly over the curve of your hip. It causes the smallest shiver to dance through your muscles, and this time, it has nothing to do with the lingering chill from the snow. 

There’s a patience to Din’s touch, a restraint that you see him carry out on every hunt. He knows exactly how he wants to do this. He has thought about it, plotted his next steps while mapping out your skin with his hand. Stars, you can’t help but admire the way he controls his urges: he wants to take his time with this. He wants to show you that the attraction is mutual. 

“Do you want to find out now?” 

You nod eagerly. Maker, you want to find out more than anything in the galaxy. 

“Let me hear you say it,” Din encourages you. 

“Yes,” you nod again, still as eager as the first time. “I do.” 

Din readjusts behind you: only enough for his hand to slide down and take hold of your inner thigh before guiding your top leg over his own. Now that you’re adequately spread for him, his fingers smoothover the thin piece of fabric keeping him separated from you. 

You hear Din’s breath catch when his fingers discover the wetness that is entirely his doing. For a moment, he’s difficult to read. He lingers there, fingers flexing slowly against the damp material as though he’s admiring what he has done to you from a few confessions and light touches. 

“Fuck,” he hisses slowly while his fingers ease your underwear aside. “You’re so wet.” 

And before you can stop yourself, words come tumbling out of your mouth: “I always am when I think about you touching me.” 

You don’t need to see or hear Din to know that he’s smirking. You can sense  how smug he is to have this newfound knowledge of one of your best kept secrets. 

He traces the tip of one finger through the drenched slit of your cunt, collecting your arousal before drawing slow circles around your clit. Your whole body momentarily jerks and tenses at the sudden pleasure but his other arm slides beneath you and holds you tight to his broad chest. 

You’re trapped against him in the best possible way: leg hitched over his to spread you open, his hand pressing your upper body back against him. Your movement is limited when you attempt to roll your hips and moan in desperation when his finger stills against your clit with a lingering pressure. 

“Tell me how you imagine it,” Din encourages. 

Lust sears through your whole body, molten and unyielding. Of all the ways you have imagined confessing this in your fantasies, none of them come close to the real thing. The electrical flutter of excitement is ever present in your stomach, and it spurs you on to reach down and cover Din’s hand with your own, taking control of the pace. 

He’s just as surprised as you are when you press against his finger and cause it to flex slowly against your clit. You have the upper hand—quite literally—and Din is more than willing to see this play out. 

“Sometimes, I think about us not being able to make it back to the ship before you have me pressed up against something, out of view of any passers-by but still close enough that I would have to keep my moans quiet.” You fight to keep your voice steady while Din’s finger continues to rub slowly against you. “You’d barely get my pants down all the way, but it would be enough for you to bury your fingers into me.” 

“How many?” 

“One to begin with…but this is after a hunt and all of your patience has been spent. All of that composure and restraint would be at breaking point so you would waste little time before sinking a second finger in and moaning about how good it feels.” 

Din’s next breath falls unevenly through his modulator, creating a momentary crackle of static before he groans: “Go on…tell me what I’d do next.” 

“I’d ask for a third one,” you continue. 

“Do you think you could take it?” 

You’re already smirking to yourself as you nod and give him a simple response: “Yes.”

Your words have Din shifting behind you, and you know that he’s close to snapping. He’s strong and resilient, but he’s only human, and it’s clear that his needs are starting to cause cracks in his composure. You can hear it in his laboured breathing, in the strain in his voice.

“It would feel amazing…that stretch. It would be enough to open me up and prepare me for your big cock, but when—” you stumble and pause on your words when Din seeks out your opening. 

Fucking stars, you hear the obscene sounds of your drenched cunt when his finger presses into you: one to begin with, just as you had described. 

“You feel amazing,” Din groans out his praise. “What would happen next?” 

You moan at the feel of his finger pressing deeply into you, at the thought of him wanting to hear you describe your fantasy to him. Din is enjoying this: his neglected cock twitches against you in anticipation while he hangs on your every word. 

You draw in a breath, attempting to continue while a warmth radiates throughout your body, right from your core. Then right on cue, Din adds a second finger. He works them slowly to begin with, enjoying the feel of you opening up and welcoming him into your tight heat. 

“I’d try so hard to keep…to keep,” your words bleed into a loud moan when Din adjusts his hand and strokes his fingers up against a spot that has you trembling. Fuck. You draw in a shaky breath, attempting to continue. “To—to keep my composure,” you finally manage to rush through your words and then smile at Din’s breathy laugh. 

“More than you are now?” 

“I said I’d try,” you remind him. “Never said I’d do it successfully.” 

At this, you both laugh, his a lower rumble in comparison to the breatheir tone that passes through your lips. Any lingering nervousness or doubt seems to melt away in the moment: there’s something surreal about laughing at the easy banter you share while Din has two fingers buried inside of you. 

There’s an undeniable charge in the air, a shift in the connection you share. You think it’s the excitement and fear of the unknown that comes with crossing the line from friends and into something more. Is this something more? You don’t want to get ahead of yourself here, but it already feels different to so many others you’ve been with. 

There’s a mutual trust that you share with Din, an understanding of each other that nobody else has. You’ve given up your years of travelling alone and traded them in for his companionship. It has always felt so right to be with Din, despite the fleeting doubts in the beginning. There’s been hours spent talking and laughing in the cockpit, learning who he is beneath his armor and allowing an authentic friendship to blossom. Maybe that’s why even now, while stuck in a freezing-cold room, there’s nowhere else you would rather be if it means being there without him.

Much to your disappointment, his fingers withdraw. Din makes no big adjustments to his position, reluctant to put any space between your bodies. At first, you’re unsure of his intentions, unable to work out what he’s doing, until he draws his other arm from under you. 

A few seconds later, there’s a familiar hiss, one you have only ever heard from behind closed doors. Then, a thud. The unmistakable sound of beskar hitting carpet: Din’s helmet, dropping with much less care than he had taken when setting out the rest of his armor. 

A sudden excitement bubbles up from deep within your stomach at the realisation: he’s helmetless, for you. You know this isn’t his usual method of fucking people—you have witnessed that yourself. Din rarely removes any pieces of armor when seeing to his needs with another. But not with you. 

When his hands return to your body, you feel a new sensation; his breath, hot and steady against the back of your neck. Every fine hair rises to the caress of his exhales, and when his nose traces over the skin behind your ear, the weakest gasp escapes you. Din has facial hair. It tickles against your skin right before his lips find the sensitive spot below your earlobe. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice enchantingly smooth without the distortion of the helmet. 

“Y—yes,” you gasp. 

This is more than okay. You tilt your head in silent encouragement for him to continue, willing those lips to explore more of your neck.

“I know this wasn’t part of your fantasy…but I’ve always wanted to know how it feels to kiss your skin.” 

Stars, you have thought about this often; how could you not? You have always found yourself wondering how Din’s lips would feel–would they be chapped and rough? Does he chew on his lower one when tense or nervous? Does he know how it feels to brush them gently against another’s or feel someone smile into a kiss? Knowing how little he removes his helmet, you doubt he does. 

He takes his time exploring your skin with his mouth: nose brushing against the curve of your breast, lips sealing around the sensitive bud of your nipple while guiding you onto your back. You move with him easily, as though this is a well rehearsed dance that has been practised over many weeks together: it comes with knowing each other, working together, learning how the other moves and thinks. 

One of Din’s large hands glides over the curve of your thigh when you arch against him and bury your fingers into his hair without thinking. The action is rewarded with a surprised moan that gets caught in Din’s throat. He likes it. He enjoys the feel of your fingers tangling into the thick strands while you use them to hold his face close to yours. 

The warmth of Din’s breath caresses your cheek with a delicate intimacy. He’s close enough to kiss, if only you were to turn your head slightly to seek out his lips. 

Has he ever kissed anyone before? From his hesitation, you assume not. 

You want to ask him. You want to check if this is okay, if he’s comfortable with how quickly this is moving for him…but you don’t know how. This affection is beyond what you’re used to, so you say nothing. Instead, you turn your head just enough to find his eyes in the darkness—the years of staring into a visor have taught you how to hold his gaze without seeing him—and slowly, a soft smile curls onto your lips. 

“I think… I think I was better at this while we were doing all the dirty talk,” you admit with a soft laugh. 

When you hear Din’s chuckle accompany it, your smile grows a little more. He’s still at ease, and that settles you—until he leans in to kiss you while you’re still smiling, resulting in him awkwardly catching more of your teeth than your lips. 

“Shit,” he half laughs, a little embarrassed. “I thought your lips were there.” 

Clearly he’s not as well-trained without his helmet.

“Come here,” you whisper through your smile and guide him in again until your lips press gently to his. 

The kisses are slow to begin with: each one lingers as you take in the feel of his lips, the softness of them, the way his moustache unintentionally tickles your upper lip and nose while you melt into him. Eventually, your lips part against Din’s to take the lead. He follows, learning from your knowledge and experience in the same way you so often learn from his. 

It takes him no time at all to deepen it, and much to your surprise, his tongue licks confidently into your mouth. Maker, you could kiss him for hours, just like this. His warmth and taste are better than you could have ever imagined, and as each kiss becomes more assured than the last, you’re lost to him. 

Din devours you, kissing you like a man starved of affection, and when he reaches down to ease your underwear aside again, your moan muffles against his mouth. He starts slowly, sliding in one finger while kissing down your neck. He adds a second when his teeth graze over your collar bone, and just as his fingers curl inside of you, the wet heat of his mouth closes over your nipple. 

You arch into the pleasure while his name slips from your mouth in a desperate whine. You like the way it sounds, and from Din’s groan of approval, you know he likes it, too. 

He takes his time pleasuring you, working you open with his fingers until he finally gives you what you want and adds a third. Stars, you feel yourself stretch around him in the most satisfying way. 

“Is that what you needed?” Din almost purrs against your ear. 

His unmodulated voice should be illegal in this situation: he shouldn’t be allowed to use it so casually—at the very least, it should come with some sort of warning. 

“Yes,” you manage, your breaths short and shallow while your hips rock against his fingers, enjoying the way those strong, thick digits feel inside of you. 

His mouth does nothing short of worshipping your body; the kisses are feather-light brushes before switching to something more calculated: mouth open, his teeth and tongue teasing and exploring in a way that has you arching against him. 

Your whole body feels ignited by his touch: a heat radiates slowly from somewhere deep within your lower stomach and spreads through each limb as Din’s fingers withdraw from the wet heat of your cunt and move to focus on your clit again. 

Coated generously in your arousal, the pad of Din’s finger moves with ease in slow, circular motions. He’s enjoying this. He’s taking his time, savouring the sounds you make as your own fingers grip at the sheet when the heat begins to lick up your lower spine. 

“Din—” you breathe out his name while he breathes you in, mouth at the base of your neck again. 

There’s an unexpected intimacy to the way his lips map out your skin, exploring, learning. He memorises you, the way you feel and sound as his fingers continue to pleasure you. You don’t need to say a single word to him; it’s almost as though he feels the molten desire pulsing through your veins, burning with enough fever to thaw the snow in a six mile radius of the bed.

You turn your head to seek him out and sigh softly when your lips find his temple. His hair is soft against your nose and holds the lingering scent of the soap on the Crest: it smells so perfectly Din. You can’t help but wonder if he has found an intimacy like this with anyone before, if he has been touched with a tenderness that comes from knowing him, caring for him. It’s easy to assume that he hasn’t from the way he exhales when you kiss his temple and then brush the tip of your nose against the side of his cheek. 

Din leans into you, as though he finally has a touch that he has craved for longer than he’s willing to admit, and you’re more than happy to give him as much as he needs. Your lips drag slowly over the side of his face, dropping lingering kisses and breaking them up with small nudges of your nose. These needs, these soft displays of affection, are some that Din was unable to satisfy with the simple pleasure he found in a stranger’s body.

Together, you remove the final items of clothing–your underwear, Din’s boxers–before you’re captured by his lips again and lost to the welcoming heat of his mouth. It’s only when you feel the head of his cock teasing at your entrance that you stop him: one hand against his warm chest, the other holding his shoulder as you pull back just enough from the kiss. 

“Wait,” you whisper against his lips. “I want to be on top.” 

There’s a pause, seconds of Din holding himself still while considering your words. 

“Yeah?” he finally asks, unable to mask the interest at the edge of his tone. 

“Yeah,” you smile and then nip his lower lip lightly. 

Who knows if there will be another time after this, so if this is your only night with Din, you want to fulfil the fantasy of being the one in control. And to your delight, Din is not opposed to the idea. 

With some manoeuvring–and some very close calls with the edge of the bed–you find yourself braced on top of him: knees pressed into the uncomfortable springs of the mattress which pop and groan beneath you both while you sit back on his hips. 

You can barely see him. The limited moonlight from the window offers a sliver of illumination across his chest which rises in a steady rhythm. Maker, it’s broad. He’s broad. On his back, you note that he fills most of the small bed. The sight has your cunt throbbing with need.  

Din’s hands find their way to your thighs, smoothing over your skin and touching whatever part of you he can reach. His palms are still warm, a stark contrast to the cold bite of the room as you lift your hips just enough to nestle his thick cock inside the soaked slit of your cunt. 

The sound you’re rewarded with is unexpected, yet not unwelcome. It seems to take Din by surprise when he gasps and moans: his fingers unintentionally gripping at your skin at the pleasure you offer. It’s a sound you feel in the depths of your core, a sound that’s so personal, just for you. 

You know that his eyes are glued to your form in the darkness, watching you with a lustful gaze as you rub yourself against the underside of his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Din praises in the softest tone. “You’re soaked.”  

This time, it’s you who finds yourself moaning out louder than intended at the praise he gives you. 

His hands roam upwards over your body, exploring every dip and curve while you sufficiently coat him in your arousal. You know that you should guide him into you—it’s what you both want, but it feels so good to grind against him as his hands find your breasts. There’s no hesitation when his fingers find the stiff peak of your nipple and squeeze: the boardline roughness creates a delicious jolt of pleasure through your body as you moan again, encouraging him to repeat the action. 

Din is more than happy to comply. He moves his attention to your other nipple, offering the same rough treatment as you roll your hips. Lost in the moment, it’s easy to forget where you are and just how thin the walls are between the rooms. 

You’re flying too close to the sun. The coiling heat ignites in warning, pulling tight in your lower stomach as you force yourself to stop and catch a breath. 

“You’re incredible,” Din compliments from the safety of the darkness. 

He has never been forthcoming with compliments: everything is usually ‘good’, or ‘okay’ to him. Maybe that’s why they drive you wild, offering a taste of how it sounds to hear him enjoy something—that something being you. 

With a coy smile, you lower yourself over his body to seek out his lips again and murmur, “You haven’t seen anything yet.” 

Leaned over and spread open for him, you grant him the opportunity to guide himself to your entrance. Din takes his cue as his lips meet yours for a kiss: it’s not as controlled as the last—he’s distracted, lost to the sensation of his cock slowly stretching you open. 

Stars, he’s thick. 

His free hand moves to the back of your head when you press your forehead gently against his cheek and close your eyes. Your body is quick to adjust to him, your inner muscles sheathing him inside of your heat until he stills and lets out a heavy breath. 

That’s when you clench teasingly around him and smirk to yourself. 

“Don’t do that,” he warns you in a murmur. “It’s already difficult enough to fight this urge to fuck you senseless right now.” 

“Yeah?” you ask as you do it again. 

“Yeah.”

Din’s fingers tighten their grip on you: his composure is close to snapping. You’ve worked him hard enough with your teasing so you finally give him what he wants. 

You begin slowly, drawing your hips up and sliding yourself down over his cock again in a steady rhythm. It’s not a pace that lasts for long, though. You move to sit back up on Din’s hips, hands bracing against his chest to give yourself some leverage as you fuck yourself on his cock. 

A slur of incoherent curses fall from your lips when Din’s thighs tense to thrust up and meet your hips. He learns your movements quickly, finds your rhythm and compliments it with his own. The bed protests with its squeaks and groans, but you’re sure it’s barely audible over the way you moan for the man beneath you. 

“Oh fuck,” you gasp when Din grabs handfuls of the flesh on your ass. 

He guides you up and pulls you back down, creating the most delicious sounds of skin against skin as you lean back even further. The change in position has Din’s cock rubbing up against just the right spot as you gasp. You repeat the action, switching to rock your hips as you control the pace and moan at the way tingles of electrical pleasure pulse across your body.

Maker, it’s amazing, albeit borderline overwhelming.

“I don’t–I don’t want to cum,” you whine breathlessly. “Don’t want this…to end.” 

“Sweetheart, this is just getting started,” Din assures you. 

Your eyes snap open to catch sight of a grin on his full lips—stars, that does nothing to help you hold onto what little composure you have left. It’s already slipping through your fingers when you drop a hand to rub at your clit. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he confirms. 

Din makes it sound like a promise. The simplicity of knowing he wants more serves as the assurance you need: you feel wanted, but not by just anyone. You feel wanted by Din. The thought of that has everything beginning to pull tighter and tighter until finally, something snaps. You descend into the pleasure of your climax with a loud moan of his name as your body switches to autopilot, hips rocking to ride out your orgasm.

There’s barely time for you to fully comprehend what’s going on when Din tenses with a groan and urges you to move. His thick cock is gone, no longer filling you as he quickly reaches down to wrap a hand around his glistening length while he spills his release against your thigh with a moan. 

A moment of stillness fills the room as you keep yourself propped up with your hands against Din’s firm chest. His heart thunders beneath your palm, just as your own does: you hear the rhythmic thumps of it,  loud in your ears against the silence. 

Din hands find their way to your body again, smoothing affectionately over your skin before he pulls you down and wraps an arm around you. With barely any room on the bed, you find yourself settling onto the side of his chest with a small, lazy smile. 

“I’d say we should get cleaned up,” Din mumbles quietly now that he has caught his breath. “But there’s no shower.” 

“There’s no shower,” you remember with a quiet laugh. 

“And I’d prefer to keep you right where you are…” 

The way Din trails off leaves it open for you to decline: he’s unsure if you want to stay here with him. You get the feeling he’s offering you a chance to leave, if this isn’t what you want. 

“I’d prefer to stay right where I am,” you reassure him as you tilt your head a little to brush the tip of your nose against his jaw. “Besides, I’m interested to see what you have planned for the rest of the night.” 

Din huffs a small laugh at your recall of his words, “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

—-----

The small, not-so-big, unable-to-comfortably-share, tiny bed proved useful for many things…but sleep wasn’t one of them. 

You fasten your damp jacket, standing in front of the window, noting the fresh layer of snow that had settled overnight. You already know how cold it is out there, how wet your clothes are going to get while you freeze down to your bones. 

The thought of that brings a hint of a smile to your lips as you look over your shoulder to see Din fixing the last of his weapons back into place. To look at him, nothing seems different this morning as he goes about his normal routine, yet, everything has changed overnight. 

Daylight had crept into the room far too soon this morning after hours of losing yourself in the pleasure Din could offer. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were both on a job, you would have insisted on staying longer so that you could fall back down onto the bed again and have him bury his face between your thighs to worship your taste. 

You blink yourself out of your thoughts and notice that he’s watching you, helmet tilted slightly to the side. You can’t be certain, but you like to think he’s smiling under his helmet, having caught you staring at him now that you no longer have to hide it. 

“You ready?” he asks as he motions to the door. 

“Actually…give me a second,” you quickly request and make your way into the fresher. 

The light above the mirror continues to flicker, and with an amused grin, you pull the small blade from your jacket. It seems only right to add your initials to the wall after spending a night here with Din. The sound isn’t a pleasant one as the blade scrapes over the metal, and within seconds, you feel his presence in the doorway. 

“Should I ask?” 

“Nope,” you reply and take a small step back to admire your work. 

No date, no full names, simply your and Din’s initials etched into the wall. Just like all the other names on there, you have plenty of stories to tell about your time spent in this room. 

But they would have to wait for another time. 

You turn to look at him, doing your utmost not to beam as you offer him a small smile. 

“Okay, let’s get going, big guy,” you tease him, using the Lasat’s words from the night before. 

“Don’t,” he sighs, still annoyed about that. 

You step out of the fresher and reach to touch the edge of his helmet with your finger, as if it were his chin: “Don’t forget to thank her on the way out. Seems like one bed wasn’t so bad, after all.” 

[sashi-ya]

HUNT YOU DOWN, EAT YOU ALIVE izumo haruichi x f! reader. voyeurism 「+18」

⋆ requested by: anon: congratulations on 8k followers my dear <3 how about haruichi w a f!reader + voyeurism. i’ve a feeling he’s secretly kinda freaky under that neat little facade ⋆tw: mdni. explicit smut. voyeuristic haurichi. masturbation. desperate to fuck you. ends up doing it on the dark ⋆wc: 1,7K // event masterlist

Mint locks cover spots of his eyes, those who watch the drops of sweat drip down your neck, down your spine.

He is always there; when you train, supporting you from the dark. When you sleep, and when you shower, that’s what he desires… to observe your hands going up and down your waist, with your hair getting wet, and your flesh purified.

But Haruichi -thinks he- is decent. He just likes to watch, not -at least until now- become a stalker.

Oh, but dear Mr. Izumo… are you really that sure?

The heat is unbearable. Your hair tie snaps.

“Damn it!” you hiss, being this hot under scorching sun with your hair down seems like torture.

“Have it ~” Haruichi mumbles, presenting before your eyes a sacred black elastic.

What kind of miracle is this?

“Ah… thank you Izumo-san! I will give it back as soon as we get a shower” you happily exclaim, as the relief device reaches your fingers. And, soon enough, puts your hair up in a pony tail.

Haruichi acts cool. Though, the imagery of you putting your hair up makes him thankful for his family creation; Izumo tecs suits don’t show erections.

He feels deeply ashamed, however, of sexualizing every step you take.

You, on the other hand, can’t think of anything else besides how good he looks with his hair down. There is no guilt in wanting the same most women around want; Haruichi Izumo is the most eligible bachelor. Not only he is hot and strong, but also he is the future heir of Izumo Tecs.

Hot and rich. Be mine, Izumo-sama.

In any case, even if his family business might be able to create it very soon, Haruichi isn’t able to read your mind. Your façade, innocent and tired from training can only make him even more guilty.

“You can keep it for as long as you want, (Name)-san” he says, swallowing with his throat dry after you squeezed his hand in friendly manner.

You give him a sweet smile, turning around to follow suit your Captain’s orders; being the Tachikawa base still under construction you have been transferred to a different one so you are all still learning about the installations.

Haruichi stands there, watching you join the group of women officers. The way your body looks with the suit on, makes him wanna rip him. His palm itches to squeeze, to slap your ass. His fingers, desperate, wish to be holding your waist. His teeth, crazy to be buried on your back flesh.

“Get a grip, Haruichi!” “I’m just tired…”

The sunset came faster than expected, and a night sky full of stars covered the whole nation. With no Kaiju alert, every officer had the chance to have a good meal as well as refreshing showers before sleep.

But there were a couple of recruits whose eyes despite being closed, couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t that their bodies weren’t tired, indeed they actually were even more than that… but their brains couldn’t help it; both had each other images burned in the back of their minds.

A walk around the base would do; a canned iced coffee from that old machine will help with the heat. Caffeine never made you less sleepy anyway.

You realize that you lied to him; that black tie is now resting on your right wrist… You didn’t give it back. You smile discovering it still there. Your left index passing under, pulling a little bit from the elastic only to release it after. A tingling sensation invades your flesh, wishing that to be his hands squeezing your wrist to pin you down for a kiss.

Allowed to walk around in short shorts due to the heat, you put a show for two pair of eyes that bleed desire from the dark. Like a twist of fate, his emerald irises met your beautiful self in the middle of a dark hall of a still unknown new base.

Haruichi stands still; he is -or think he is- aware you aren’t of his presence. A debate of stormy qualities takes place inside of him; should he watch you, should he stalk you?

“Isn’t that a little bit on the criminal side, Haruichi?!” he repeats to himself. But he also can’t stop following the line of your bare legs, how those short shorts hug every inch of tasteful meat, how your now still a little wet hair falls on your back… and that tank top, that so shamefully allows your nipples to ghost through.

Haruichi bites his lips to the point of turning them white from the missing blood flow on them. Haruichi pulls from his front locks. Little physical reactions to a much-deserved punishment as he keeps on looking, as now his shorts do show an unstoppable hardness.

He looks at you play with his hair tie; he enjoys the way shadows cast on your profile as you drink that iced coffee… that weak white light coming from the vending machine reflects right in all your curves.

“If I were a bad man; If I were a sick bastard…” he susurrus. Haruichi is not, he won’t hurt you…

And you know that, but you want him to be bad; you want Haruichi to be sick… Because you’ve seen him, because you know he is there. But he doesn’t know, he doesn’t really know…

A drop, and suddenly a trail of iced coffee drizzles your tank top. Like those summer contest of wet t-shirts, you act dumb. Men are simple, men are addicted to shitty porn coded depictions.

Taking advantage of that weak spot light coming from the bending machine you show how much of your breasts are showing through now a completely shear fabric.

“Shit!” you whisper, loud enough for him to listen. Your palms graze against your chest, helping your nipples become harder. Acting like you are -stupidly- cleaning the stains off your body, you push Haruichi to a certain extent you are not sure how unhealthy might be.

Him, thinking his hideout is perfect, fights against the need of his hand reaching his crotch. Relief, I beg you please… give. me. some. relief…

He might not notice, but he definitely can be heard. Accelerated breathing, on the verge of panting. A hand over his shorts, already stain in precum. Desperate, Izumo Haruichi, has fallen.

You take the hair tie off your wrist and use it to tie your tank top up, right under your boobs. Low short shorts, belly exposed, nipples the shade of your lips protruding so tempting, casting shadows as you turn to full show yourself towards his way.

Haruichi’s hand going up and down, pumping his dick. Hungry, aching, yearning for his sticky palm to be your insides.

Your hips, moving softly side to side, like dancing to the melody of his huffs and “nghs”. Walking so slowly, almost deadly sedated pace towards him.

“Izumo-san, you like watching me? Do you enjoy this? Spying on me? Getting off on me while I’m not watching?” you purr, coming closer and closer to his hideout.

He doesn’t answer, but should he do it? Haruichi knows he’s gone too far, but can he stop it? can he stop relieving himself if your kissable lips ask him those things? Can he lie to you saying he doesn’t like what he sees?

“Tell me, Haruichi-kun… You enjoy touching yourself to this?” you ask, playing straight with your breasts; lifting slowly the wet coffee-stained shirt.

“I do, I do… I do...” he answers back, or maybe he growls. Like a beast, him losing everything for a drop of pleasure.

You scoff, letting the darkness of a training room in the middle of the night. Haruichi’s hand snatches you, covering your mouth with it as he pulls you inside.

“As much as I enjoy watching you, I much rather fuck you right here (Name)” he whispers right in your ear from behind. He has his hand pressed on your lower belly, pinning your back against his chest and sex.

“As much as I enjoy spying on you, to see your body from afar… I much rather have your skin all for me…”

You hum in consent, grazing your ass against his hardness. Him takes advantage of your little dance, humping right over your black shorts. He most probably wish to leave stains of his pace.

He turns you around when he is over with a dry humping -that’s above all anything but dry- that left him almost on the verge of climax once again. His lips clash with yours, a kiss done in the dark, a kiss that leaves you trembling from your waist down.

A kiss that becomes two and three, and your ass sitting right on a bench that’s most often used for training.

“You know, I just need to fuck you right here. I promise I will give you everything after, just let me fuck you deeper. Now…”

“Please, do… Haruichi-kun”

You are completely ok with his desperate ways; there will be time for foreplay… now you need him deep, oh so deep inside.

In total darkness, perhaps a faint reflection of the hall filters through, he pulls your shorts down. Not even the time to pull them completely off, as you feel one of the legs tangling on your ankle.

His fingers get absolutely covered with your juices, of a dripping wet sex desperate to be used. A few ups and downs, and some fingering took him to finally get you ready.

Oh, the image of his locks framing his face in between darkness, how they messy stuck to his forehead and temples covered in sweat…

A classic missionary will do for this, he is so well trained. Your legs are spread wide, the flowy white shirt of him tucked under his chin. Your hands land on sculpted abs, and then nails carve strongly on his forearms as he finally slides it in, raw and deliciously breaking you in half…  

It is by far ironic how he didn’t actually need to see to be able to touch and enjoy your body... when Haruichi is just a little voyeuristic man!

[jo-harrington]

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 3: Lore Dump

Previous Chapter: Out of Character

Summary: After your bombshell revelation, Eddie finds it difficult to wrap his head around what is now his reality to empathize with your shared predicament.

Word Count: 8k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lore Dump (literally), Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Various References to Movies and Television, Criticism of Fanfiction, Meta Fiction

Note: Ok besties here we are and the chapter, or at least one part of it, is very much as the title says. It's a Lore Dump as we figure out how Reader and Eddie have found themselves in this predicament. Warning everyone that it might be a little mind-fucky but a lot more will be explained in detail in future chapters. We've only just scratched the surface here.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

You'd never run so much in your entire life.

Alright, that might have been a little dramatic.

But that didn't mean it wasn't true.

"Is it always like this?" you panted as you chased after the flopping brown coat of the man a few steps ahead of you. "With the running?"

"Oh yes!" he called out. He looked back at you with a charming, crooked grin and pointed ahead. "You'll get used to it. Allons-y!"

This whole nightmare started when you crashed your car into, what you thought was, an unassuming blue "police box."

And now, several days later, you were running, ducking, diving...surviving all manner of monsters that seemingly popped up out of nowhere in the middle of Texas. With a goofy man with unbrushed hair and a buzzing screwdriver called The Doctor, and his companion--whatever that meant; it sounded suspicious to you--Martha, who kept staring at you like you'd grown another head.

You supposed adventure was the idea when you left the borders of Port Geneva proper, but this kind of adventure wasn't exactly what you had in mind. Static monsters who could literally take the words out of your mouth and a hive-mind controlling overlord whose goal it was to steal knowledge.

You might have been a lover of fantastical stories, but this was something beyond your wildest fantasies, and apparently something Martha and the Doctor encountered regularly, if their cool reaction to some of the atrocities you'd seen was indicator enough.

They both seemed to have it in mind that you were joining them for this type of ordeal from now on, though.

Especially the Doctor, if that "you'll get used to it" was something to go by.

"Come on, faster, faster," Martha called out to you from the threshold of a solid metal door just up ahead. "They can't get in through the iron."

You pumped your legs faster and ignored the burn in your lungs as you passed the Doctor and joined Martha in the safety of the bunker, with the man of the hour himself following shortly after. Martha slammed the door shut and then used the sonic to ensure the lock would hold.

They let you have a moment to catch your breath as they strategized plans for the next steps, which seemed impossible now that you were stuck in a bunker filled with junk and no exit.

"Nothing's impossible," the Doctor exclaimed as though he could read your mind. Maybe he could; you wouldn't put it past him. "And we're not stuck."

He removed the brown trench coat and got to work sorting through the junk in the bunker, while Martha took a seat beside you and patted your knee.

"You should be proud of yourself," she said gently. "It's really hard, dealing with all of this. And I've been with him for almost a year now. All the running, the monsters, all of the...impossible--

"Nothing's impossible Martha," the Doctor interjected.

"--improbable things," she amended. "It doesn't get easier, but you will get used to it. Besides, you'd think you were on the track team like Sam with how fast you've been running. Maybe you should have been the star relay runner instead of her."

Martha might have laughed.

But you didn't.

You felt a cold sense of dread overtake you. You'd told them about your friends back home earlier in the day, when you'd panicked over your impending doom. You cried and told them you wished you were still back there, safe and sound; in hindsight, it was a pathetic moment.

It wasn't what you'd said that gave you pause now, though; it's what you hadn't.

"Martha," you muttered nervously. "How did you know that Sam did relay?"

Martha's eyes went wide and she looked to the doctor in a sudden panic.

"I...I never told you she was on the track team."

It was a standoff.

A staring contest.

You and Eddie watched each other, unblinking, as if to see who would break first.

Eddie knew it would probably be him because his mind was racing, but he would give you the chance to repeat yourself, or elaborate, or maybe yell "surprise" first.

None of those things happened of course, so he was left in stunned silence trying to formulate the words to respond to your groundbreaking revelation.

We are in a fanfiction.

Fanfiction.

He had heard about fanfiction before. Drove the guys out to some comic book shop in Fort Wayne to celebrate Jeff's birthday and the nerds behind the counter were talking about a Star Trek fanfiction they read in some celebratory fan magazine.

He'd honestly never thought about Kirk and Spock like that and he really didn't want to again.

Even though it kind of made sense.

He just wasn’t that big of a Trek guy either.

But damn, even though he and the guys might not have been the popular kids, they were definitely not dorky like that, were they?

Except that they were. He was.

He wrote his favorite characters into his DnD campaigns as NPCs and he fantasized about what it would be like if he was Han Solo instead of Han himself, and tucked away in a drawer at home, there was definitely that story about you...

"Shit," he finally breathed out, blinking and breaking eye contact with you. "Shit, I did this. I mean, I know I did this, but did...did I do this?"

"What?" You frowned at him. "What do you mean, did you do this? Eddie, did you hear what I said?"

"No, yeah, of course I did," he began rambling. "I just...before you showed up in Hawkins, I...I wrote about you. I wrote about you leaving Port Geneva and coming to Hawkins and meeting me and...fuck...that means you know."

You stared at him blankly.

"You know that Port Geneva is a TV show," he clarified and then ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus Christ, how did I...how could I have done this? Shit. Shit."

You crossed the short distance and took a seat on the couch beside him, comforting hand finding his knee instantly.

"Eddie--"

"I'm sorry I did this. I'm sorry I just...you're my...my favorite character and I..."

"--you didn't do this. Someone else did."

He took a few breaths, heart pounding in his chest, and then swallowed hard.

"Who?"

"That's...a little harder to answer. But I think the thing you need to focus on right now--the thing you're missing--is that we are in a fanfiction. You and me. Together. Because I'm not the only one from a TV show. You are too."

Eddie was dumbstruck for a second.

Well, he was pretty dumbstruck about this whole thing. But he only had a second to really process it, because the next thing he knew, you were in his lap, lips pressed to his, hands fisting his jacket, and the door to the greenroom burst open as his friends walked in.

You pulled away from him as the catcalls and whistles and jokes began and glanced over your shoulder at the guys to bite your lip bashfully.

"Ah, looks like the original song worked after all," Jeff teased.

"Good, cuz then we don't have to play it anymore, bleh," Gareth stuck his tongue out. "You know, for everything you preach about metal and only metal Eddie, you sure wrote some sappy Greg Brady shit."

Eddie's ears rang as he answered. Well, as his mouth moved and voice spoke, saying something that got everyone laughing. Something that he had no control over once again. You turned back to him and he widened his eyes in some silent plea but you simply shook your head at him.

Instead you leaned forward and kissed him again, softer this time. Gentler. Different from the unexpected kiss just moments before, this was one of understanding and comfort.

He relaxed under your touch.

"Alright guys," you announced as you pulled away, words and tone of your voice not quite matching the softness of your gaze as you continued to watch him. "Your set's over. You don't have to go home but you can't stay here. Bev wants you out."

"What was all of that?" he demanded as you stepped out of your car.

After driving the guys home, he sat on your porch and waited. Chain smoking and lost in his thoughts until you got back to Forest Hills after your shift.

"Can I at least get inside first?" you asked with a nervous laugh. "Do you want to wake Granny up? Jesus."

He was on your heels as you unlocked your door and stepped inside, almost followed you to your bedroom when you said you'd wanted to change into PJs, and even declined a soda when you got settled back in the living room.

And once you couldn't stall for any more time, sitting next to each other on your couch, he stared at you and begged, "please, I need to know I'm not in a nightmare here. Or dead."

You let out a honk of laughter and then reached over to take his hand in yours, and he felt the slight edge of abject terror start to lessen.

"You're not in a nightmare," you reassured him. "Or dead."

"Then...then what is this?" he whispered desperately. "Is this a trick? A joke? Start from the beginning. Please."

You took a breath and began.

"It's fanfiction." You hummed contemplatively for a moment. "This is...I don't know when it started, actually. For me, that is. For you...well, there's no way we could say for sure; I can only talk about my own experience."

You paused and then said your name, the same way that you had introduced yourself originally. And then Eddie realized that you were introducing yourself again as you squeezed his hand in yours.

"I was born and raised in Port Geneva, and then in 1985 after graduation, I left to start my adventure. And from that moment on--for years--I got to have it. I got to have...a hundred adventures. A thousand. A million maybe? As many adventures as there have been people to imagine them. As many adventures as there have been fans to write them.

"Fans like you, Eddie," you smiled at him. "You said you wrote a story where I came to see you."

"Yeah," he nodded, cheeks hot under your gaze. "I did."

"And I'm your favorite character?"

He thought about you, thought about himself and the countless nights that he watched you on the screen.

"How could you not be my favorite?" he asked gently in return.

Your gaze turned soft and you looked down at his hand, clasped tightly within yours, and then you continued with your story.

"I got to see the world, got to meet so many people, I got to fall in love...except I never realized it. Until...until I met him."

"Him?" Eddie asked sharply, thoughts immediately spiraling.

Love.

You said love.

Who was this Him that you were in love with? Even through Eddie's confusion and panic about the predicament he was currently in, he could still feel a bitter jealousy roiling deep inside his gut.

"The Doctor," you whispered.

"Doctor Who?"

You snorted. "Exactly."

"I don't get it," he shook his head.

"Doctor Who...that's...it's the name of a television show. Been around for a long time, but I'm not sure how popular it is here. If it even exists. You have a lot of media that we didn't have in Port Geneva but there's a few things that...I dunno...that your writers haven't mentioned. Or The Writer hasn't included yet."

You explained it to him, or the gist of it at least.

An immortal time-traveling alien and his usually human companion, all of the adventures and misadventures and danger. Being able to go to different times and timelines and universes.

In any other scenario, it would have sounded cool. Maybe a little scary. But now, all Eddie could think about was this mess you were in.

"And...this Doctor...he's what brought you to Hawkins?" he questioned hesitantly, figuring that it made the most sense. "He thought he was bringing you back to Port Geneva's universe and brought you here instead?"

"Uh, no," you frowned. "That was The Writer. The Author. Whatever you want to call them."

"Because this is a fanfiction."

"Yeah. That was. And this is. I just...didn't know it yet. I didn't realize it was fanfiction until later. But, uh, whoever wrote that crossover story just brought me from my world into Doctor Who, and that was when I realized I was a fictional character from a TV Show. Because they wrote me as a character who jumped from a television show into the 'real world' of the Doctor and his friends."

Just like you were now: a fictional character in his world.

"It's hard to explain, but the Doctor made me aware of it. Made it make sense." You faltered. "Well...not really, but that's when it started. He told me that I wasn't real--"

"Wait,” he interrupted you. “But you said I was from a tv show back at the hideout. So you're telling me I'm not real?"

"Ed--"

"Because you’re from a tv show and so am I and this Doctor is too.”

“I wouldn’t try to think about it so hard.”

“Is that...the Doctor told you that you were a character in a TV show and you weren't real? And that's what you're telling me right now too?"

"It's hard to explain--"

"Because I don't know sweetheart," Eddie chuckled sardonically and shook his hands out of yours so he could run them over his face, through his hair. "I...I feel plenty real. And if there's anyone who isn't real here...well, I have a stack of video tapes back home that can provide enough evidence."

He’d thought about the barebones of it when he’d been outside waiting for you to get home, but faced with the truth of it now, the dominoes were starting to fall.

He was real, he had to be. His whole life, all of his memories, all of his friends, what about th—

"Can you let me fucking finish?" you snapped at him with a sharp clap.

His shoulders heaved and he stared at you with wild eyes.

"You're real," you explained calmly. "I'm real. We're both real. Real people. Real lives. Real memories. For the most part."

Eddie didn't like the sound of that.

"But this world...is your world and I don't belong here. Just like I didn't belong in the Doctor's world either. He explained it to me in some way I didn't quite understand; I'm just a girl from the midwest. I barely graduated high school and suddenly he was telling me there was some cosmic anomaly that pulled me out of my world, my tv show world, and that I was transported into his world. It was wild.

“The important thing though was that he didn't know how to get me home. So, until he could figure it out, I was stuck. And I traveled with him for a while. With him and his friend Martha…and then with another friend Donna. Until somewhere at the end of it all...I died."

Eddie's heart stopped in his chest; you...died?

The question was stuck on his lips, the demand to know more, but he felt himself choke up when he thought about it. Even more when he watched the tears well in your eyes as you remembered your own death.

"I died alone, bleeding out in the middle of an alien planet..." you recalled, wrenching your eyes shut. There was a beat of silence and he let you have a moment to recover. He watched your eyes dart around beneath your eyelids as you gathered your thoughts, as you recalled whatever horror you went through. When you were through, you blinked and looked up at him with the weight of a thousand truths in your gaze. "And then I wasn't dead anymore."

"What?!"

"Well obviously I'm alive,” you motioned down to yourself. “Maybe I’m a little worse for wear inside but I’m fine. Back then though...I was dead. One second I was in oblivion. And then next, I woke up in the driver's seat of my car, outside of a hotel in Odessa, Texas. With a man from the future named Hiro Nakamura, who told me I had to save the cheerleader if I wanted to save the world.

"And it all just started over again," you sighed.

You recounted this next place to him. Places, actually; plural. Names that meant nothing to him but seemed to mean something to you--Hiro, Claire, Peter, Sylar--and it all sounded fantastic. Another unbelievable adventure, but there was still something off.

"I...I tried to ask questions. About where I was, about where the Doctor was. It was always ignored. I tried to control things but it seemed like I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried. Tried to do things that I instinctively knew I wanted to do, but I just couldn't. It seemed like there was something controlling me instead. Like I was a puppet on a string. And everything that happened around me...never seemed to make any sense, no matter how hard I tried to wrap my head around it.

"Sound familiar?" you asked.

Eddie scoffed, thinking about the traumatic, out of control moments he had had the past few days. That hopeless, helpless, sinking feeling he'd had.

"It fucking sucks, sweetheart. You feel like that...all the time?"

"You get used to it." You shook your head. "Get used to playing along. I learned that really quickly; I resigned myself to this life where I was just a passenger in my own body. Until I realized if I just played the part that whatever forces-that-be wanted me to play, I could have a little more control."

There was a tense pause as you let Eddie absorb the information. And absorb it he did. He didn't like it, the idea that he had to play a part; it was something he'd been fighting all his life. But maybe if you said it was something that would make him feel more in control, he could try.

He turned to the next thought ever-present in his mind.

"So," he cleared his throat to start again. "How do you know this is a fanfiction? When did you figure that out? Because...when you showed up, I thought about all the possibilities--a dream, a nightmare, hell, heaven, a portal, a wormhole like in a comic book--and that was never one of them."

"Because of the interviews."

"Interviews..."

"They're fun and silly, I guess," you shrugged apathetically. "You'll be in the middle of your life, middle of your day, middle of a fight...and then the world goes dark and you'll find yourself sitting in a room alongside the people you know...and The Writer. An Interview with the Characters.

"I was already familiar with the fact that I was from a television show and in a world I didn't belong in. But I was the only person aware of that fact; to the Doctor, I was a fictional character, but here Port Geneva the television show...didn't exist. I was just another citizen of planet earth, and my home was a real place on the map, as real as Odessa or New York.

"But suddenly my friends and I were in that room sitting in front of someone. A writer. The Writer--SylaireIsMyOTP117--and they were all aware that they were characters in a television show called Heroes, that I was a character from Port Geneva, and that we were all in some kind of...story in another universe, written by this SylaireismyOTP117. Something they never seemed aware of before.

"And SylaireismyOTP117...she acted like she was our friend too, like she had our best interest in mind and valued our opinions. Everyone laughed along with all of her jokes. Answered all of her questions. Except me, because then it all came into perspective. She was the one playing with our lives--playing with my life--and putting us in danger. She made us travel through time to dangerous places, she created more dangers, she even killed Peter's older brother--something that apparently hadn't happened in the show. Well...not yet anyway."

Your hands clenched and unclenched.

"I thought I figured it out," you said through gritted teeth. "Found the person responsible for this predicament I was in. Because she was so...sure of herself. She even had the audacity to apologize for pulling me out of my world and into Heroes. I asked her why she made me die with the Doctor just so I could be a part of this world instead... but she didn't know what I was talking about.

"Suddenly she had this pink magazine in her hand. Pulled it out of her back pocket and waved it around, saying she found it in her mom's childhood bedroom. Said I must have been thinking about one of the stories from it. The Port Geneva Teen Fanzine. SylaireismyOTP117 told me she was sad that people had written me the way they did. Out of Character. That she wanted to give me something better than than had. A better adventure. Then the interview was over. And that was the end of that. Or just the beginning actually.

"Mystery solved." You held your hands out in front of you like you were presenting the secrets of the universe. Eddie could even imagine a glowing sphere floating there if he tried hard enough.

You started naming names then, of movies and books and television shows. Heroes and Lost and Vampire Diaries and The Dark Knight.

And. And. And.

The list just kept going and going.

It made Eddie's head spin to hear all of the places you had been, all of the lives you had lived, the things that all of these Writers had put you through.

To hear how sometimes you'd wake up in a new world, sometimes you'd seemingly get your happily ever after, sometimes none of the above. Sometimes you were even back home in Port Geneva--relieved--only to get ripped away all over again.

It never seemed to end the same way, but it always started with you in the driver's seat of your car. Chugging along to the next destination. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

"And that's how you ended up here in Hawkins?" Eddie asked, then paused. "Do you know...what my show is called?"

"Uh," you winced and folded your hands together in your lap. "Yes. I do. And I know it seems like I know all of these things. I don’t. Rarely, actually. But sometimes the Writers think they're funny and they work the title into the story; that’s how I find out. Because it's out of place.

"But, uh, it’s not the first time I've been here in Hawkins, actually."

It was a record scratch moment for Eddie.

"You...you have?" He smiled and suddenly felt a sense of hope; alright, so his love for you was so undeniable that this wasn't the first time someone had brought you to him. To give him something good in his miserable shit life. "Well so, what happened last time? Why can't I remember? Is that just...well, I guess, what makes this time different? Why am I aware of it all this time?

"Wait! Wait! What's my show about? Is it...is it like...the Misadventures of a Wannabe Rockstar or something? You said that when we had breakfast at Benny's. Is that the title? It has to be."

He rambled for a second, excitedly trying to predict his future, a future where you got to see the ups and downs of his life as he and Corroded Coffin navigated their way to fame.

You let him ramble, let him live in hope for those few moments. Until he realized you weren't chattering excitedly with him.

Until he saw the pain in your eyes.

He deflated, mind suddenly turning to the worst scenarios. At least in his mind.

"We don't make it, do we?" Was the conclusion he could come to. "But it's Wannabe Rockstar, right?. Not Future Rockstar. I'm gonna end up working at Thatcher Tires instead or something. Dead end job, stuck in this town..."

"It isn't your show," you whispered. "Just like Port Geneva...wasn't really mine."

Eddie swallowed hard.

"It's called Stranger Things," you explained. "And it's...I dunno...there are monsters. The first time I was here, I wasn't transported in as someone's favorite TV character. It was 1983, Port Geneva was a real place, and I was a transfer student at Hawkins High. And awful things happened. But there was no Eddie Munson. They must've written you in later in the show."

You continued your own rambling then, as you tried to make him feel better about it all. How he must've been a beloved character for someone to write a story about him. How whatever story they were writing was a good story too, because there didn't seem to be any monsters in Hawkins, not like there were the first time you'd been there.

"And...and The Writer of this story must love you a lot," you concluded. "To bring your favorite tv character in to be your girlfriend. For us to...like each other, love each other--and I do like you Eddie, I want to make that very clear. You make me feel like I'm close to home for the first time in a long time--but it seems like they want to give you a happy ending too. One you deserve."

But your words didn't help. The sinking feeling was back, but this time The Writer didn't have anything to do with it.

It was him, all him. All this misery and he wasn't even the main character of his own show. He should've seen that coming. And yeah he could live with being someone's favorite, enough for them to write a happy ending or something but...

"'s that mean I have a sad ending in the show?" he wondered. "If there are usually monsters here but there aren't, and I get something...something good, does that mean I die or something?"

"Eddie, it's..." you trailed off, but the rest of the sentence was hanging in the air, clear to both of you.

It's better not to think about it that way.

He nodded slowly and pulled his hand away from you to run it over his face.

It was confusing, it was upsetting.

All of it.

The cherry on top of the shit sundae that was his week. His life.

Fuck, but none of it was real, right? Contrary to everything you said. So could he really be upset? Should he? At least he knew he had something good to look forward to. A happy ending.

But how could he look forward to it when he knew that...well, when he knew that he didn't deserve it in the first place. That wasn't what fate had in store for him.

Or the writers of this Stranger Things show.

His happiness was at the whim of The Writer. At the whim of some...loser nerd writing about him in another universe.

A nerd just like him.

Fuck, it was giving him a headache.

"I uh...have a lot to think about," he whispered. You nodded as he stood and crossed towards the door of your trailer so he could leave. He paused at the door, instinctively remembering that he had to kiss you goodbye. Until everything hit him all over again and he decided it was better not to. "I'll, uh, I'll call you. Ok?"

"Yeah," you nodded eagerly. "Call me whenever. Please. It's...it is a lot. And honestly, we only scratched the surface. But we can figure the rest out together. I can help you through it. I promise. I'll be here."

He left without another word.

Denial was the easiest way for Eddie to go about this whole ordeal, or so he thought. How the fuck else was someone supposed to come to terms with the fact that...

Nope he wasn't gonna go there. Not yet.

He knew that he would need to deal with it eventually--need to think it through and talk to you--but until then, he was just going to live his life like he normally would.

So he avoided those feelings, and avoided you.

And it seemed to work.

School, home, trip to Rick's to re-up his inventory on Wednesday, grocery run for Wayne on Thursday, Hellfire on Friday, no date on Saturday.

Dealing at a few parties, band practice where the music was all normal, and then finally back at the Hideout for their gig on Tuesday.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

It was a normal week and aside from the still-obvious markers of this new life he was living, like the mess in the trailer and the fancy renovations at the Hideout, Eddie felt relieved and a little less like he was about to lose his mind.

It was both a blessing and a curse though, because at the end of every day he realized just how much missed you.

You'd rooted yourself solidly in his life--both on tv and now in the flesh--for years. Even when he didn't have new episodes to watch and stories to enjoy, he had his reruns. His tapes. Then you were suddenly there in person and on the phone.

So the you-shaped hole that he punched in his life, when he decided to ignore his predicament, was gaping and obvious.

Yeah, he could tell Wayne about the great battle he'd come up with for Hellfire, or complain to the guys about the bogus chemistry homework. But it wasn't the same. Not anymore.

So he resolved to talk to you on Tuesday after the set, only you weren't there.

"Shouldn't you know Junior? That's your girl," Bev dismissed him with a wave of her hand. She must have taken pity on him at the sight of his sad eyes, and she just sighed and continued. "She called in sick. Took the night off. She seemed fine yesterday; better not be cuz of you, kid."

He feared you might have left town, maybe to spare him or something--how that would work with the fanfiction Gods? Weren't you supposed to stay in Hawkins? He wasn't sure--but your car was in front of your trailer by the time he got home.

Everything was quiet, and all the lights were off, even the porch light which you usually kept on. He debated knocking on your door, waking you up, but decided against it.

If you really were trying to give him space, or simply avoid him like he had avoided you, it was best not to wake you up and piss you off.

"Tomorrow," he told himself. "I'll talk to her after school tomorrow."

Of course, that was the plan and fanfiction or not, sometimes even the best laid plans went awry.

He was still Eddie Munson, after all.

Things never went his way.

Once again, he had Chrissy Cunningham to thank for his plight.

It was on this, the day of his reconciliation with you, that she decided her hunt or conquest or humiliation of him would take place.

Maybe all of the above.

It was raining, he was running late.

He would have cut classes--should have just cut--but despite all odds being against him now more than ever, he promised himself that he was going to try when it came to school.

He had just opened the door to his locker when she appeared, the tips of her pristine white sneakers kissing the sides of his muddied converse.

"Hey Eddie!" Chrissy greeted with a too-big smile and sparkling eyes.

Eddie jumped and looked around the hallway, conveniently lacking its usual amount of students who loitered around before class. Thankfully, no other cheerleaders or jocks in sight either, though; it was either a blessing or a curse, he couldn't tell for sure.

"Hey, uh," he coughed and glanced at Chrissy for a second, before distracting himself with the contents of his locker. Fuck, it was pretty messy in there too; now was as good a time as any to clean it. "What's up?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to talk to you," she beamed.

He felt a bubbling of annoyance build within him, somewhat out of his control.

"You can't want to talk to me and also not want anything Chrissy," he scoffed pretty harshly as he grabbed a handful of papers to sort through. "So do you want to buy weed for a slumber party or something? Or have you suddenly decided to throw your Homecoming crown in the trash so you could join Hellfire ?"

She shuffled her feet and clutched her books to her chest and then took a deep breath.

"I wanted to know if you'd like to hang out some time," she announced loudly, bravely. Eddie froze in shock and then turned to her; her cheeks were red but there was a resolve in her eyes that he'd never seen in her before. "There's a new movie playing at the Hawk. Clue. I don't know if you've heard of it, it looks a little spooky..."

She rambled on and Eddie was left to stare at her, dumbfounded.

Chrissy Cunningham? Asking him out? Ok so Gareth was right?

But was Gareth right? Was she really hot for him or was she just using him for her own amusement? Or was this another little...storytelling mishap that the Writer was putting him through?

Shit, how could he tell?

This kind of shit sort of always, sort of never happened to him before.

Plenty of popular girls thought it was fun to go out with The Freak just to get off or to have a laugh, sure. But everything else in his life was turning upside down thanks to the Writer. So was this just another layer to that absolute shit show?

Gah, what the fuck could it be?

The anger bubbled inside of him again, and he had the vaguest realization that the anger didn't really belong to him. It felt too intense, almost manufactured. He was hit with the sense of deja vu that he'd felt this way before--in the cafeteria before the almost-food-fight and then at Family Video--and he decided to put a stop to it immediately.

"Listen Chrissy," he interrupted her with a cool, indifferent tone. "The movie sounds cool, but I'm really not interested in going out with you." He turned back to shut his locker and get to class when she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"If this is because of Jason," she began softly. "I'm...you don't have to worry. I'd break up with him if we went out."

"It's not about Jason," he snapped, out of control once again. Well and truly out of control. He felt himself shrug her hand away. "I have a girlfriend. A girlfriend who is actually cool and nice and interesting. Who likes the things that I like and doesn't like silly things like magazines and cheer and scrunchies." He watched in horror as he lifted his hand and flicked at her ponytail, and then felt angry at himself, at this situation, at The Writer when Chrissy flinched and dropped her books on the floor.

"It's almost funny that you'd think I'd be interested in someone like you," he spat at her venomously.

He felt the sudden urge to slam the locker, felt the urge to walk away, felt the urge to laugh in Chrissy's face.

But he resisted all of those urges with every fiber of his being.

He just stood there until the puppet strings were cut once again and he felt the rage and anger dissipate.

All the while, Chrissy went from a fearful, trembling mess in front of him, eyes welling with tears, to...nothing.

She just stood there too.

She looked down at her feet, shuffled back and forth for a moment, and then she scuffed her shoes against the floor, nudging the fallen textbooks.

She suddenly didn't look like Queen of Hawkins High Chrissy Cunningham, or someone that was afraid of the Wrath of the Freak, or some lash-batting temptress like she had been just moments ago.

She just looked like the girl who was hiding in the Auditorium at the Hawkins Middle School talent show all those years ago.

A person. Just like him.

Eddie cleared his throat and knelt down to help Chrissy pick up her books.

"Sorry," he muttered when she knelt beside him. "Sorry I--"

"No, it's ok. I guess...I don't know. I guess I just felt a little lost for a while," she explained softly. "And the only thing that seemed like it could fix it was you."

Interesting.

"But not anymore?" he wondered.

"Uh, no," she shook her head. "I don't even know...why I asked you out Eddie. No offense...but you're not really my type."

The two of them laughed for a second as they stood back up.

"You know," Eddie turned Chrissy's books over in his hand, "if you wanna break up with Carver, you can just do that. You don't need to use me as an excuse."

She froze in front of him, cheeks red again, as she hummed nervously.

"Thanks Eddie," she whispered. They both smiled softly, a silent understanding shared between them, and then Chrissy held out her books so he could stack the ones in his hand atop them.

And that's when he saw the book--magazine--at the top of her stack.

A pink-covered, handmade looking thing with a familiar name printed at the top of it.

Port Geneva Teen Fanzine.

His heart stopped.

That was the thing you said your Writer had shown you once upon a time, in your Interview.

For a second he wondered how Chrissy had it, but then he tried to figure out the logic that you were from a TV show and transported here. If he was a fan, there must be other people watching the show and fans of it too. Maybe the magazine transcended universes. Just like the show did.

It honestly made his head hurt trying to think about it.

"You...you like Port Geneva?" he asked, trying to remain as casual as possible.

"Hmm, yeah," Chrissy smiled down at the 'zine. "It's one of my favorite shows. My mom and I used to watch it together. Sam is my favorite character."

Somehow, that didn't surprise him one bit.

"Do you watch?" she questioned, brow quirked curiously. "It doesn't seem like your kind of show."

"I mean, I'm full of surprises," he teased, trying to keep his tone as lighthearted as possible. "But, uh...yeah. I used to."

"It's a bummer that it's over right?"

"Yeah...hey Chrissy, I know you don't owe me any favors or anything but, uh, can I borrow that?"

"Seriously?" she snorted. "It's just got like personality quizzes and little stories and stuff in it. Nothing special."

Little stories? Bingo.

"Yeah, just curious."

"Sure." They traded her textbooks for the magazine, and then with a shrill ring of the bell overhead, they went off to class.

He sat in his room after school, holding the Port Geneva Teen Fanzine like it was some sacred document not meant for the eyes of a mere mortal peasant like him.

The Dead Sea Scrolls or the Magna Carta or The Declaration of Independence.

It had burned a hole in his backpack the whole day, anticipation getting the better of him, but he knew that he didn't want to read the 'zine in front of his friends.

"So stupid," he scoffed at his own antics. "What was gonna happen? Davey wouldn't want to take the 'which character would make the best chemistry lab partner' quiz."

Maybe just in case there was something just inside the pink paper cover that would change his life forever.

"Like what? It's not like your yearbook picture's gonna be on the first page, idiot," he sighed and tightened his grip on the magazine. "Just gotta rip off that bandaid."

He closed his eyes tightly, took a breath, and flipped open the cover.

When he cracked one eye open to take a peek, he sighed in relief.

His face wasn't staring back up at him. No faces, actually. Just a table of contents that looked a little grainy, like it was copied on a Xerox machine and haphazardly thrown together.

There were different headlines just like there would be in a regular magazine--interviews, behind the scenes, quizzes--and then some unique ones--fan art, fan submissions, show theories. At the bottom of the Table of Contents, there was a little slip that could be cut out, filled, and mailed along with a few dollars to some address in California to get the next copy of the 'zine.

Eddie flipped through the pages curiously, and he truly enjoyed some of the pictures of fans visiting the set and getting pictures with a few cast members. Then an interview with the actress who played Sam's mom, who said what a joy it was to see her young co-stars grow up and come into their own, just like their characters.

Then about half-way through, he reached the Fan Submissions.

A section filled with fanfiction stories.

A section where your name was plastered practically everywhere.

Stories of you getting to go to big cities, ones where you finally returned home. A heartbreaking one where you returned in time for Sam and Pat's wedding and you cried because...

Because...you'd actually been in love with Patrick the whole time?

Eddie made a noise of shock as he read the detailed description of your heartbreak and the way that you recalled how sad you had been the day Pat had come to ask for your help with the proposal.

"Were we even watching the same show?" Eddie scoffed.

There were a few fanfiction submissions that characterized you that way, having this unrequited love for him.

But you never really showed any interest in him, other than friendship. Aside from Mark, you never had any romantic feelings in the show.

How had these so-called fans misread your relationship with Pat so terribly?

Or had Eddie's obsession with you clouded his ability to perceive the signs? Maybe he had been watching a different show than everyone else.

He wallowed in that feeling as he waded through the fan stories slowly--although one story about Bonnie and Bill seemed a little interesting: a Bakery/Flower Shop soulmate romance--until he got to one at the very end that caused the hair on his arms to stand on end.

A story about you...and Alex P. Keaton?

It was the only crossover in the fan submission, and it made Eddie nervous once again that he misunderstood your character.

Alex P. Keaton who read the Wall Street Journal for fun?! And you, and artist who followed your heart and went on an adventure to find yourself?! No, there was no way.

"This is a bunch of bullshit," he muttered. He shut the magazine and ran a hand over his face and into his hair.

Eddie wasn't the one who misunderstood you; it was everyone else who did. And if they had written you so wrong in this magazine, he could only dream of how wrongly they'd written you in all of those other stories you told him about. How miserable you must have felt in all of those different worlds.

Shit, and it was not only you who felt miserable, but him now too.

The wild events of the past few weeks had made him feel like he was going crazy. Yeah, at least he had an explanation for it now, but it didn't negate the fact that he suddenly felt like a stranger in his own life.

And if he felt like that, God only knows how you must've felt.

"Shit," he muttered.

He needed to talk to you.

He quickly got up from the bed and raced out of the house, panting as he jogged across the trailer park to get to your door.

He knocked frantically and impatiently waited for you to answer.

His resolve broke when you finally did.

Clothes--pajamas, actually--mussed, eyes bloodshot and puffy, you looked a lot like you had during the episode where Mark had broken your heart and you'd cried to Sam.

Had you thought that he was ending things with you because he had been avoiding you? Because of this whole situation? He ached to think that he'd hurt you like that.

"Sweetheart," Eddie whispered softly. "I should've called. Shit. I'm sorry I--"

"No," you sniffed and shook your head. You were smart enough to put two and two together and realize what he was apologizing for. "No, it's...Eddie this isn't because of you...I mean yeah, actually it is but..."

"I'm sorry," you both said simultaneously.

"I'm sorry that I just left the other night," Eddie elaborated. "I'm sorry that I avoided the whole thing, but I needed...I needed some sense of normalcy in all of this."

When he paused for breath, you immediately swooped in with your own apology and explanation.

"Well I'm sorry I seemed to have brought all of this bullshit with me to Hawkins," you stared at him pathetically. "I've never...no one has ever seemed aware of it before. I've been dealing with this alone for so long. I know I sort of dumped it on you; not only to explain, but maybe because I found some sort of relief that I wouldn't be going through it all alone anymore. I'd have you with me at least.

"And then, after you left, I really had time to think...how long it's been. My show aired in the 80's. And your show...Stranger Things? I mean...between my last time here...someone put me in a modern movie for a short time...and then I guess your season was a few years later maybe? Twenty-twenty-something?"

Eddie's throat tightened. They were still writing stories about the 80's that far in the future? Sure there were war movies and stuff. Man, people must've been really nostalgic and weird otherwise...

"It must be like...a historical documentary at that point," he laughed dryly.

"You calling me old?" you choked on a laugh, and then looked down at your hands. "I guess I am, though. I've lived through all of these different stories for...lifetimes. One story might take...I dunno, a few months for its Writer to finish, but it spans years. Years that I've lived through, one day at a time, with no break."

"Shit...that sounds..."

"Terrible?"

"Yeah."

"It is. I've been dealing with all of this...alone...for hundreds of years at this point I guess. Through stories that still write me as a teenager, or a middle-aged woman. I've lived and died over and over. I've been an artist, a writer, a dancer, a private investigator...I can't even remember the last time I got to go back to Port Geneva.

"And now that you're stuck in this hell too," your voice dropped to a whisper. "It made me sort of dread that for you too. Dread what kind of life that Writers might put you through, especially if your story in your show had a tragic ending like you said. They could give you everything you ever wanted, or they could just kill you again and again, for fun.

"And it's horrible and beautiful and great sometimes, but at the end of it all, it's tiring. Talking through it with you made me realize how much I wished I could be free, that maybe...maybe this Writer who brought me here would just be happy writing a story about the two of us for the rest of their lives or something. Spare us both anymore torture.

"Because at this point...I don't even know who I am anymore."

Your eyes welled with tears again and your shoulders heaved as you held back a sob.

And Eddie wished that he could tell you that he understood.

That his few days experience being aware that he was in a story could compare to everything that you'd seen.

He could tell you he appreciated your concern, that he felt that sense of dread that you felt for him. Assure you that he'd be fine. That it would be alright as long as you were in it together, just like you said.

But truthfully before hearing you say it right now, he hadn't come to that conclusion that he might be stuck in some endless loop of happiness and misery forever.

Because he did what he always did: he avoided the bad things. He ran away from this problem.

So what could say that could help you? That would make you feel better?

He wracked his brain for a moment, coming up with the right words.

But if there was anything Eddie did better than run away, it was say the right thing at the right time.

And he did.

"I know who you are," Eddie finally found his voice.

He took one of your hands in his and then cupped your cheek so you could look into his eyes.

"You might have forgotten who you are, but I know. I've always known. From the first time I saw you on screen, I felt such a connection to you."

He felt nervous, revealing his feelings to you. Confessing his fanatic behavior, his love for you. They were things he never said aloud to anyone and it made him nervous and vulnerable. Made him feel like he needed to run again. But your eyes glittered with unshed tears, and he knew he had to soldier on.

"Meeting you was like...the happiest day of my life. And you weren't anything that I expected, but everything I knew you were, deep down. And you...you've always seen the real me too, which is something very few people have the patience for. You're exactly who I've been waiting for.

"So maybe," he paused and cleared his throat. "Maybe we only have a few weeks together, or a few months, or maybe it'll be a few years for this Writer to give us a Happily Ever After. Maybe they'll put us through hell. But at least we're in it together. And I'll be here to remind you who you are if you ever forget, and to make sure you're not alone for as long as I can. As long as you promise that you'll do the same for me too."

In hindsight, a kiss was probably not the best end to his little declaration, but it felt right, so he did it anyway.

He leaned in and softly kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then caught the softness of your lips between his.

The sound of your sigh, and the feeling of you melting against him, were the sweetest sensations he'd ever felt. It was a relief.

For a moment, right before he pulled away, Eddie felt a smug sense of superiority over everyone. All the writers who had made you question who you were, all of the love interests that they'd written for you--Alex P. Keaton could get fucked--and he resolved to make this a story for the ages, even if it never wound up on some fanfiction writer's page.

"Thank you Eddie," you whispered against his lips when all was said and done.

"We have a deal?"

"Yeah," you bit your lip and grinned at him. "It's a deal."

You backed away and, hands still locked together Eddie looked around the trailer park and sighed.

"So..." he scratched the back of his neck. "What happens now?"

Next Chapter: Reader Suggestions

There is no taglist for this series, please follow the STFF Updates tag or check the series out on AO3.

[seijorhi]

Shelter from the Storm

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

w.c 8k

tw: yandere, blood, murder, nsfw, smut (sorta), oikawa is awful in this, technically everything is consensual but... big yikes.

A gentle breeze blows past, a lock of loose hair fluttering in its wake. Early still, the sky is painted with buttery oranges and pinks, a perfect, picturesque sunrise. Leaning on the railing of the balcony, you gaze to the city below, lost in thought. 

Behind you, the sliding door opens, a warmth enveloping you, strong, sinewy arms curling around your middle. 

“Morning,” Oikawa murmurs, drawing you closer. His bare chest rumbles at your back when he speaks again, “You want some breakfast? Coffee?”

How many times can you make the same mistake – fall into bed with the same person – and still claim it to be a momentary lapse in judgement? Maybe you’ll set a new record. 

“Oikawa…”

Lips press against the back of your head, strangely affectionate. For all your little indiscretions, the time you’ve spent together, this sort of affection – the casual touching, the… intimacy of it all, feels out of place in broad daylight. “Mm? We could go and get one of those croissants from you like from the place across the road? Or get something delivered if you’d rather stay in?”

“Oikawa,” you sigh again, more insistent this time. You spin in his arms, turning to face him. Hair still mussed from sleep, shirtless, smiling down at you – unfairly handsome in the morning light. 

“What? Not hungry?” he asks, a faint amusement lacing his tone.

Your hands find their way to his chest, your pinky grazing the raised, puckered outline of one of his scars. While curiosity might eat away at you, you’ve never quite mustered the courage to ask him about them.

You’ve heard enough of the rumours that swirl around Oikawa; they won’t be pretty stories. 

“We can’t keep doing this. You have to stop.”

He laughs, surprise flitting across his face, “Me? If I remember correctly, you were more than eager to get those lovely hands of yours on me last night.”

“That’s not–” you break off with a flustered huff, cheeks warming. “That’s not what I meant, stop twisting my words! You work for my father, I can’t keep– we can’t keep doing this.”

A little of the mirth in his expression fades at that, “You don’t think I can handle keeping you safe while we’re sleeping together, ‘s that it?”

“He’s paying you to keep me safe. I’m a job, Oikawa, that’s it. That’s all.” You bite back a sigh, shifting to put some distance between you two – as much as his grip will allow. “This is a bad idea, you know it as well as I do. In a few weeks, or months–”

“So?” he asks, cutting you off. “He can’t say I’m not doing an excellent job, keeping such a careful, close eye on his beloved daughter,” the hands the rest on your waist slide down to your ass, squeezing it appreciatively as he closes the gap between you once more. The grin he wears is nothing short of devilish – not to mention incredibly self satisfied – his mouth a hairsbreadth from your own. He continues, “I’m keeping you safe, satisfied and very, very happy. If anything, I should be getting paid extra for that.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure that’s how he’ll see it.”

Oikawa leans forward, kisses the tip of your nose, and then your lips. 

“I’d kill for you, how many other guys can say that, hm?” When the joke fails to garner a response, he sighs. “We’re not breaking any rules, and I’m not going anywhere. Stop overthinking it.”

—

In the days following the first threats made against your father, the idea of having a bodyguard shadowing your every step seemed laughable. Ridiculous. You weren’t some darling, young starlet with creepy, obsessive fans. Not a witness set to testify in some groundbreaking criminal case.

No, you’re simply collateral, caught up in a mess of your father’s making, one that has nothing to do with you. 

That you love him in spite of it is an immutable fact. You’ve tried hard – so, so hard – to distance yourself. To separate the life you’re trying to lead and the good you’re trying to do from the shadowy reach of his legacy. 

In any case, you felt perfectly comfortable brushing aside his offer of protection. You neither wanted nor needed someone monitoring your every move under the guise of keeping you safe. 

And then the focus of the threats turned to you. To your step-mother. To Ryo, your little brother – a kid. 

Your father, a man unaccustomed to hearing the word ‘no’, introduced Oikawa the very next morning and would not budge on the issue. ‘You do not have to like him,’ he’d said. ‘But he’ll keep you out of harm’s way, and you will listen to him.’

It was – is – an adjustment. 

Those closest to you, your friends, your work colleagues – the ones you interact with on a daily basis at any rate – have all been made aware of the truth behind his presence. For everyone else–

“Don’t mind him, Oikawa’s my new assistant,” you explain to the hotel’s manager, smiling sweetly at her bemused expression.

Oikawa matches it with one of his own, saccharine and glittering. 

A cup of tea is set out before each of you by one of the hotel’s employees, and he thanks her quietly, swirling the cup round in its saucer to better reach the bone china handle. Lifting it to his lips, he takes a smooth, slow sip. 

“I’m really just here for the free tea and cake.”

One look at the blushing manager, and you can tell she’s thoroughly charmed – which is the only reason you abstain from kicking him under the table. 

“Ignore him, please. I had a thought about letting some of the kids come up and talk on stage as part of the opening speeches, but I wanted to make sure that wouldn’t push us too far behind with the entertainment.” There’s a slight nudge at your thigh, “And um, we also wanted to run through the security measures, if possible.”

Her brow wrinkles, “Security, I– well, we’ll have doormen to check the guest list, and I suppose we could have some of our security staff posted near the ballroom exits if you’d like?”

You nod, “Yes, that’ll be–”

“You should have a few dressed to blend in with the crowd, mingling throughout the room, regular security at the stairs, and we’d like some guards working the backstage area as well,” Oikawa interjects. “Considering the guest list, not to mention the A-list performers we’ve hired for the night, the least they can ask of us is to ensure we’re making their safety and security a priority, no?”

“All these extra measures are a little last minute, don’t you think? The gala’s tomorrow night!” 

On the brink of exasperation, she looks to you, no doubt expecting you to rein in your employee. 

You simply smile, folding your legs over one another, taking a moment to indulge in the tea you’d been so graciously provided. “We chose this hotel as our venue for a reason, I’ve heard nothing but excellent things about you and your staff. A few added security measures shouldn’t be too difficult for your staff to accommodate. As my assistant said,” your eyes slide to Oikawa’s, a faint hint of a warning there, “we simply want to ensure everyone has a safe, enjoyable evening so that the foundation can raise as much as we possibly can.”

“… Of course,” she concedes.

“Perfect! So, let’s get back to the opening speeches.”

And so it goes, the two of you discussing the final touches and small details for the event you’ve spent months bringing to fruition, the foundation’s first charity gala. 

Untouched by your father’s hand, you built this foundation from the ground up, it’s yours – your baby. Your pride and joy. 

You think nothing of it when Oikawa excuses himself to take a call. He doesn’t leave the room – he won’t risk straying that far – and you’re distantly aware of the quiet tones of his voice speaking into his phone. You pay it no mind, focused on closing out your meeting with all the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed. 

By the time the meeting’s finished, you’re thrilled. 

Naturally, there’s still plenty you have left to do; one last check in with the caterers, you have to go and pick up your dress, and there’s the debrief with your team. You’ll have to come back to the hotel early tomorrow to make sure that the set up runs smoothly and nothing’s slipped through the cracks. 

Regardless, promising that you’ll touch base first thing in the morning and thanking her again, you can’t quite tamp down your excitement, or the giddy little grin you wear, exiting the hotel with Oikawa. 

At least, until he stops you just shy of the town car waiting out front, his hand on your arm, murmuring your name. 

“What, what is it?”

He appears almost hesitant. Regretful, certainly. “There was another threat delivered to the main house today…”

Your stomach sinks. 

You can see it written across his face, know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth, “Don’t, don’t you dare–”

“There’s too many variables, I am not putting you on the stage in a dark, crowded room–”

You throw your hands up in a huff. “Fine! I won’t speak then.”

“You’re not going at all. Shizuku can do your speech, the team has everything else handled. I am not risking your safety, point blank.”

“That’s not your decision!”

Oikawa’s eyes narrow, “It is. You can be pissed at me all you want–”

“We’ve been working on this for months! Oikawa, this is the most important night of our entire year – we need this funding. The kids need this funding! You can go as my date, you’ll have every excuse to spend the entire night glued to my hip. We just got them to agree to all that extra security stuff you wanted, what more do you need? Don’t ask me to sit at home because of some baseless, stupid threat, please!”

You hate that your voice sounds so desperate, so pleading – but it’s frustration, not disappointment that’s to blame for the thick lump that chokes you up. The hot tears that sting in the corner of your eyes. 

“I’m not asking.” 

The callousness hits you like a slap in the face.

All that anger, that mounting, seething frustration, it cools in an instant, settling like a rock in your stomach. Without another word you turn and climb into the backseat, slamming the car door behind you.

If that’s how it is, fine. 

Oikawa joins you a moment later, rattling off instructions to the driver. 

The two of you have argued before, more times than you care to count. As charming as he thinks he is, Oikawa’s equally capable of being obnoxious, annoying, rude, arrogant, the list goes on. This is the first time it’s truly mattered, though. Maybe that’s why the cold dismissal – his refusal to give so much as an inch – stings more than it should.

“Don’t make me the bad guy here,” he murmurs when the silence between you grows too heavy to bear. “I won’t apologise for putting your safety first.”

He reaches for your hand then; a peace offering, an olive branch. You yank it back before his pinky can so much as brush against yours, lacing them together over your lap.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. That’s what you’re being paid for, right?”

—

Days later and the elephant in the room remains firmly lodged between you two. 

It’s hard to justify anger towards someone who claims they’re only making your life difficult because there are people out there actively trying to hurt you and your family. At the same time, Oikawa’s insistence on smothering you under new ‘security measures’ isn’t doing him any favours.

Driving home from work, the twinkling lights of the city speeding past in a blur, the purring hum of the engine a comfort in the otherwise silent car, you can only wonder how much longer this’ll go on for.

How much more of it you can take.

“I have a date tomorrow night,” you admit in a quiet voice. “A friend of a friend, she’s been trying to set us up together for months now.” 

You glance at Oikawa then – hesitant, searching his face. Momentary surprise flickers there, and then he simply raises an eyebrow, “Oh? And you’re telling me this because you want me to give the two of you a little privacy, right? I guess it would be slightly awkward to have the last guy you were fucking watching from the next table over.”

Though his tone is perfectly pleasant, there’s no disguising the razor sharp bite of the words themselves. Guilt stabs at your insides, twisting like a knife. “That’s not what I–” 

You’re so tired of arguing with him. Tired of all of this. Your hands can’t lie still, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in your skirt, and though your attention falls to your lap, you can’t escape the weight of Oikawa’s watchful eyes, following your every move. 

Waiting on the verge of impatience for you to dig yourself deeper. 

You sigh, wetting your lips. “I’m not interested in him. This isn’t about that. I just… I can’t do this with you, Oikawa. I can’t handle every detail of my day – what I do and who I see – being monitored and micromanaged. I can’t handle you acting like a glorified babysitter and then still trying to get into my pants the moment we’re alone. I just– I need one night without that, that’s all.”

Maybe that’s a selfish thing, a stupid decision. You’d made it at the drop of a hat, your friend gushing over this guy over the phone for the umpteenth time. He doesn’t seem like the type to have a favourite gun, and that was good enough for you. 

Oikawa snorts out a laugh, “If you’ve got an itch you need scratched, I’m more than happy to offer my services, pretty girl,” he drawls, low and lecherous, grinning so condescendingly you’re honestly tempted to slap him. “But there’s no way in hell I’m letting you run off to play date night with some asshole you know next to nothing about when there’s a target on your back and I’m the one keeping you safe, understand?”

You’d anticipated some kind of resistance – Oikawa arguing over where you’d go, wanting the names of the guy in question, the friend who set the two of you up, all of it.

The possibility he’d outright refuse hadn’t even crossed your mind. 

You open your mouth to argue the point, only to close it softly a heartbeat later. Why bother? What good would arguing do when you’re perfectly aware that he has no intention of budging on the subject.

Which isn’t to say that you’re letting him off the hook entirely.

 “Careful, you’re sounding awfully jealous there, Tooru.”

His eyes widen a fraction, but it’s delight, not aggravation, that gleams in those deep, brown depths. “Do you want me to deny it?” he challenges, the car pulling to a stop out the front of your apartment block. “You wanna know what I think?”

Not particularly, but that’s never stopped him before.

“You want me just as much as I want you, you know we’re good together. You accuse me of being jealous, yet you’re the one running scared, jumping at the first, half-baked opportunity presented so you can lie and tell yourself that you’re not missing me.”

“Please,” you scoff, unable to help yourself. “You’d have to be gone for me to miss you.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Rolling your eyes and biting back a huff, you nevertheless accept the hand he offers to help you out of the car, the two of you making your way inside. He greets the porter by the door, inclining his chin in a short nod, and calls the elevator with a swipe of your keycard – the one he’d snatched right out of your hand the very day he’d met you.

All in the name of doing his job and keeping you safe, of course. 

‘Well what if I need to use the stupid lift and you’re not around?’

‘Unless you’re planning on ditching me, I don’t see that being a problem, do you?’

Impossible, right from the start. 

While Oikawa leans against the mirrored walls, smug and all too self satisfied, you snatch your phone from your purse, angrily typing up a quick message to your friend about tomorrow night. No doubt she’ll think you’re being overdramatic, if not outright lying – she, however, doesn’t have to contend with Oikawa on a daily basis.

By the time you reach your apartment, you’re tired, grumpy and itching for a glass of wine and a nice long soak in the bathtub. 

You’re only half paying attention, impatient to kick off your heels and soothe the day's stresses – you don’t notice that the door’s hanging ajar, at least not immediately. Oikawa does, his whole body tensing, eyes alert and cautious. 

The second you try to move, his arm’s there, outstretched to keep you at bay while he hastily tries to shut the door and obscure your view.

Not quickly enough.

Through the crack, you see it; the crimson splashed across your living room, stark and hideous against the white tile floors. 

Blood. 

It’s everywhere. Dripping from the lampshade, down the walls, pooling on the tiles.

Red, red, red, spattered and sprayed like the set of a b-grade slasher flick. And the smell, coppery and pungent, sitting in the back of your throat as bile creeps up to meet it. 

No one person can bleed that much, can they? 

Your breath comes quick; short, heaving little gasps far too shallow to do you any good. Your limbs feel weightless, weak – a stumbling step backwards almost sends you to the ground. Nausea churns in your guts, threatening to upheave. 

All that blood… Your apartment–

They– they were in your home. 

And a sudden thought occurs to you, a fresh wave of horror sinking its claws in deep. Without stopping to think, you lurch forward, desperate to get inside. Arms seize your waist, yanking you back, and you let out a blood curdling shriek, thrashing against the grip.

In the haze of your blind panic, you recognise that it’s Oikawa’s voice, speaking in your ear in a low, urgent tone. You don’t care, you can’t make sense of the words anyway, not amidst the overwhelming fear, the terror and the pounding of your racing heart. 

“Ryo–” you choke out, struggling to get free, “I have to– h-he might be–”

“He’s not in there. He’s not in there!” Wrangled back from the door, he all but shoves you against the wall, caging you in close as your fists beat weakly against his chest, your pleas little more than whimpers. He exhales heavily, moving in closer to press his forehead against yours. “He’s at home, with your father. They’re not in there, I promise. We have to go.”

He takes your hand, leads you one step after another, murmuring reassurances the whole way. 

You’re numb to it. 

You don’t remember much, the ding of the elevator, stale air of the underground parking garage and a chill nipping at your skin. An unfamiliar car you’re hastily bundled into. 

Time moves strangely after that, seconds trickling by like the drip of a leaking faucet. 

The car is quiet. Dark. The cityscape out the window a blur that barely registers. Your mind ticks over the same thoughts, a reel stuck playing the same loop over and over; blood splashed across the curtains, the couch. Your apartment – your home – awash with it. The stench of it, clinging to you like perfume. 

No one was hurt.

They were in your home.

You’re fine, Oikawa’s fine. Ryo was never in danger.

They were in your home. 

You let out a shuddering breath, shoulders curling inwards as you draw your knees up to your chest. Oikawa clocks the movement, sparing you an assessing glance from the corner of his eye. 

 “… Where–” you wince at the raw sound. “Where are we going?”

“Back to the main house. Your father’s been alerted, he’s expecting us.”

Ah. Where else?

Your father has ‘round the clock guards at every entrance, high tech, expensive security systems. You’d be with your family, safe and protected within the walls of the home you grew up in. The minute he’d heard what’d happened, your father would’ve demanded Oikawa bring you back without delay. 

Despite that, you find yourself shaking your head, “I… I don’t want Ryo– he’ll get upset if he sees me like this,” you mumble into your knees. “He’s already scared. Please.”

He looks at you again, properly this time. There’s a muscle working in his jaw, long fingers drumming against the leather of the steering wheel. 

You’ve seen him angry before, irritated. Never like this.

Every breath he draws in is tight and controlled, his features set like granite. You only catch sight of it when the yellow glow of the street lights outside wash over you both in thick swathes; the cold fury that lurks in the black pits of his irises, held back like a caged beast. 

It should scare you – it does, a bit. The man sitting next to you feels like a stranger, and yet you force yourself to hold that stare, not to shy away.

Oikawa won’t hurt you. 

Whatever seethes beneath the surface, it’s not directed your way – you can’t say how you know that for certain, only that you do. 

But neither one of you can return home to your family tonight, not when you’re both so wound up and strung out. You’ll beg on your hands and knees if that’s what it takes to sway him. Ryo’s already afraid enough as it is.

Your heart thumps painfully against your ribs as you wait in tense silence. 

Oikawa considers you for a moment longer, mutters a curse under his breath and casts a look back over his shoulder, throwing the car into a sudden – and very illegal – u turn. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I hope you realise that,” he groans, but the words lack the hard, clipped edge they’d carried before. 

He takes you instead to an apartment downtown; nondescript, small, tidy. The furniture appears new, fitting in with the same clean, monochromatic colour scheme as the rest of the apartment. There’s books on the coffee table, bland art lining the walls, cushions on the couch, a knitted beige comforter tossed over the armrest. It’s… fine, if not a little soulless. 

Turning to face Oikawa, you lift an eyebrow, “You… live here?” you ask.

The brunet’s lips quirk upwards, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the back of one of the chairs. “Not often. It’s a foxhole, one of a few I have, actually. This one just so happened to be the closest.” At your confused expression, he continues, “Think of it like a hideaway. There’s no paper trail tying me to this place and very few people who know of its existence. We can lie low here for a few days while we figure everything out.”

Somewhere that can’t be tracked, because there are men out there who want you dead. Faintly, you nod, trying your best to ignore the pool of dread sitting heavy in your gut. 

There’s no pretending the threats aren’t real anymore. 

But you’re safe here, with Oikawa. No one’s coming to hurt you tonight. 

Exhausted, your whole body aching, you shower under a scorching spray, drying yourself off and pulling on one of Oikawa’s old shirts to sleep in (‘We’ll get you some proper clothes tomorrow,’ he’d promised). There’s only one bed in the tiny apartment, and even if you could find it within yourself to care, you’re altogether too drained to say anything when, after a quick shower of his own, Oikawa crawls in beside you. 

He’s warm and solid, the scent of him familiar as his arm slides over your middle, drawing you close. 

“I’m not going to let anyone touch you,” he murmurs into the dark. “I’ll kill them first. You’re safe with me.”

—

Two days later, your father summons you home.

Oikawa’s curtly dismissed at the door, left to his own devices. You, meanwhile, are taken into the study, tea is poured, and the conversation, naturally, shifts towards the break in at your apartment. 

“You can always stay here with us, little one, for as long as you’d like. Ryota would be thrilled to have you back.” Your father smiles, setting the steaming cup down. “As would I.”

The childhood endearment makes your heart tug. You’ve spent too long clawing your way free of his influence to do some good in the world, to return home now, no matter how tempting the thought, would undo that in seconds. 

“I know,” you reply. “And I appreciate it, dad. Oikawa’s taking me tomorrow to see a few apartments, though, so hopefully we’ll find something that works.”

He makes a dissatisfied noise, mouth tightening. “Yes, well considering this happened under Oikawa’s watch, perhaps you should rethink the weight you place in his judgement.”

“It’s because of Oikawa that they broke into my apartment. He never gave them an opening to come after me directly, so they tried to scare me instead.” Tried, and succeeded, mind you. “You’re the one who hired him,” you grumble.

“I hired him to protect you, nothing more,” he replies sternly. “If you’re put at risk again I will not hesitate to replace him with someone better suited.”

Peering down at you from behind wire frame glasses, he considers you for a moment – the same weighty, assessing stare he’d give you when, as a kid, he thought you were misbehaving. “I am not so blind that I cannot see what is happening in front of my own eyes. You’re close with him, you… trust him.”

“Am I not supposed to?” Wasn’t he the one telling you you had to listen to Oikawa?

He doesn’t answer you straight away, seemingly weighing up his response. When he does eventually speak, the words give little comfort. “Oikawa is… a necessary evil. He has the temperament and skill set which make him a natural choice in protecting you – they’re also what make him dangerous. If your life weren’t at risk I would not want you within a thousand yards of that man.”

You think back to the scars that litter Oikawa’s torso. The look in his eyes that night, the tempest raging, violent and volatile. 

It’s not as though you ever believed Oikawa to be a saint – if his association with your father wasn’t proof enough, the frankly alarming number of weapons you’d stumbled across, stashed throughout the foxhole certainly did the trick.

You grew up surrounded by men like that. Your father, your uncles. Business associates invited to dinner. None of them ever frightened you.

Unease slithers down your spine.

Satisfied, perhaps, that his warning struck home, your father straightens in his chair and clears his throat. “Enough of that. Come, drink – your tea’s getting cold.”

He keeps you there for a little while longer, to indulge in another cup and talk of other, lighter subjects; your work with the children’s foundation, Ryo’s progress at school (he’s becoming quite the little scientist), to the gardens that surround the estate, the cherry blossom trees set to bloom in a matter of weeks. 

On your way out, he asks for you to send in Oikawa. 

It takes you less than a minute to find him – sitting cross legged on the living room floor, deep in conversation with your seven year old brother. Ryo’s the one to spot you first, his whole face lighting up. Discarding the open book he’d had splayed across his lap, your brother jumps to his feet and barrels towards you with a delighted shriek of your name, arms outstretched. You catch him with a grin, squeezing back when he hugs you firmly.

“Careful, bud” Oikawa laughs, “you’ll knock her right off her feet.”

You ruffle Ryo’s hair. His mom would say the unruly locks are desperately in need of a trim – you think it suits him, reminds you of a wild thing. “Please, this little guy? Light as a feather.”

The indignant grumble you get in response, his face still buried in your middle only makes your grin widen. 

Still sprawled across the floor like a kid himself, Oikawa meets your gaze with a warm one of his own, something in your chest fluttering at the sight of it. He looks content, perfectly relaxed here with you and Ryo. 

In that moment, you’re struck with the realisation that he’s not the only one.

Whatever gripped you back in your father’s study, there’s no trace of it now, it holds no bearing here with the two of them. This is the Oikawa you’ve come to know, the one you trust.

The one you like, if the warming of your cheeks is any indication to go by. 

… Maybe it’s time you stopped running from that.

Saved from any further musing by your brother’s attempt to crush the life out of you in one final squeeze, Ryo reluctantly lets you go. 

“I missed you,” he mumbles, his cheeks turning pink. He kicks at the carpet a little, chews at his bottom lip, hesitating just a touch. “… Dad said you’re coming home to stay this time. Are you?” And beneath the wide, puppy dog eyes that tug at your heartstrings with practiced ease (no wonder he has both his parents wrapped around his finger), there’s no hiding the hope glimmering in his tone. 

“I missed you too, squirt.” 

At the mention of your father, however, something else springs to mind, and you turn your attention back to Oikawa. “Oh, almost forgot – he said he wants to see you. He’s in the study, waiting.”

The brunet nods, rising. If he’s bothered by the demand at all, there’s no outward indication. From your own conversation with the man, you can’t imagine he’s about to walk into anything particularly pleasant. Then again, you doubt that whatever your father has in store for him – whether it be lecture or complete verbal evisceration – is in any way anxiety inducing to someone like Oikawa. 

Sauntering past the two of you, he stops for a second, lays a hand on Ryo’s shoulder and leans down to whisper conspiratorially into his ear – just loud enough for his voice to carry. “Why don’t you show your big sister the new project you were telling me about, hm?” 

Ryo lights up again with a giddy gasp, racing from the room, and Oikawa winks at you, breezing on through. 

—

The moment you’re through the door back at the foxhole, he’s on you.

Ravenous, hungry, lips moving feverishly against yours, prying them apart for another taste of you. The clothes he’d bought for you are hastily discarded, thrown to the floor and kicked aside as Oikawa lifts you up, hiking your legs around his waist so he can carry you into the bedroom.

“What’s gotten into you?” you laugh, half breathless when he deposits you on the bed. 

“Do I need a reason?” he retorts, yanking off his shirt and casting it aside. “I’ve been waiting to do this all afternoon.”

He climbs onto the bed then,pushing your shoulders back down the mattress as his lips find yours to kiss you senseless. Your hand meanwhile slips down between your bodies, a feather light touch grazing the bulge in his jeans. 

He moans into your mouth, breath shivery and light, hips bucking ever so slightly to chase the touch. When he draws back, your stomach flips in anticipation at the positively wolfish expression you find there, “Careful, pretty girl,” he warns. 

“Or what?” 

He takes your hand then, pulls it back to his crotch and grinds into it slowly, shuddering, “Or you’re gonna be in for a long, long night.”

You arch up to kiss him, lips finding his throat, the two of you working together to hastily free his cock from the confines of his boxer briefs. 

The moment you’re successful, the hard, flushed length bobbing against his stomach, Oikawa lets a fat glob of spit fall into his palm and takes hold of it, twisting his wrist as he slides his hand back and forth along his cock, groaning and nudging your thighs apart. 

Usually, he likes to take his time prepping you, lowering his mouth to your pretty little pussy, teasing you and edging you until you’re a squirming, hot mess beneath him, all but begging him to hurry up and fuck you. Other times – when he’s in a more selfish mood – he’ll send you to your knees instead, taking his pleasure by fucking your face, fingers curling in your hair, the tight, wet warmth of your mouth too tempting to pass up.

But something feels different this time. More than hunger, or desire, beyond simple urgency. It glints and gleans in his eyes, seeps from his skin like the bead of sweat that trickles down the curve of his neck. 

It crackles like electricity in the air between you. 

And when he drags your hips down close, and pushes his cock deep into your warm, fluttering cunt, it robs you of all words.

True to his promise, Oikawa takes his time. Fucks you on your back, legs locked around his back at first – and then pressed back either side of you, the ache in your thighs second only to the stretch of your pussy, clenching around him with every languid roll of his hips.

He flips you over and draws your ass upwards, your face pressed down into the pillows, pounding into you from behind. 

Hands on your hips, guiding you up and down his throbbing shaft, hungry eyes fixed on the way your tits bounce so enticingly for him. 

And then, when your legs are shaking, pussy leaking his seed and every cell in your body is electrified and buzzing, he lays you down at the edge of the bed and feasts on your poor, sensitive, abused little hole ‘til you’re grabbing at his hair, bucking up and writhing on his tongue, screaming yourself hoarse from an overload of pleasure. 

Only then does he allow you rest, kissing you sweetly as he slips from your side and exits the bedroom. 

He returns moments later with a glass of water, which you gratefully accept and guzzle down. Collapsing back on the bed, you let out a groan, “I feel like I could sleep for the next thousand years.”

He chuckles. Climbing onto the mattress to flop down beside you, Oikawa rolls close, smiling with a soft look you’ve only ever seen directed at you. “So sleep. We’ve got an hour or so ‘til dinner, a nap won’t kill you.”

—

You wake to the sound of a car backfiring.

Eyes bleary, disoriented, you struggle to gather your wits as the door to the bedroom flies open. Oikawa appears in the doorway, still wearing his pajamas, gun in hand, eyes focused and alert – and it’s then, in the dim, early morning light that you realise that the sound you heard wasn’t a car at all.

With his handgun and attention trained on the front door, Oikawa spares you only the briefest of glances, “Get up, we need to go. Now.” 

Your heart skips a beat, chest tightening as the reality of the situation – at least, as much as your sluggish brain can piece together – dawns upon you. 

Questions, one after another, claw their way up your throat, desperate and urgent, terrified, you force yourself to swallow them down, along with the near paralysing fear that takes hold. There’s no time for that. No time to panic. Pausing only long enough to ascertain that you are in fact somewhat clothed – an old tee of his and a pair of sleep shorts you must’ve thrown on at some point last night – you scramble to Oikawa’s side. 

Any reassurance you feel at the grip he takes of your hand is quickly and overwhelmingly buried, however, when you catch sight of the dark mass by the entryway. 

Your stomach lurches, blood running cold. It’s a body – a man’s. The room’s not yet light enough to get a good look at his face, but the open, unblinking eyes and the sticky looking pool beneath him tell you plenty.

Dead. 

“Don’t look,” Oikawa murmurs.

His fingers tighten around your hand in a reassuring squeeze, already pulling you onwards. Like a bad accident, tearing your eyes away is easier said than done.

That man, he… he’d come here for you, hadn’t he? To kill you. 

You’ve never seen a dead body before, and now there’s one lying across your living room floor, riddled with bullets from Oikawa’s gun and that–

That could’ve been you. Would’ve been, if not for Oikawa.

Your chest constricts, a noose tightening at your throat. And just like that night at your apartment, the fear that takes root begins to strangle you, making it hard to breathe, harder to think.

Every uneven thump of your heart rattles your chest, your limbs feeling like they’re disconnected from the rest of you. Oikawa notices, and curses softly beneath his breath. There’s no time to coax you down, his grip turns iron, half running now down the fire door stairs with you stumbling behind him.

Somewhere above you, shouts begin to sound, and with a fresh wave of terror hammering through your veins, you force your legs to move quicker. There’s no choice but to run, to duck and cower when the creaking door to the floor above swings open and Oikawa abruptly yanks you forward to fire up the stairwell behind you. 

Bare feet pounding against the floor, chest heaving with ragged breaths, you burst out into the parking garage, and still you don’t stop. 

For the second time in less than a week, you’re corralled into a car, shaking and numb, on the verge of outright sobbing.  

Oikawa drives for a long time.

You don’t ask where you’re going, if they’re still following you. You don’t speak. 

The traffic on the streets thins out, the towering skyscrapers disappearing in the rearview mirror. Wherever he’s taking you, it’s not towards home.

And there’s a pit in your stomach, a bleak, festering emotion that grows harder and harder to ignore with every passing mile. Oikawa’s silence – tense and uncomfortable, only adds to your unease. 

This isn’t like last time, when he was angry beyond words. This feels… different, somehow. 

When you’re well beyond the city limits, he pulls the car to a stop on the side of a deserted stretch of road and turns it off, leaving the keys in the ignition. 

“There’s a phone in the glove box, can you get it for me?” 

Doing as he asks, you pop the compartment open, only to cringe when the first thing your fingers brush over isn’t a cell, but the cool metal of a handgun. Nevertheless, you keep going, eventually finding the black phone tucked away near the back and wordlessly passing it into Oikawa’s waiting palm.

He smiles at you, leans over the console to press a chaste kiss to your cheek, “Thanks. Stay here, alright? Gotta make a quick call.” 

He’s already dialling, smoothly exiting the car before the words truly register. 

You’re helpless to do anything but watch anxiously from the passenger’s seat, fingers worrying away at the hem of Oikawa’s shirt. Seconds tick by – nothing. No one picks up. No one answers. 

A small frown graces his features. Glancing into the car to check up on you, Oikawa simply ends the call, dials another number, holds the phone to his ear, and waits for whoever’s on the other end of the call to pick up. 

… But nobody does. The phone rings out.

He spares you another brief glance then, your wide, worried eyes meeting his. His brow furrows, the edges of his lips thinning into a hard line and before you can call out to ask him what’s wrong, who he’s trying to get ahold of, he’s moving away from the car and out of earshot. 

This time, he seems to take longer to find the number he’s after, drawing the phone back to his ear, foot tapping away as it rings and rings and rings. 

You don’t realise that you’re holding your breath, fingernails biting into the palm of your hand until you see him speaking into his cell, nodding at whatever the person on the other end of the line is saying.

Yet that reprieve, unlocking the breath trapped in your lungs, soothing over all of your tension and that awful, gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach lasts only as long as it takes for you to realise that Oikawa, staring at you from yards down the road, looks entirely too grim for the relief that you’re feeling.

He ends the call with a heavy exhale, shoulders slumping.

Your heart stops cold in your chest.  

One look at his pained expression, the pity swirling in his eyes, the sympathy, and your whole world comes crashing down around you.

Fingers fumbling for the door latch, you unbuckle your seatbelt to stagger to your feet, lurching towards him. Oikawa reaches you first, letting you collide into his arms, pulling you close. 

“He– he’s fine, right?” you beg in a thick, trembling voice, trying in vain to blink back hot tears. “Ryo’s fine. They both are. They’re okay. Tell me they’re okay. Please, Tooru, you have to– you have to tell me that they’re–”

As words fail you, Oikawa sighs. With a gentleness that shatters something inside of you, he cups your cheek in his palm, brushing away your tears, and presses his forehead against yours. 

“I’m sorry. They… they hit the house before they came for us. No one made it out.”

No… no, no, no, no, no. That’s not true. You clutch at him, desperately shaking your head. Ryo can’t be dead, he’s only seven. He’s just a kid, an innocent, good kid. He’s your little brother.

He can’t be dead.

But Oikawa’s looking at you so brokenly, and you feel like somebody’s ripped you open from the inside out and saved your heart for last of all. You open your mouth to beg for him to tell you he’s lying, but all that comes out is a sobbing wail. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, holding you close, cradling you against him. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

—

The soft sound of leather shoes walking atop marble tiles echo throughout the empty halls of your father’s estate. 

There’s no need for Oikawa to disguise his presence now – not that there was much of one to begin with. 

The staff had opened the door without blinking, welcoming him inside, the guards on rotation nodding in acknowledgment when he strode past. They might not particularly enjoy his presence (no accounting for taste, he supposed) but after months working for the patriarch to keep you safe, they’d come to begrudgingly accept it. 

In their eyes, he was one of them, and so no one thought to stop him and ask why he’d shown up at the estate so late in the night, seemingly without reason. Without you.

It made picking them off one by one that much easier. 

Well, not all of them. He had left one alive – unconscious, possibly paralysed, but breathing all the same. Oikawa smirks. 

With the guards and household staff dispatched, he’d turned his attention towards the bedrooms. 

Ryota was first. Fast asleep, clutching the teddy-bear you’d bought him, your baby brother hadn’t stirred when Oikawa crept in with the shadows. He made it quick. Painless. As much of a mercy as a man like him was capable of. 

The kid’s mom was next; the second wife, the replacement. The money hungry, greedy, vapid little cunt. 

It was no secret that your father had been married before, that his first wife – your mother – had died after a long, tragic battle with cancer when you were sixteen. The first time he’d tried bringing it up, you’d shut him down and quickly changed the subject, but in the end, all it took was one too many glasses of wine, a few stories of his own, and those pretty lips of yours were spilling all sorts of interesting secrets.

That your step-mother was fucking him before she was even cold in the ground was one such fascinating tidbit. 

While he’d felt a slight twinge of guilt over killing the boy, Oikawa had no such qualms shooting her while she slept, the silencer on his pistol ensuring it raised no alarm, just like the others. 

While you’d mourn for your beloved baby brother, he knows you won’t shed any tears for that bitch. He wonders if you’d even thank him for it, if he ever decided to tell you the truth.

A pleasant shiver rolls down his spine at the thought of how sweetly you’d go about it.

Presently, he raises a fist to knock at the door of your father’s study, one final goal in mind.

“Come in,” a deep voice replies.

Oikawa has to give the older man some credit, one look at him – gun in hand, the flecks of blood spattered against his crisp, white shirt – and your father stills, the colour draining from his face. He doesn’t panic, though, doesn’t shout or cry out for help, much less for mercy.

They both know none is coming. 

Instead, he sets down the papers he’d been working on and rises slowly from his chair. No doubt he has at least one gun stashed nearby, but with Oikawa’s pointed towards his chest, the brunet’s index finger poised on the trigger, and his better years behind him, the odds don’t fall in his favour.

“My wife?”

Oikawa grins, clicking his tongue, “Dead.”

He nods, taking a moment to process the information. “And… my son?” 

“Dead.”

“… I see.”

Oikawa’s heard more than one person accuse your father of being a cold, heartless bastard. It’s an easy assumption to make – no one gains a reputation like his without a certain brutality and overall disregard for the lives of others. The truth is simpler; your father does have a heart, it resides in both of his children. While his voice might not shake at the news of his son’s demise, his hands, splayed out over the papers on his desk, most certainly do.

He swallows with difficulty, takes in a trembling breath, “My daughter, I assume you killed her, too?”

“God, no,” he laughs. “She’s sleeping, safe and sound, blissfully oblivious to all of this.” 

And for the first time since Oikawa crossed the threshold, a look of confusion adorns your father’s face. Before he can give voice to it, however, the brunet decides to nudge the conversation along. The drugs in your system will only keep you down for so long, and there’s still plenty he has left to do before the two of you can have your fresh start. 

“You seem to be under the impression that I’m working for the people who want you and your family wiped from the map. I’m not. I’m simply making the best of an opportunity." He sighs, shrugging, “We could have avoided this nastiness, you know. Maybe not indefinitely, but for a little while at least. All of this, it’s your fault; you gave me a gift, and then,” his smile turns sharp, an edge of anger bleeding through, “you threatened to take her away.”

There are worse fates than death. 

“If it gives you any solace,” Oikawa murmurs, the soft, placating tone at odds with the cruel twist of his vicious grin. “I intend to keep my promise. She’ll be safe with me, no one will ever lay so much as a finger on her.”

No one, that is, except for him. 

[menlove]

Hey have you read any good McLennon fix-its

OH BOY HAVE I. i love mclennon fix-its they genuinely heal my soul & they're for sure my favorite i'm ngl. here we gooooo. just pulling from my bookmarks in no particular order...

favorites have a 💖 next to them!

blood on the tracks by mynamesbetty

gen-mature. 66k modern au, 11 part series, eventual fix-it. He was a grown man, a rock star, richer than Croesus, emotionally stable, and more than capable of handling a surprise visit from his ex-husband. Paul married John when he was eighteen and divorced him at twenty-nine. Two years later, John pays Paul a visit.

'til touchdown brings me round again to find by wardo_weditit

explicit. 12k. It was one thing when he was doing this for Elton—yeah, because of a bet, but mostly because Elton is his friend and he wants to support him. It was just a one-off thing that seemed like it could be fun, or cool, or maybe even memorable. But now, if Paul’s going to be there, it takes on a hell of a lot more meaning because that’s the way it goes, that’s what things with Paul always do. Or, Paul comes to see John's surprise appearance at Elton's show, and grand gestures abound.

here you come again by harmonising

mature. 16k. (take this one w a grain of salt i can't remember if it's a full fix it? but well. john's alive, so) 1982. John comes back to England. He and Paul spend a weekend together.

Grow Old With Me by inherownwrite 💖

explicit. 8k. Paul breaks his arm, and John panics.

and when broken bodies are washed ashore (who am i to ask for more) by wardo_wedidit 💖

mature. 39k. “Jesus, took you long enough,” John says, adjusting the duffle over his shoulder. “Thought I might be out here til morning at this rate.” For a second he wonders if he’s drunker than he thought, but no. As far as he can tell, it is still 1980, and he hasn’t seen or so much as spoken to John in ten years. Or, John comes to stay with Paul in Scotland to ride out the press storm of his divorce to Yoko, and Paul learns to stop running away.

i was a younger man then (now) (post hoc) by fingersfallingupwards 💖

mature. 27k. (i'm not kidding i think this one is my favorite ever mclennon fics. it's only 27k but it feels like an entire novel. this lives in my head rent free forever. this is my heartstopper or whatever the kids are saying) John’s twelve when a bloke appears from a flaming pie and says, “From this day forward you are Beatles with an ‘a.’” The bloke is Paul. Or: paul and john meet at all ages and eras and john is the time-traveler’s wife the way only john lennon can be

Stop all the clocks by javelinbk

mature. 30k. For the following kink meme prompt: ‘1967. After Brian dies, Paul decides not to go ahead with MMT, and takes John up to Scotland for a month instead.’ Also based on the following comment on said prompt: ‘pls someone let them fuck tenderly in 1967’

I Need My Love to Be Here by notgrungybitchin

explicit. 8k. After John gets his first panic attack in Hamburg, he starts to realize that Paul might be the only person who can bring him back to himself.

[yoificfinder]

In celebration of women, here are some fics centered around the great women of YOI! Happy international women's day! ♀️✨️

(Don't) Give a Damn by @forochel [T, 9K]

Mari, through the years,

an open door by tripcyclone [G, 8K]

Lilia never wanted children of her own, but caring for Victor gives her a glimpse into the life she chose to pass by.

and your feet will follow by @prinzenhasserin [T, 13K]

Lilia’s relationship with her fellow ballerinas wasn’t usually complicated. Usually, she knew exactly where she stood. Not so with Minako Okukawa who had disappeared from the ballet world some years ago to hide in the dance studio of a backwater town in Japan.

Lilia didn’t care about that, of course. Not at all. She just deserved a vacation, to Japan, incidentally.

another girl in another time by cityboys [G, 11K]

Wouldn’t it be cool if there really is another version of you out there?

Beautiful in Knowing by @val-creative [T, 1K]

Sara knew she was a girl, even if nobody else did or believed her.

She ordered Michele to call her "Lady Sara" from now on. He would roll his eyes and grumble, but never attempt to misgender her. She liked "Sara" — it meant "lady, princess, noblewoman". And she would never go back to her deadname.

if friends were flowers, i'd pick you by windupbirdgirl [G, 4K]

During the first two years of high school, Yuuko finds she barely has time to breathe. The sky seems very far away, the sea even more so. She hasn’t gone to the rink in months.

if love is king, who wears the crown by @crollalanzaa [G, 1K]

“Second is seen as nothing,” Christophe had derided.

“But that moment you glide onto the ice, that hush of the audience, and that expectation, isn’t that worth something?”

“You speak as if you know. You used to skate?"

Past tense. It still stung, even if it was expected.

Minako knows exactly what it's like to be at the top of your game, and she remembers the descent just as clearly.

if she wants me by renaissance [G, 6K]

Hiroko and Minako, then and now.

if the sea has any draw for you by weird_bird [E, 8K]

The first time Mila saw her dance in person, her power funneled down into elegance, the granite of her face transmogrified to marble, she almost gave her the password to her bank account, she’s that good.

kagura by night by seventhstar / @pencilwalla [T, 1K]

The world around her is like the mountains.

A mortal lifespan is narrow; mortals watch the mountain’s unchanging faces, unravaged by the same measure of time that takes a human from dust to dust, and think them immortal in comparison. But stone erodes, just as flesh decays. It just takes longer.

If she watches long enough, everything changes. Languages drift until all the words she learned before are meaningless. Technology changes until she ceases to believe in magic because human ingenuity is more infinite than the stars. What is beautiful, what is polite, what is wrong, what is right—time, given its way, reshapes all.

But Minako’s body remains as it has always been. That’s why she loves to dance, she supposes; it’s the one thing time cannot take from her.

Katsudon by @azriona [G, 8K]

Hiroko doesn’t need to see to coat pork cutlets in egg and panko. She has made this dish for her family for over thirty years; she’ll make it another thirty, if she’s lucky.

Now she makes it for Yuuri and Victor as they fly home from Barcelona, with silver around their necks and gold around their fingers.

keep me steady as we go by orphan_account [G, 3K]

When Isabella stood and crossed the room to where he sat she saw her notebook open in his lap, turned to the last page of their to-do list, all but three items crossed off with less than a month to the wedding date. License. Ceremony. Everything after. She saw the angle of his gaze, too, not on the words but straight ahead, staring blank and glassy and brittle into some invisible place she still wasn’t sure she could follow him to, yet. And yet she had been the one who’d promised to try—and to keep promising, forever and forever.

Kooks by BoxWineConfessions [G, 3K]

Mari clasps her right hand across her left hand and rests them both atop her growing stomach. “I guess you’re just lucky that your father, I mean your other father, my brother-“ Mari giggles. “God, it all sounds so weird, doesn’t it? Do you care? Do you care that we’re all so fucked up and we don’t care at all?” Mari laughs again. It’s all she can do when she hurts this much, and wants a cigarette this much, but can’t stop smiling despite the fact that her body seems to hate her so much. “Well he means the world to me. That’s why I have you.”

Living in the Maybe by @adrianners [T, 6K]

It wasn’t hard to spot a 180cm platinum blond in Fukuoka International Airport. Especially when he was the only person wearing sunglasses. Indoors. At night.

Mari picks Viktor up at the airport when he returns from Moscow. Without Yuuri there to play his usual role of interpreter, they learn to communicate around their linguistic, cultural, and personal barriers.

my better self by @spookyfoot [G, 1K]

Mila's the first friend Yuuri's made in Russia. Technically, Yuuri became friends with Yurio in Hasetsu, but he'd never say that to Yurio's face.

On his first day training in Russia, Mila stole Yuuri from the rink and showed him pictures of Victor and Georgi wearing Spice Girls t-shirts Victor had picked up at a consignment shop during Skate America in 2006, and a video of them skating a synchronized routine to "Stacy's Mom."

"Don't let anyone here intimidate you. I guarantee none of them are scarier than Yura." They watched Victor skate circles around Yuri on the ice, Mila's camera primed for blackmail material—just in case.

_________

Yuuri and some of the women in his life, through the years.

Variations on a Theme by BoxWineConfessions [M, 20K]

Mari doesn't like it when the past and the present overlap so easily. Mari knows the mischievous grin and the burn of eyes that linger too long. They're the trademark of girls who are still figuring out what they want, but want relentlessly. Mari is tired of letting people in, only to have to say goodbye when their vacation is over.

Mila has experienced this before, this knowing little smile that implies that they know something about her body that she doesn’t. It comes across as cocky, and arrogant on men, and gentle with Mari. Mari looks like she's just told her some kind of wonderful secret.

Together, they reshape their expectations.

[diazsdimples]

James' Fic Master List

(In order of favourites)

Play me like a fiddle (Explicit, 34k | Buddie)

Eddie plays the French Horn for the Los Angeles Philharmonic and is told about the wonderful new cello soloist playing with them for this concert. He sounds like a pretentious asshole and Eddie vows not to like him. In walks Evan Buckley, cellist from New York and soloist for this concert. Eddie quickly realises he's in trouble as the man immediately casts a spell on him, turning Eddie into a blushing mess. Can he put aside his feelings for Buck long enough to remain a professional and get through this week without making any poor decisions? (Spoiler Alert: he cannot)

In a drought I'll give you water (Explicit, 8.2k | Buddie)

Eddie’s hanging out the washing when he notices it. Just for the record, it’s not like he regularly inspects Buck’s underwear, thank you very much, but he’d felt something tacky on the inside of the flimsy fabric when he’d been about to peg it up, and had investigated like any sane person would do. Eddie’s initial thought is “fucking washing machine, can’t even wash out the laundry powder”, mostly because there’s a white residue under where his thumb was placed moments earlier and there’s been occasions when their black shirts have had clumps of laundry powder still on them despite the tossing about they’ve received in the washer. Or: Eddie finds come on Buck's underwear and panics

You've got me whipped (Explicit, 10k | Buddie)

“Make me,” Buck whispers, and although the words might sound like a challenge, Eddie can so clearly hear what Buck isn’t saying. The implicit make me, because I can’t make myself, and then, Eddie gets it. Buck needs him to be in control right now, to make Buck surrender himself to Eddie’s mercy so Buck doesn’t have to do anything, to feel anything more than he already is. Eddie reaches out a hand and runs it up Buck’s jaw, noting with satisfaction the way Buck shudders and leans into his touch. He traces his fingertips over Buck’s cheekbones, runs the pad of his thumb over Buck’s birthmark, before bringing his hand to rest in Buck’s blond curls. He curls his fist, pulling lightly on the strands of hair that slip between his fingers, then leans forward so his lips are brushing Buck’s ear as he exerts a minute amount of pressure to the top of Buck’s head. “I said,” he whispers into Buck’s ear, “on your knees.” OR Buck has a bad call and acts out afterwards in front of their colleagues, and Eddie punishes him when they get home.

For the rest of my life (for the rest of yours) (General, 10.6k | Buddie)

“Hey Buck! Are you doing anything today?” Christopher’s voice is a little tinny through his phone’s speaker, cracking a little. Buck hums, pretending to think. “Hmmmm, my diary looks pretty booked. Says right here that I’ve got to watch three episodes of crappy reality tv and then eat loads of fried chicken. I’m swamped.” “Buck,” Christopher says flatly and Buck laughs, loud and ringing through the loft. “I’m only kidding. What’s up, kid?” “The baby hippo has finally born at the zoo and we have to go see her! Can you come over today, please?” OR Buck, Eddie and Christopher go to the zoo to see the baby hippo and Eddie gets all up in his feels about it.

Buck's Baby (By Accident) (General, 119k | Buddie)

Buck's life is turned upside down when a newborn baby is placed on his doorstep, with allegations that it is his child. Buck quickly steps into his new role of "dad", with the help from his family and friends. Follow Buck, Aidan, Eddie and Christopher as they navigate new babies, blossoming relationships, illnesses, injuries and making their own little family.

Sweet child of mine (General, 3.4k | Bucktommy)

Buck and Tommy bring their daughter home from the hospital and enjoy their first few hours alone with a newborn baby.

Kilty Pleasures (Explicit, 8k | Buddie)

“What the hell are these?” Eddie asks with a quirked eyebrow, poking suspiciously at the tartan with his forefinger. Buck flops himself into the chair beside Eddie and steals a sip from his coffee cup. “Kilts!” he says with a grin and he drags one off the table and holds it up to show Eddie. It’s long, and dark, and made out of what looks suspiciously like faux leather, and almost certainly purchased from a sex shop. “I thought we could wear them to the festival tomorrow!” If Buck had a tail, it would be wagging so hard right now. Or, Buck and Eddie discover they have kilt kinks.

With you I'm home (Teen, 20k | Buddie) WIP

Buck and Eddie have settled into their life with 2-year-old Aidan and 13 (nearly 14) year old Christopher. They've been married for a new months and family life is good. Aidan seems determined to send his dads to an early grave, being described by a friend as "Buck on steroids" and Christopher is beginning to display the typical characteristics of a sullen teenager, much to Eddie's distress. Buck and Eddie are starting to think about adding another little member to their family but struggle to think of an appropriate egg donor or surrogate. Trying for a baby always seemed so much easier in theory! This is the sequel to "Buck's Baby (By Accident)"

Fucking Finally (Finally Fucking) (Explicit, 3.9k | Buddie)

“God you look so hot” Eddie growled as he took in Buck’s appearance, his hair messy from Eddie’s hands, his hips swollen from the force of their kiss and the bulge in his pants as plain as day as his erection strained against the fabric. Buck’s eyes raked up and down Eddie, finding his boyfriend in a similar state of arousal. “Not too bad yourself, Mr. Diaz” he smirked, wrapping a hand around Eddie’s waist and pulling them together once again, capturing him in another brain-melting kiss. They were interrupted by the comical “ding” of the elevator as it reached their floor and Eddie wasted no time pulling Buck out, dragging him down the hallway to their room. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Buck and Eddie stay at a hotel after their first date and finally get some time to themselves without crying kids

Burning with Need (Explicit, 3.8k | Buddie)

“Buck, what is going on?” he asked, sitting upright. “You’re fidgeting so much”. Buck looked up quickly, peering at Eddie through one open eye. “Nothing, nothing I’m fine” he replied, his cheeks flushing slightly. “That’s a lie and we both know it” Eddie rolled his eyes and reached over to prod the skin where Buck’s hand had been resting, eliciting a hiss from the younger man. “Okay, fine, I’m busting. I gotta pee so bad”. Buck’s words ignited a fire inside Eddie that he’d almost forgotten about. Or, Eddie remembers he has a piss kink and Buck's desperation on a hike is a test of his control

In sickness and in health (but mostly in sickness) (General, 3.7k | Buddie)

Eddie wakes up with a bad case of the flu and Buck is there to nurse him back to health. Buck realises he might be falling for Eddie.

Your Hands on My Body (Explicit, 1.9k | Evan Buckley)

Buck finds himself jerking off in the shower after having a dream about Eddie. The worst part is, it's Eddie's shower he's jerking off in and Eddie isn't even in it. Or Buck is desperately in love with Eddie and doesn't know how to tell him.

First Words (General, 2k | Buddie)

Buck and Eddie's 10 month old daughter says her first words. Her dads are over the moon. Cue domestic fluff

[violettavonviolet]

Tim Drake fic recs

All fics are finished and absolutely amazing. The word count goes up as you scroll. This rec list is entirely platonic but do check tags for triggers!

Janet Drake Is Alive And That's Officially Everyone's Problem (But Mostly Tim.)

Tht0neGal666

Summary:

They still hadn't looked at each other. It was starting to get a bit creepy.

"So you are satisfied, living like this?" She asked, with the slightest twitch of displeasure.

Quickly, Drake's eyes flashed over each of them, and he nodded. "Enough."

"Are you necessary?" She followed immediately, something dangerous in her tone, and there was the quickest flash of fear in Drake's eyes.

"Enough." He repeated firmly. She scoffed, but didn't say anything.

1.5k Janet centric teen

Wash Your Mouth Out

fishfingersandjellybabies

Summary:

Tim shows his worry in a different way than most.

2.3k tim & damian teen

Shutter Bug

Heartslogos

How could i not notice the stutter? Jason snorts.

3k gen batfam

A Worthy Father

Crowlows19

Summary:

Jack Drake forces his son to give up being Robin. He could never have predicted the consequences of parenting a Robin-less Tim Drake. He may never sleep again and Bruce Wayne certainly has no sympathy for him.

3.7k teen Jack & Tim

A Recipe for Disaster

Calypso_Rambles, JUBE514

Summary:

“You’re crying.”

That’s the Red Hood, standing in the doorway into the hall, a hulking figure filling the frame, head tilted in question and hands on a gun that’s pointed to the floor. He looks uncertain, head tilted to the side like a goddamn bird.

“What?” Tim asks, because Tim is confused– he knows this is Jason Todd, kinda hard to miss with the red helmet and when the dude tried to blow up Dick and Bruce about a week earlier in the same outfit, but what the actual fuck is he doing in San Francisco–

“You’re crying.” Red Hood repeats, forgoing a one handed grip on his weapon to gesture to his– well– his everything.

Tim moves his hand up to his cheeks because he is definitely not crying over something as stupid as his dinn–

Huh. 

Okay. 

Maybe he is.

✦✦✦

Tim and Jason make food, drink and talk about parents. Jason was meant to kill this kid, but plans have a way of being derailed.

6k teen Tim & Jason

Doctor, Except for Everything, I Am Perfectly Fine

Mouse_in_this_house

Summary:

Alfred and Bruce decide they have to update the kids' medical information. If the others aren't a fan if this, then Tim is even worse. Guess who's missing his spleen?

6.9k gen humor

A Cure For Starvation

PrinceJakeFireCake

Summary:

Tim has always had problems with people touching him. 

Jason also has problems with people touching him.

They try to work it out.

7k gen jason& tim

Little bird

Ididloveyou_once

Summary:

Tim knew he was fucked if only for the way that his brain was chanting Jason, like a litany. So he definitely didn’t need to hear the cold, mechanical chuckle or the chillingly delighted 'lucky me' to know that this was not good.

He took a second to look down at his coffee mournfully. 

Then, he threw it at Hood’s helmet and bolted down the Tower corridor. 

Or: Tim is supposed to be at Gotham Academy for a parent-teacher conference. Hood has other plans (Titans Tower AU).

8k teen Jason & Tim

lost treasure

adelfie

Summary:

“Dad, I don’t want to do this.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want. This is why we brought you here,” Jack hisses. “So we can get paid.”

Or: When a cozy night out with his parents turns into a night of captivity and torture, Tim is forced to seek protection from his worst nightmare - the Red Hood.

9k angst teen Jason & Tim

wither on the shore

Scarlet_Ribbons

Summary:

“Replacement.”

Tim freezes, gaze still locked on Jack’s prone, silent form sprawled out on the floor, and pulls the phone back to look at the number.

It’s kind of funny, he thinks hazily. Of course he would accidentally kill his dad and then mistakenly call Jason, of all people.

9.6k angst teen Jason&Tim

Boom, Boom, Pow!

LilaVaporizer9000

Summary:

If anyone asked the Batfamily which Robin had the funniest ’joining the family’ story? Well, everyone would start with, “Well it seemed like Jason had the spot taken for good after having the audacity to try and jack the Batmobile’s tires and hit Bruce with his tire iron.” And then they’d say, “But then tiny Tim decided to try and steal the whole thing.”

Or: When Tim is 11 he figures it’s not hurting anyone if he. Ya know. Takes a picture in the Batmobile. But then the power goes to his head and all of a sudden he’s hacking the Batmobile and tearing through Gotham on a rescue mission.

11k feral tim teen

Street Lights would Guide you (and flicker in my shadow)

StarryKitty013

There was a lonely kid, hanging upside down off a fire escape looking at the world through a long range camera lens. 

13k angst teen

buried hope

paperxcrowns

Summary:

“You’re a sorry sight,” Jason says, and forces a water bottle in Tim’s shaking hand.

“Had a bad day,” Tim gasps, shakily trying to twist the cap off.

Jason snorts. “I’d say.”

Tim’s too busy draining the bottle to glare at Jason.

OR

tim spends another birthday alone and makes bad decisions.

11k teen angst

Into the Deep Dark Night

siren_of_the_ocean

Summary:

Timothy Jackson Drake drowns in Gotham Bay with not a bang, but a whimper. 

Luckily...or not, Gotham isn't quite ready to give him up yet. 

“Spirits of children and women drowned, my child. They live in the ponds that glisten like tar. The Rusalka."

14.8k angst teen

I’m Pretty Sure Tim Steals Clothes: An Elaboration In The Form Of A Long Fic

PrinceJakeFireCake

Summary:

Basically what it says on the tin.

““How many shirts do you have of Superboy’s, again?” Jason asked, his brows furrowed.

“I stole fifteen before Clark told me to stop,” Tim said. “I did not stop. Those aren’t even all of them, I have more upstairs.”

“How many Superboy shirts is too many Superboy shirts?” Jason pondered.

“I’m approaching the thousands,” Tim admitted. “I’m admittedly not the best person to pose such a question to.””

15k core four angst gen

Prince and Pauper

Vamillepudding

Summary:

When Tim first proposes his plan, Jason calls him batshit insane.

"Why?" Tim asks stubbornly. “It’ll be a win-win situation – I get a new life without some guardian tying me down, and you get a new life where you can eat food every day and live in a big house. You’ll probably have to go to school, but that’s the only downside I can think of. That, and pretending to be me, of course."

*

In the wake of Jack and Janet Drake's untimely death, Bruce sets out to search for their missing son, determined to adopt him. After a long, arduous search, he finally brings home a new addition to his family.

He fails to realise that the new kid living in Wayne Manor is not Tim Drake.

16k Tim & Jason & dick gen

You put Tim in box? You BOX him like dog?? Oh! Jail for Jason! Jail for one thousand years~

antebunny

Summary:

Jason tries a kinder method of getting Tim to give up Robin. It goes even worse than his original idea.

17k jason & tim teen

falling without caution

coffeecrowns

Summary:

Jason is twenty, decidedly less into murder, trying to avoid developing agoraphobia, and putting together some pieces into a life. 

Tim is sixteen, riding the edge of burnout, and in a show of his truly baffling survival instincts, decides Jason is friend shaped.

17k child soldiers angst mature

 Grin and Bear It (I got blood on your carpet)

Alia_JuneBug

Summary:

When Jack Drake’s business trip gets canceled, he is forced to stay at home while the legal kinks get worked out. He’s not used to having a teenager underfoot, so it’s only rational that he’s a little snappish around Tim. At least, that’s what Tim tells himself each time his dad’s idea of discipline gets harsher.

Bruce had told him to take a break from Robin in order to spend some time at home with his dad, and Tim can’t say no to that. He knows Bruce is probably glad to be rid of him for a short while.

And he can handle discipline. This is a Tim Drake problem, not a Robin problem anyway. There’s no need for Bruce to know anything.

Things get a little muddled when an injured Jason Todd crawls through his bedroom window.

18k not rated

The Lone Ranger Never Had to Deal with Bruce Wayne

theskeptileptic

Summary:

Tim is an independent, clever, and super mature eleven-year-old. Unfortunately, his dopey neighbor, Bruce, can’t seem to understand that.

When he decides to disappear on a “solo camping trip” and run away to Canada, he figures it’s the perfect plan that will make everybody happy. He didn’t expect the Waynes would tag along with him and ruin everything.

A six-chaptered tale filled with identity shenanigans, s’mores, soon-to-be-brothers, and a kid who is in desperate need of a new family.

25k gen

Dangerous and Noble Things

destiny919

Summary:

Timothy Drake was abducted by Ra's al Ghul.

Four years later, somebody notices.

45k angst

Let's be Brothers

Honeybuttons

Summary:

Jason was not the biggest fan of Tim, but it was clear that he didn’t hate him anymore. And if he didn’t hate him anymore, Tim could get him to love him. Right?

By his own carefully determined calculations, Tim could achieve this goal in 90 days or less. Day one started tomorrow morning with a surprise breakfast donut and an invitation to go watch the birds.

Or that time Tim was determined to be brothers and Jason was determined to be resistant and confused.

46k tim & jason gen humor 

Ain't No Compass, Ain't No Map

ebjameston

Summary:

CPS Agent, pointing at Tim Drake: We need to take him with us

Red Hood: He's fine where he is

CPS: He's a minor

Hood: Timbo, you a minor?

Tim: Can't prove it

CPS: I mean, I can. There are records –

Tim, who has just finishing hacking CPS to remove his own file: Oh really, tell me more about these records

+++

A CPS agent gets sent to investigate a tip that Tim Drake has been abandoned by his parents and is living with the Red Hood. The CPS agent leaves with no Tim Drake, a date with Red Hood's lieutenant, and an intern who's promising to fix the IT systems at his office. 

It's a weird day for Theo.

51k humor teen

Into the Brighter Night

shoalsea

Summary:

When an unknown enemy threatens Robin, Gotham's vigilantes come together to keep him safe. 

Unfortunately, they're protecting the wrong Robin. 

Or: Tim Drake plans his own rescue. Things get complicated.

160k core four gen

[oddinary4bts]

The Forgotten Spaces | ch 12 (jjk)

☆summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

☆pairing: photographer and dancer!Jungkook x dancer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in this chapter)

☆genre: slow (SLOW) burn enemies to lovers, college!au, slice of life!au, angst (oop), smut and fluff

☆warnings: a conversation about Laura, details about Jungkook's accident (he says what happens and gives details, it's towards the end of the chapter if the subject is heavy for you!), curse words, domestic ass fluff that will make you go :))))), explicit content: jerking off, oral sex (male receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (do not be stupid)

☆word count: 8k

☆series masterpost here

☆a/n: I think this one is also one of my favourite chapters! I hope you enjoy reading <3 Thank you to @moonleeai for her beta reading on this fic, I won't ever thank you enough, you're the best <3

☆Read What Was Hidden here, the fic that inspired this whole story, written by @daechwitatamic, one of my fav human beings on this app <3 It follows the story of Jo and Taehyung before The Forgotten Spaces

☆☆☆☆☆

For this meeting of our end of the world

It's with you that I want to sing

On the threshold of the memories the dead of today

Them that breathe for us

The forgotten spaces

Je t'écris - Gaston Miron (rough translation by me)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, October 20th

                You’re exhausted. You haven’t been able to move from the spot you’ve been sitting on the counter of your new apartment. Jiho and Hobi have finished making the coffee table you got at Ikea earlier this week, and they’re currently chilling on the couch, though they’re about to leave. Jisung and Felix took care of the desk in your room, and they left about five minutes ago, since they had a dinner to get to. At the moment, Jungkook is nowhere to be seen, and you reckon you appreciate the little bit of peace.

Moving day has made Jungkook far too excited for the anxiety that’s been coursing through your blood. Especially when you had to go to your mother’s house this morning. You’ve ignored every call of hers since she first started calling you last week, choosing to remove yourself entirely from her life.

At least for now, though you’re pretty sure you won’t go back on your decision, considering she’s kicked you out of the house.

You’ve listened to her voicemails though. Most of them were just her asking when you were going to move, though one of them was about a dinner at your aunt’s house that she wanted you to attend. You have an okay relationship with your aunt, you do, but not enough to choose to go when you know your mother will be there. So you decided not to go last night, and your aunt texted you to go grab a coffee sometime this week instead.

You were putting away your new dishes that you’ve just washed in the washing machine when you decided to sit on the counter, too exhausted to take care of the glasses too. It’s then that Jiho raises her head, glancing at you.

“Do you want some take-out for dinner?” she asks. “We were thinking we could eat here before we go.”

Jungkook’s head appears in the doorway to your room. “I’m down for take-out.”

You snort, and he smiles at you. It’s like your brain malfunctions – you forget that Jiho has asked you a question until she repeats it.

“Oh,” you let out. “Sure! But you guys can’t stay over late, I want an early night.”

Hobi laughs, glancing between you and Jungkook. “Right, an early night.”

Jiho slaps his thigh, and he just laughs again, shaking his head. You’re too tired to find a retort, so you just shrug your shoulders, meeting Jungkook’s gaze again.

You don’t even know if he’s sleeping over tonight. You haven’t talked about it, yet the thought that he’d stay… it makes your first night sleeping in your apartment less scary.

“What do you guys want?” Jiho asks after she’s pulled her phone from her black tote bag. “I was thinking fried chicken.”

The fact that the last time you ate fried chicken was months ago, with Jungkook, makes your heart beat just a little louder in your chest. Only he can notice, and a knowing smile grows on his lips.

“Sure, I’m down,” you agree, and Jungkook’s smile turns into a grin.

Jiho nods, and then she’s ordering the food. You jump off from the counter, moving towards your fridge as Jungkook walks out of your room, making his way to you. When he stops next to you, he gently bumps his shoulder into yours, right as you’re opening the fridge door.

“What?” you ask him.

He tilts his head to the side, looking at you with those big doe eyes of his. “Nothing.”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion. “What do you mean, nothing?”

“I mean nothing,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. He winks at you as you just furrow your brows. “Unless…”

You wait for him to continue, but he falls silent. “Unless what?”

He purses his lips, before pulling on his piercing. You can feel Jiho’s gaze on you, but you do your best to ignore it. “Am I…” He pauses, long enough for a smirk to blossom on his mouth. “Am I sleeping over tonight?”

You look up to the sky, faking annoyance. “Uh, please don’t.”

His mouth falls open and your gaze drops back to him, and it’s your turn to wink at him.

“Alright then, I’m not sleeping over.” He folds his arms on his chest, standing tall with a frown on his features.

You laugh at his expression, and one of your hands darts to his inked forearm. You try to force him to unfold his arms, but he doesn’t budge, as he’s clearly far stronger than you are.

“I’m just teasing you,” you say, pouting as you offer him the best puppy eyes you can muster up.

He chuckles. “I know.”

You don’t move for a few seconds, content just looking at each other, but then the fridge makes a sound as you’ve been holding the door open for too long. It startles you a little, and you both laugh as you turn to reach for a water bottle.

“We should get beer,” Jungkook suggests, and his eyes slide to Hobi, who perked up the minute beer was mentioned.

“We have to, with the chicken.”

“I’m not going out, but feel free to go grab some if you want,” you tell the boys. “I don’t really drink beer anyway.”

“What about sangria?” Jungkook says teasingly, and your cheeks flush red.

“No sangria tonight.”

He pouts. “Why not?”

“Sangria is a Thirsty Thursday drink. It’s Saturday.”

“I mean,” Jiho lets out. “I’d be down for sangria.”

Hobi jumps up from the couch – it was delivered earlier today. It’s an L-shaped grey couch, that you wouldn’t have been able to afford hadn’t it been for your father.

“We can make it ourselves!” Hobi exclaims. “I’ve been told I make the best sangria.”

“Nu-uh,” Jungkook says, shaking his head no. “Yoongi makes the best sangria, you just stole his recipe.”

Hobi chuckles. “Still counts.”

Your eyes slide to Jungkook, and he catches your gaze. He must have read something on your face, because he steps closer, and he grabs your waist. “Something wrong?” he asks, just for you to hear.

“I love them, but I don’t want to hang out with them tonight,” you admit truthfully. “I’m tired.”

Jungkook seems like he ponders for a time, and when he leans down to press a soft kiss on your forehead, your eyelids flutter shut and you rest your head on his chest.

“What about we grab drinks some other time?” Jungkook suggests, face turned towards your friends on the couch.

Hobi doesn’t get the clue. “We can’t eat fried chicken without beer.”

“Babe, we can,” Jiho says, and she sounds scolding.

It makes you chuckle against Jungkook’s chest, and he wraps his arms around you.

It’s wild. Some part of you never expected to be comfortable with public displays of affection. Mind you, Jiho and Hobi don’t form a big audience. But still, being in Jungkook’s arms right now feels just right, and you already feel a little less exhausted. He’s energizing, when he holds you like this, with the warmth of his body seeping through yours. You just want to stay there for eternity, but it’d be a little selfish, wouldn’t it?

After that, Jiho and Hobi understand that you want to be left alone. They leave after you’ve eaten, wishing you good luck on your first night in your new apartment, and Jiho hugs you tight against her chest, saying that she’s the next one allowed to sleep over here. It makes you laugh, and then you wave your two friends goodbye as they walk down the hallway towards the elevator. You close the door when they turn the corner, before leaning against it.

“Something wrong?” Jungkook asks gently.

“I’m drained.”

He grabs your hand, gently squeezing your fingers. “I can take care of the rest of the dishes, if you want.”

He’s too good to you, but gosh you love it. “You’d do that for me?”

He smiles gently, nodding his head. “Of course. As long as I’m allowed to be the little spoon tonight.”

You laugh, letting him pull you towards the kitchen. “I promise. You can hold Totoro this time around.”

“And not Appa?” he asks, pouting as he glances over his shoulder at you.

You roll your eyes, chuckling. “Both.”

“That’s better.”

As Jungkook finishes emptying the dishwasher, you sit on the counter, leaning against a cupboard. You take a moment to look at him – he’s wearing green cargo pants, with another of his many oversized dark t-shirts. His hair is so long you think you could probably tie it in a ponytail, though you reckon you’re not sure if it would look good on him. Besides, you like his hair untied, especially now that it’s started to curl a little at the ends. It makes him look soft, and it takes everything in you not to reach out between you and run your fingers through his hair.

“How do you feel about being in your own apartment?” he asks as he’s putting glasses away in a cupboard next to you.

You observe him for a few seconds, before letting your gaze slide away to the living room. You haven’t finished decorating yet, but it already feels like home a little, especially with Jungkook by your side.

“I’m happy,” you reveal. “Tired, yes, but I really am happy to finally have my own place.”

He smiles. “I can imagine. When I moved in with the boys I rode a high for a few months before it just became normal.” He chuckles, slightly shaking his head. “It was such a mess at the beginning.”

“It still is,” you point out.

He raises his eyebrows as you turn your head towards him. “Trust me, it’s not half as bad as it used to be.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Why’s that?”

He ponders for a time, and the only sounds in the room are those of the glasses as he puts them away. “Probably because we’ve thrown less parties this semester? Last year we had one almost every week. But I think Jin and Yoongi outgrew the phase.”

“Kinda hard to throw a party when two out of five residents don’t want to,” you say, and he nods his head.

“Exactly.”

He works in silence for a time, as you just yawn next to him. You close your eyes for a few seconds, and really you’re so tired you think you could fall asleep like this. You’re about to do so when Jungkook nudges you gently.

“You gotta move,” he tells you, and he laughs when you whine. “All the other cupboards are full, I need to use the one behind you.”

You crack an eye open, and surely one of his hands is extended towards the cupboard. His inked one is holding a glass and the fondness in his eyes does something to your insides – melts them, the same way metal melts, turning bright and liquid and burning, burning, burning.

You grab the glass out of his hand, putting it next to you. His hand is still extended towards the cupboard, and he’s looking at you with a cocked eyebrow, clearly not understanding what you’re doing.

In all truth, you don’t know what you are doing either. Only know that all the restraints you’ve once had are breaking, melting, popping. The dam is open, and the flood rushes in, washing away all the pain, all the fear you’ve gone through in the last few months. You feel like maybe you’ve drowned, maybe you’re at the bottom of the lake looking up to see the light, to see Jungkook. And if you had to drown to make it to him, then you think it was worth it. It is worth it. Because he puts oxygen in your lungs the way nothing ever did before.

You grab his arm, whining a little again. He chuckles, but doesn’t resist when you pull him towards you. You pull him in, until you’re able to wrap your legs around his waist. The smile on his lips dies slowly as he watches you, sees the look in your eyes. He falls fully serious, and when you pull him down he follows your lead.

The kiss is slow. The kiss is time stopped, eternity awaiting. You feel like you’re everywhere, everything, yesterday and tomorrow. You feel infinite, yet finite like you’re just a punctuated event in the chronology of time. You’re nothing, but you’re also all, and you think Jungkook feels it too.

You know he does, because his hands steadily fall to your waist, and his touch on you is gentle, yet firm. He holds you into your spot, setting your place into the universe to your seat on this counter, with him between your legs.

You cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing his skin as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head to the side. His tongue swipes at your bottom lip, and you sigh as you let him in.

This kiss is the start. But it’s not a start that hurts, like the cataclysm under the stars. It’s a start that makes you think ‘this is it, this is where I was meant to be’. Urgency slides into it, slowly, until passion takes over the two of you. Jungkook’s fingers dig in the supple skin of your hips, and you softly moan in his mouth as he bites at your bottom lip. He lets out a sound similar to yours when you pull him ever so closer, pressing him against you.

You can taste the sauce lingering in his mouth from the fried chicken you ate before Hobi and Jiho left. You’re pretty sure he can taste it in yours too, but you both don’t care, too busy building yourselves anew.

Jungkook pulls away just long enough to breathe in, and then he’s crashing his lips on yours again. If you could choose your Heaven – if such a thing exists, which you highly doubt – it’d be this moment, repeating over and over.

The moment you realize you’re in love. The moment you realize it was all worth it. The moment you realize Jungkook is love, in its purest form. You want to lie in this moment forever, make your bed in it and die right here, right now. Because you know no moments will ever top this, right now.

He’s your heaven.

“Jungkook,” you breathe against his lips.

He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. “What was that for?”

Your hands move to his hair, get lost in his long locks. “I’m falling for you.”

He doesn’t say anything for so long you start to feel your heart ache. It starts slowly, but soon overpowers everything. You wish you could move away, but he’s like a magnet, and you a piece of metal. You’re glued to him.

He murmurs your name, with so much devotion you feel like you’re a god. And then he chuckles as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close.

“Me too, baby, me too,” he whispers. “You have no idea. I’ve been falling for so long.”

Your closed eyes manage to fill with tears. “No falling anymore. We’ve got each other.”

The sound he makes next resembles a sob, and you hold him tighter.

“You really think that?”

You nod against him. “Yes.”

He nods too, and then laughs softly. “Gotta add fried chicken to the list of things I want you to eat or drink more often.”

You snort and when he picks you up you just hold onto him tighter.

“Where are you bringing me?” you ask.

He parts so he can look over his shoulder. “There’s something I want you to see.”

An air of mystery fills the space surrounding him, and you close your eyes as you snuggle your face in his neck. “Mmh.”

“That tickles,” he complains with a whiny voice that makes you giggle.

Jungkook carries you to your bedroom. The sun set a little while ago, though the sky outside is still painted in royal blue, having yet to give way to night. He puts you down on the freshly-made bed, and your eyes flutter open as he steps away.

“What are you doing?” you ask, but then your room fills with light.

Fairy lights. He’s hung them around the painting over the head of your bed, and even around the window. It gives your room an inviting glow, a warm tone that feels just right with him in your vicinity.

“When did you do this?” you ask.

He smiles softly, fondly. “Earlier. Before dinner. I thought you were going to like it.”

Your eyes have filled with tears by the time you croak out, “I do.”

He looks so happy with himself, like he accomplished something remarkable. And maybe to him, making you happy is that. Remarkable.

“Come here,” you say, making grabby hands at him.

He laughs, but immediately complies, walking over to where he sat you on the bed. “What do you want?”

You never were asked such an easy question before. “You.”

Something passes in his eyes. “Me?”

“All of you?”

At that he laughs. “All?”

“Shut up and come here,” you whine.

He giggles that sweet giggle of his, but he obeys, sitting next to you. You’re not surprised when he pushes you down so you’re lying on your back, with his hand on your stomach.

“How do you like your apartment?” he asks after a few seconds of comfortable silence.

You turn your head to look at him. “I love it.”

He smiles. “I’m glad.”

Your heart feels content in your chest, yet it demands more. So you prop yourself up on an elbow in order to get closer to him, and you press your lips on his again. This kiss starts the same way as earlier, but it meets passion faster. Way faster, like your hearts are chasing each other in a race, and maybe they are.

You climb on top of him, straddling him as his hands hold your waist once more. Your mouths haven’t disconnected while you moved, but they do now as you descend to his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. He tastes a little salty from when he sweated throughout moving day, but you don’t care, you just want to feel him.

He says your name, and his grip on you tightens when you suck a hickey over the collar of his shirt.

“Do you want me, Kook?” you ask, and it’s a little rhetorical.

He still replies. “I do want you.”

“Tonight?”

He breathes hard when you suck on his skin again. “Yes.”

Satisfied, you sit back on his lap, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Then take this off.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, and then he sits up, pressing a kiss on your nose. “But first let me get you out of your shirt, mmh?”

You let him sneak his hands to your back, until he’s grabbed your shirt and pulled it over your head. You help him a little, and he lets it fall to the floor next to your bed. His hands return to your back, and he gently caresses your skin as he presses his lips to yours for a soft kiss.

When he pulls away, his doe eyes meet yours, and you help him out of his shirt. Soon, it finds yours on the ground, and you slowly roam your hands on his chest, on his abs. You find the scar he has there, and you trace it with a finger, holding his gaze.

“I love your scars,” you breathe out.

His eyes glaze a little, and he looks down at himself. “You do?”

“Of course. They are a part of you.”

He kisses you again, languidly, pulling you down as he lies back. You follow him, resting your hands on his chest to keep your lips against his. His hands roam your back, finding your bra strap and a second later he unhooks it. You don’t disconnect your mouths as he slips your bra off, and you shiver a little when it’s off and his hands move to your breasts.

He gently cups them, squeezing once before he grabs your waist instead. You whine against his lips, and he laughs softly.

“What?” he asks.

“Touch me,” you let out.

He breathes in sharply. “Fuck.”

You kiss his cheek, his jaw, his neck. “Please.”

“I will,” he whispers, and he says it like a promise.

A promise you know he’ll hold, because one of his hands glides on your side, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind before it finds your ass. He holds it firmly, while his other hand goes back to your breast, rolling your hardened nipple between his thumb and index.

You moan against his lips, unable to resist, and he slips his tongue in your mouth. You kiss him harder, passionately, fingers moving to get tangled in his long hair. He grinds up into you as your hands get lost in the soft strands, and you moan again.

“Fuck,” he curses once more.

You pull away, enough to look at his features. “Is something wrong?”

His eyes are screwed shut, and he looks like he’s in pain. “Just…” He wets his lips, but his eyes stay obstinately shut. “Are you going to run again?”

Your heart falls in your chest. It falls and aches, and you gently cup his cheeks. “Kook,” you murmur. “Look at me.”

He pulls at his piercing, and it takes him a few seconds but he eventually obeys. When your gazes connect, you pour all of your feelings in your eyes, hoping he’ll read it himself while you say, “I’m not going anywhere. It’s you and me now. Us.”

“I don’t deserve you.” He says it with conviction, and it makes you clutch him a little harder.

“Kook, stop this. I told you before, it’s my choice.” You pause, giving weight to your words. “I choose you.”

He looks between your two eyes, and then his gaze shines with tears. “I should have chosen you before.”

A tear escapes his right eye, and you gently wipe it away with your thumb. “But you’re choosing me now, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He chuckles. “You’re stuck with me.”

Your lips break out into a soft smile. “Good. Now kiss me stupid.”

Mischief fills his gaze, replacing the sadness. “Oh, I’ll kiss you stupid and fuck you dumb.”

“JK!” you burst out, and he rests a hand flatly on your back, spinning you around until he’s pinning you down on the bed. Your gaze widens, and you have about two seconds of looking at him, heart beating out of your chest, before he catches your lips with the pillowy softness of his.

He’s propped up on his elbows, caging you between his arms, and your hands wander down his body, caressing his sides before going ever so lower. You find the band of his pants, sliding one finger in just to tickle him. He grinds into you, and you feel his erection pressing against you.

Lava trickles down to your core, and your legs circle his waist again until he’s tight against you. It makes it hard to rid him of his pants, and you reluctantly let go as he himself pushes away, standing up so he can get out of his pants. He looks like an angel in the fairy lights, skin turned to honey you want to taste, and you reckon you want to taste every inch of him. Want to press kisses all over his body until all he can feel is you.

Jungkook palms himself through his boxer briefs, and you watch the imprint of his dick shamelessly. He cocks his head to the side, before saying, “Why don’t you take off your pants too?”

“You’d like that?” you tease.

He chuckles. “Brat.”

“You love it.”

He doesn’t deny, just watches you as you finish undressing. It occurs to you that it’s his first time really seeing you fully naked, and a little bit of insecurity seeps through you. He notices right away, because of course his big eyes notice everything.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs as you lie down, in just your underwear. “I’d take a picture of you right now.”

You blush. “Please don’t.”

“Just burning your picture behind my eyelids then,” he says, and one of his hands moves under his boxer briefs, fingers wrapping around his cock. “I want to see you every night as I’m falling asleep.”

It’s dirty, especially as he starts pumping his dick. You sit back up, just long enough to hook your thumbs in the band of his boxers, pulling them down his legs. He lets you do it, focusing on jerking himself off. His dick sits right next to your face, and you look up at him, questions in your eyes.

“You don’t have to suck my dick,” he says, sounding reassuring. “I’m all ready for you.”

“Then just a little?” you suggest.

His eyes shut as he tilts his head to the side, chuckling. “Alright baby.”

You smirk, biting at your bottom lip before letting your gaze drop to his dick. You eye the bead of precum that sits at the slit. Jungkook is still holding his dick up, but he’s stopped jerking it off for now. You lean forward, tongue darting out to taste him, and he tastes just as good as you remember. You lick him clean of the precum, and then swirl your tongue around the head, playing with his frenulum.

He slowly starts pumping himself, and you look up to connect your gaze with his as you suck on his tip. You moan, softly, before pulling away with a popping sound.

“You know,” he says, and his eyes fall shut as if he needs to concentrate. “As much as I want you to suck my dick, I think I’d rather just be close to you tonight.”

You melt again, like snow under the spring sun. “Kook…”

“And now I’m far, aren’t I?”

He sort of is, standing up like that while you’re sitting on the bed. So you move backwards, lying back down. “Come here then.”

His eyes open, and he takes in the sight of you for a few seconds, not saying anything. He just has a small smirk on his lips, and he’s still pumping his cock. It makes you jealous a little, because you haven’t really had any action yet, so you let your hand wander between your legs, under your panties.

Jungkook watches, mouth falling open, as you start pressing circles on your clit. You go lower, finding your lips coated with your sleek juice, and you use it to press harder on your clit, moving faster.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses. “Can I take your panties off?”

You smirk lazily, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. “Sure.”

He eyes you suspiciously, sensing the mischief and teasing in your voice, but he lets it slide. He kneels on the bed, moving closer until he can pull your panties down and off your legs. You still just rub at your clit, even as he watches you do it. Even as one of his hands moves up your thigh, and he circles your entrance with a finger.

“As much as I want to be close to you right now, we should get you ready first, uh?”

“You want to finger me?”

He inhales sharply, nodding his head.

“Do it, Kook.”

He pulls at his piercing, and his gaze meets yours as he slowly slides his finger inside of you, arching it immediately to find the spot inside of you that can make you cum in no time.

You keep at it on your clit, moving faster as he starts teasing at the spot, before pumping his finger in and out a couple of times. When he's covered it with your wetness, he adds a second finger, and you moan out his name.

“You’re so wet.” It sounds like a praise, and all you can do is nod your head. Because surely, you’re soaked, and you reckon there’s a high chance you’ll wet the bedding under you. But you don’t care, all there is is Jungkook and his fingers inside of you.

He makes scissor-motions with his digits, spreading you wide open to get you ready for him while you’re still drawing circles on your clit. He works against your muscles as they tighten, spasming from your ministrations on your clit.

“Do you want to cum first?” he asks.

“Uh?” you gasp out.

“Do you want me to make you cum before we have sex?”

The brat in you resurfaces. “I’m doing half of the work,” you whine.

Something changes in his demeanour. He’s still soft and gentle, but his free hand grabs the one you’ve been using to pleasure yourself. He leans over you, hovers over you, until he’s put it over your head, against the bed.

“Not anymore, uh?” he asks cockily, fucking you with his fingers harder.

Squelching sounds start to be heard in your room, and you clench around him. Though you still have an available hand, and you start playing with yourself with it. Jungkook chuckles, and he presses a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“You want to cum so bad,” he states.

You do. You’re tilting over the edge, and it only burns brighter as he starts fucking his fingers faster. You time the circles on your clit to his movements, and when he starts kissing you, so slowly you feel your heart combust in your chest, the coil in your core snaps.

You moan out, loudly, as your fingers slow on your clit. His don’t, and he fingers you all through your high, kissing you softly still. You kiss him back, trying to focus on his lips as pleasure rushes through your body. The hand that was holding yours over your head moves until your fingers are intertwined, and you shudder as he milks the ending of your orgasm out of you.

His digits still in you, and he just keeps on kissing you. You focus on that until you feel strong enough to move, and you do so, wrapping your hand around his cock. You pump him, slowly, and he grinds in your hand.

He pulls away then, fingers emptying you, and you realize you’ve been gasping for air. You breathe in and out quickly, chest moving in time. He surveys you, and then presses a kiss to your forehead.

“That felt good?” he asks, and he moans a little when you grip his dick tighter.

“Fuck,” is all you can think to say.

He chuckles, and then looks at his hand. “Let me just clean that up so we don’t dirty your bed before we’ve even slept in it.”

It’s endearing how he thinks of that even as you’re jerking him off, and you watch him as he reaches for a tissue on your bedside table. He cleans his fingers, and when he’s satisfied, he crumples the tissue and throws it towards the bin in the corner of your room. He entirely misses it, but you both don’t care as he settles comfortably between your legs.

“Do you still want to do this?” he asks, bending down to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“Yes,” you breathe out, and you align him with your entrance. “I want you so bad, Kook.”

“Me too,” he murmurs.

Then a thought pops in your head, and your gaze widens. “Wait.”

He stops moving, even as he was starting to push inside of you. He’s kneeling between your legs, and the startled look on his features makes you grab his hands.

“Are you sure this position won’t hurt your leg?”

He smiles, eyes so full of love you feel like you’re an entire new person. “Don’t worry about me, baby.”

You pout a little. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself for me.”

He resumes his movement, pushing inside of you, and he only speaks again once most of him is sheathed inside of you. “My leg doesn’t hurt as much anymore,” he whispers. “I’ll let you know if it does, and we can always switch positions, mmh?”

You nod, and your gaze dips down to the spot where your bodies are connected. “Okay.”

He leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips. And when he starts pulling back, only to push inside of you again, your hands grab the nape of his neck to hold him in place. To keep him close, so you can feel the weight of his body on top of you.

He fucks you slowly. Lazily, as he kisses you languidly like he’s got until the end of time to have sex with you. It leaves you feeling full, feeling bright like the stars in the sky that July night. Only this time, you both are stars, crashing together, meddling until there’s only one of you, made of the best of him and you.

It’s slow and steady, like the beats of your heart in your chest. Whenever he turns his head one way, you follow his lead, let him kiss you stupid while he just keeps going, slow and steady. It’s warm, like a summer evening. You know every little moment of your life led you to be here tonight, and you know you’ll cherish this moment forever.

You want it to last forever. And it feels as if it does, even when Jungkook readjusts his position, lying on his side a little. He fucks you so slow your heart grows and grows in your chest, like flowers do under the benevolent rays of the summer sun. You grow like a plant nurtured in your home, like love that’s meant to last forever. It feels like there’s just you and him in this space.

And maybe you’re forgotten. Maybe the whole of humanity is gone, and there’s just you and him left. You think that’s okay. You don’t mind being forgotten, not when it’s with him. Not when you know you occupy his thoughts the way he occupies yours.

At some point, Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, and you breathe the same air as he keeps fucking you like this, slow and steady. You hold him, tangling your hands in his hair, running them down his back.

“I’m really falling in love with you,” he breathes.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing him ever so closer to you. “Kook… me too. I’m falling in love with you too.”

He’s so close you feel it when he smiles. “Didn’t you say ‘no falling anymore’ earlier?”

You don’t know how he’s still able to think right now. Because the only thing that occupies your thoughts right now is him. Him in his entirety, his soul settling home.

“I…” you trail off, silenced by a soft peck of his. “I’m in love with you,” you correct.

“I’m in love with you too,” he responds, and then he’s kissing you again.

He’s kissing you like he’s making up for the last few months, and preparing you for all those that are to follow. You see a long path ahead, but it doesn’t scare you anymore.

Jungkook’s movements grow sloppier as you kiss, and then his hips settle against yours, his dick embedded deep inside of you. You feel it twitch as he releases inside of you, and he grunts in the kiss as he fucks his orgasm out of himself.

When he’s done, he once again rests his forehead against yours. “Wow.”

One syllable that encompasses everything that you’re feeling right now. You echo it, and you both chuckle. And you hold on to each other for a long time, before Jungkook pulls away to clean up. He pulls you behind him to the shower, and he washes your back under the warm water. You wash him too, and by the time you’ve settled back in bed, you’re going again. This time doesn’t last as long, and it’s a little more desperate, a little faster, like your bodies are craving each other too much for the dance your souls want to pursue.

When you’re done, you lie with your head on his chest, eyes trailed to the sliver of moon you can see outside. Jungkook’s breathing is deep next to you, but you know he’s not asleep yet. You’re drawing circles on his chest, where his shoulder connects to his torso and ink gives way to a blank canvas. Meanwhile, Jungkook is running a hand up and down your back, slowly, never once faltering.

“What are you thinking of?” he asks.

The question takes you by surprise. Mostly because you weren’t thinking about anything, but now that he’s asked, you think about everything. You think about all the months, all the years that eventually brought you here. You think about how sixteen years old you would kill you for being with him, though you think it’d be because she was jealous. You think about the way he broke your heart, about the way you broke his, and the way you rebuilt yourself together. You think about Laura, and inevitably the words she told you at the bar come back to your mind.

You sigh, and if you could you’d move closer until you were under his skin.

“You know, the other day, at the bar?” you let out pensively. He hums. You don’t know if he’s following, so you add, “When Laura talked to me.”

This time, he says in a low, deep voice, “Yes.”

His hand doesn’t still on your back, and neither do your fingers on his chest. “She mentioned something that got me thinking.”

You feel him shift a little as he looks down at you. “What did she say?”

“That I was delusional,” you admit. “That you broke up with her to be with me to boost your ego.”

Now, his hand stops on your back, resting flatly so he can pull you closer. “I hope you know that it is not true,” he gently says. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and your eyes flutter shut as you sigh.

“Can I ask you why you broke up with her though?” you enquire with a small voice. “We never… You never said why.”

His fingers go back to grazing the skin of your back. “I think it was a combination of seeing you getting hurt and Laura saying stuff about you,” he admits. “That time you hurt your wrist, I panicked. Seeing you hurt, hurt me too, and it made me realize that I cared for you far more than I originally thought.” He pauses, and your hand trails to the top of his shoulder so you can hold him tight against you. “And Laura was a bitch that night. She said a lot of stuff about you, and the more she talked the more I wanted her gone.”

Silence fills the room, and you listen to his steady heartbeat for a time. You take his words in, let them marinate in your mind while you figure what to say.

Because you knew, that day, how much he cared for you. It was written all over his features, in those big doe eyes of his, and it hurt almost more than your wrist did. But two days later, in a fit of heartbreak caused by your mother, you had ended up right by his side, where you were always supposed to be.

“I knew it,” you reveal. “That you cared for me. Even when you were with her I knew it. But…” you trail off, and he waits patiently for you to continue. “Do you remember the night I… I kissed Jimin?”

He stiffens, and you’re pretty sure his heart has skipped a beat in his chest. “Yeah?”

“It was like you didn’t even know me,” you say, voice small. “I expected you to be angry, or to be jealous, but you didn’t even blink.”

He chuckles, and it’s a little sour. “Honestly, it hurt me but I wanted you to be happy. I thought then that you weren’t supposed to be happy with me. I know now that I was wrong, and I’m sorry you had to see me with her. Because, even though Jimin’s one of my closest friends and I love him to death, seeing you two together hurt.”

“I cried for the first time that night,” you admit, and your voice has gotten even tinier. “With Sungie and Felix. I think that’s why Sungie doesn’t like you.”

Because it was evident today. Jisung kept throwing glares Jungkook’s way, kept trying to get Jungkook to be away from you. You think they spent some time alone too, and Jungkook confirms as he says, “He told me he’s going to give me a chance just because you are happy with me.” And then Jungkook chuckles a little. “But he said he’ll kill me if I hurt you again. In Korean at that.”

Your brows furrow on your forehead. “Wait, you speak Korean?”

Jungkook looks down at you. “Obviously?”

“I’ve never heard you speak Korean,” you say, propping yourself up on an elbow so you can look at him. “Say something!”

He just holds your gaze, though a fond smile sneaks its way to his lips.

“Come on,” you whine.

“Guiyeop,” he says, finally caving in.

You grin. “What does that mean?”

His smile turns mischievous. “You’re annoying.”

“Jungkook!” you yell, and you punch him in the chest as he starts laughing. “I hate you.”

“You don’t,” he says, tickling your side. “Besides, it means cute.”

You frown, glaring down at him. “Does it?”

His hand reaches between you, and he smooths the frown away from your features. It makes your breath hitch in your throat, and you hold his gaze as he says, “It does.”

You repeat the word, and then smile wide at him again. “I like it. You should teach me how to speak Korean.”

He pulls you back into his embrace, and you rest your head on his chest. This time, he holds you flush against him, both arms surrounding your frame, and you’re engulfed in his warmth as he hums.

“You’ll need to learn if you want to meet my family,” he says before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“They don’t speak English?”

You feel it as he shakes his head no. “My brother does, but my parents don’t really. They all still live in Korea.”

“Wait,” you let out. “You moved here without them?”

He chuckles. “No, my parents were here for two years, but then they moved back to Korea because of my dad’s work.”

“So you were just with your brother?” you ask.

He nods. “Yeah. But when he went to college I moved in with Tae’s family.”

You didn’t know that. It feels like you should have known, considering you’ve known him for almost as long as he’s been here, and your heart falls in your chest.

“Wow.” You glance up at him, though all you can see from your point of view is his jaw. “I didn’t know.”

He presses a kiss on your forehead. “We never talked about it before, how could you know?”

You’re pouting when you say, “I just… it feels like I should have known.”

He says your name like he’s reprimanding you. “I didn’t even talk about my family to Laura,” he admits. “So don’t feel bad that you didn’t know.”

“But I’ve known you for years,” you point out.

He hums. “Yeah and? Did you want to know stuff about my life before?”

He’s got a point. You still whine a little, which brings a cute giggle out of him.

“I guess not.”

He holds you tighter for a few seconds. “See? We’re all good.”

Another silence moves through the room, and you just go back to listening to his heart. Its steady beat is threatening to lull you to sleep, though your imagination runs wild with what it must have been like for him to grow up all alone, on an entirely different continent as his parents. It feels lonely, though you reckon he always had someone around.

It’s more than you had, after your father left. Because you don’t consider your mother to have been around for you. All she was was a thorn in your side, one that you’ve finally gotten rid of. Yes, it aches, but you reckon that now you have a chance to heal.

And healing with Jeon Jungkook by your side sounds like a dream.

“Did they…” you trail off, not expecting the question to take shape. “Did your parents come when you got in your accident?”

He sighs. “My mom did, but my dad couldn’t. She stayed for a couple of weeks, but then she had to go back too.”

You press a kiss to his chest. “How did you feel?”

“About what?”

You shrug in his hold. “About being here alone. I can’t imagine what that must have felt like.”

He remains silent for so long you almost think he won’t reply. “I wasn’t alone,” he admits. “I had the boys. They’re like family to me, and it was plenty enough. Besides…” he trails off. “I didn’t want to be around people after the accident. I was stuck in my head.”

You’ve never really talked about that before. As much as the subject scares you, you also want to listen to Jungkook, if he needs to talk. And it seems he does, because he continues after a minute of silence.

“I really thought I was going to die that day,” he reveals, with a small, vulnerable voice. “Sometimes, all I can picture is just me, bleeding out on the backseat.”

Your heart turns to ice in your chest, and you don’t think it’s beating anymore.

“I almost died, actually,” he tells you. “If the medics had gotten there two minutes later I would have.” He’s silent for a few seconds, and his voice is raw with emotion as he adds, “The boys were freaking out, but I was out. Taehyung was just… telling me to hold on, saying my name, and Jimin threw up while Jin called 911. At least that’s what they told me.” You sneak an arm around his waist, soothingly rubbing his back. “Tae didn’t even realize he was hurt too until I woke up in the ambulance and told him. He was so panicked he wasn’t letting the medics approach him.”

The heavy silence that follows is unbearable, and you feel the need to say something, anything. “Jungkook… I’m so sorry.”

“I’m the one that should apologize,” he quickly says, and he scrapes his throat as if to get rid of a lump that’s formed there. “I just dumped that on you out of nowhere.”

“It’s all good,” you reassure him. “I’m here for you, if you need to talk about it.”

“I never really talked to anyone about it, besides my therapist,” he admits. “It just makes it so real.”

You nod, before pressing another kiss to his chest. “You’re alive, Jungkook. You’re alive and that’s all that matters.”

“Alive and with you,” he says, choking on a sob. “Thank you so much.”

You blink back tears as you peck his chest once more. “I’m glad that you are right here.”

His grip around you tightens, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest, even through the heaviness of the conversation. You don’t talk for a while, both of you lost in thoughts, though you reckon you just don’t know what to tell him. You weren’t wrong before – you’re not good with feelings. You try to be, because that’s what Jungkook deserves, especially with what he’s been through. But feelings are one of your many shortcomings, though you reckon you’ve been getting better.

Letting him in is making you better, in all the ways that matter. You think you could spend the rest of your life right next to him, and that he feels the same way. You believe he feels the same way, because his grip never falters around you. He still presses gentle kisses on the top of your head once in a while, and when his breathing slowly deepens, interrupted by soft snores, you smile against him, holding in a giggle.

His warmth eventually lulls you to sleep, and for the first time in forever you sleep soundly, like you’ve finally reached your safe haven.

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I am so soft I could cry gosh... they're in love, aren't they? What do we think?

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