#extra points if i can zone out and just listen to my own music or podcast with it

[bufferingbabe]

NETFLIX: EVERYTHING NOW

[Trigger warning: the show is centred around the main characters recovery from her ed so that’s mentioned in this post.]

I am in love with this show. I just put it in as something to watch in the background whilst I did some light work and now I’m a day behind on it because I couldn’t. Stop. Watching! (and I couldn’t see the keyboard through my tears 😭).

I don’t even know where to start- it’s been so long since I’ve seen a show and seen myself in so many of the characters and seen people I know in those character as well. In an emotional sense, a situational sense and a physical sense I literally found Cam so jarring just because he reminds me so much of two people i know.

The Script Dialogue ?

🎶 For the first time in forever 🎶 the script, written about gen z, using terms and reference of the youth, didn’t. Feel. Forced. IN ADDITION, they used reference that weren’t just globally relevant but phrases and references that are very British/Londoner gen z!

“Are you not embarrrrassssed? This is emberaasssing” - perfectly used.

I also love how there’s no pressure to announce their sexuality, everyone is just them. I’m straight, so my opinion on this means nothing in comparison but I love that. l can see why coming out is important to many and a needed process to go through but I also know many people would rather not and just love and live and from an ally’s perspective I feel like this perspective of LGBTQ+ stories are so refreshing. The kids are freely figuring themselves out with no judgement, as they should be.

The Music Choices ?

First things first because I need to point this out for people not from London who have or are looking to watch the show. These kids come from rich families- and I mean RICH. They’re not from old money wealth (like Young Royals) but they live in modern detached houses located in zone 1 more or less (that’s already worth like £1M+ range), have cars that I know for a fact definitely don’t abide by ULEZ so they defo pay extra, AND have back gardens??? Mad.

But why is this relevant? To be honest I don’t know how to word this but, the house music at the house parties, the drops of garage, when Cam was in his home and working out and they played Cench, my first thought was “Cam is defo the type of boy to know all the words to all Cench’s songs and then rap the words with vim, as if he’s from ends 😂” (translation: “ends” = “the hood”, think Top Boy).

The music choices accurately depict today UK youth and it’s not just music that fits their lives or their characters progression but instead rounds out the characters. For instance I listen to Pop Smoke despite not being able to relate to a lot of what he’s saying as I’m not from NY or live that lifestyle, but will I scream the lyrics? Yes. And that’s how I feel it is with these characters. The soundtrack was like a dip into their own spotify accounts!

AND WHEN THEY PLAYED “MY HOOD” BY RAY BLK ? I cried. That was my “bus ride to school” song in secondary school.

The Character Development ?

I haven’t routed for and been annoyed / pissed off to high heavens by / cringed for / cried for a bunch of characters in so long. I don’t want to say more about that because the show is very plot character driven and I don’t think I can explain what I mean without spoiling it.

What Got Me About The Show ?

Through the show I came to the conclusion that even when I was mad at the characters I couldn’t be completely mad because I knew where they were coming from and I knew they were struggling but still mad because it didn’t excuse or make it okay that they spread the pain. The only character that hadn’t done that I believe is Mia’s little brother (even though I myself really wanted him to give everyone what for).

As I am not someone with an ED I can’t fully relate and my two cents on this is worth nothing in comparison to those who have had the presence of an ED in their life in some way. But from my perspective I do believe that this show is very educational and brings great awareness to the mental side of it all. It’s very raw and real and unapologetically what it is.

I don’t really know how to end these things and tbf but I love this show and needed to express it especially since no one around me has watched it yet 😭.

[newx-menfan]

“X-Force # 1 Review”

*Spoilers*

The issue starts with Sage monologuing about the “complexity” of Forge...

We then see Forge, running simulations on his estate (his house was cooler in the 80’s guys…); where he’s questioning his own mutation and using science to heighten it (and apparently using BEAST as his analogy…not the BEST choice considering recent events…OR ANY EVENTS with HANK…but whatevs Forge….)

Sage…isn’t doing well…and Forge collects her from a mental health facility by showing her a new device he created that apparently “targets crisis points”… (aka Deus Ex plot Machina)

They both head to Japan and Betsy and Rachel show up (with the STRICT RULE that Deadpool isn’t invited!)

A new version of “X-Force” is formed.

The city is a dead zone when they arrive at the place Forge’s “eight ball” drew them to. No psychic readings. No animals, insects, signs of life; and some weird biomass goo everywhere.

Something killed the main grid of the building…

And then….

SURGE ZAPS THEM ALL! (Not as cool as the panels of Krakellion’s reveal…sorry, Surge!)

We find out (after a touching reunion with Surge and Forge) that Noriko returned to Japan after Krakoa fell apart to stay with some cousins (Oooohhh! Are we finally going to get a resolution to Noriko’s family drama????) and some weird sludge started attacking the city (“The Blob…Indescribable…Indestructible…Nothing Can Stop It!) 

The goo attacks one of the humans Surge saved and the group tries to fight off the goo while calling in Tank and Deadpool (SORRY Betsy!).

Forge hired Wade for this mission; they fight the goo and get the people away using telepathy…where suddenly a giant goo monster appears (soooo….we really are just ripping off “the Blob” movie…huh?)

Betsy passes out Jean Grey XTAS style after sensing its “hunger” and Rachel shoots Phoenix psychic rays at it. 

We find out the Fujikawa research facility they’re located at is actually owned by Mr. Sinister (Huh- he really is a global entrepreneur! You gotta GIVE HIM that!)  

We learn that the blob is an alien-mutant hybrid bioweapon.

Tank literally throws Wade at the blob (hope the money was worth it Wade 🤣), to use Deadpool as some sort of pill because of Wade’s cancer and regeneration … literally starving the poor Goo Monster to death(Poor goo monster 🥺)

They head to Wakanda (apparently NO closure on Surge’s family then…boo!😐) to stop the next danger.

I CAN’T ever get these QR codes to work on Kindle…so…I don’t know what the “extra” panel was 😒.  (really HATE this idea Marvel)

Review:

People have criticized this issue for being slow,  a generic “by the numbers” x-story, and with little characterization…and I am kind of inclined to agree.

While reading- I found myself tuning out, listening to music while I read, kind of wondering when it would be over, and finding the plot kind of..unbelievable….and going against a lot of previous established canon…

I would compare it to Bishop’s Krakoa mini a year or so back (ironically Surge was in that book too!)- it was a “okay” book… but nothing particularly special or exciting about it. 

There was a POSSIBLY for it to be good…it had great ideas… but ultimately the execution was just mediocre.

I am going to be honest …Forge and Surge are the major reasons I have for continuing to read this series, after a pretty lackluster start.

I never really cared for Sage or the Tessa retcon- she was fine in “X-treme X-Men”…but she’s never been a character I cared much for…

I don’t particularly like Betsy or Rachel together- I hated the recent “Excalibur” book and found their relationship really poorly developed. 

Truthfully- Claremont is the only one who can, in my opinion, write a compelling Rachel. Other authors have always fallen flat.

While I am fine with her being LGBTQIA+ (Rachel’s chemistry with Kitty or even Magma was always better than the forced hetero-relationships they put her in…); I am just not really sold on this couple.

Surge’s moments with Forge were nice- I always really liked their connection and am glad we are seeing more done with it.

I am disappointed we didn’t get Noriko’s past explored more (fans have desperately WANTED a story of Noriko in Japan for a while now!); also I felt like the “cousin” angle didn’t really work since Noriko was homeless initially in NYC and following the dissolution of the X-Men, went to Colorado to find Dani…instead of just returning to Japan to “extended family”…

Overall I just wasn’t impressed.

It’s too bad because there was a time when “X-Force” had some of the best runs on the “X-line”….now it is consistently the X-books worst series and the one people immediately drop 😬.

Theories/Predictions:

Is Forge gonna go “Beast” levels of batshit crazy/jumping the shark??? Only time will tell 😜🤣

[hekateinhell]

sending this well after you've probably gone to bed HOWEVER i am always ready to report for louis/armand/lestat duty so HERE GOES:

Every time they get in a petty fight, someone rearranges the vinyl collection at Trinity Gate. Louis organizes alphabetically by artist, Armand organizes by genre, and Lestat organizes chronologically. The music room is a goddamn war zone.

When Lestat is an Extra Extra Good Boy (or just in need of some tlc in general) Louis and Armand make the best mani-pedi team. Louis takes a foot and Armand takes a hand, then they switch for the opposite side. 

Somehow Armand gets ahold of the tattered old TVL band shirt that Louis used to sleep in. He lounges around the house in it and has both Lestat and Louis drooling in SECONDS (bonus smut points if Louis and Lestat both take turns fucking him in it)

Also this is just Louis/Armand but listen i've been thinking a lot lately of how strong Armand is!!! Like I know the fun thing about his character is that he's got the craziest mental tenacity for someone trapped in a small/young body, but I do think people sleep on how physically strong he is as well. Anyway, all I'm saying is: I want to see him hoist Louis up against a wall and fuck him <3 I want Louis to get overpowered and dicked down by someone half a foot shorter than him LOL it would be good for him!!!!!!

ASHLEYYYYY OH MY GOD I LOVE ALL THESE SO MUCH YOU ALWAYS HIT ME WHERE I LIVE!!! 😭😭😭

i love thinking about what their domestic life would look like LMAO canon or human AU because all three of them complement and contrast each other so fucking well, i'm all over that all day every day!!!! asksfkdsgj rip the music room 💀 i hope to god nobody gets petty enough to fuck with the library and louis's meticulously thought out system of displaying his books that only he knows (lestat gets petty enough, armand knows better -- tbh idk if he actually ever gets mad at louis? as easily as lestat sets him off, louis has the opposite effect. but for argument's sake, i think if louis did piss armand off, armand would react by pretending he's fine but he would immediately start being infantilizing and weird. really, really emphasizing the "sweet, dusty louis" every other sentence like he's marius talking to a wain victorian orphan).

NO BUT THIS IS SO SWEET!!! not to get too serious but for canon fic i think about court era!lestat a lot and like how he comes right out and says to marius "you don't want a prince in me, you want a figurehead, you would be the ruler here" and really just all the times he sounds so Tired & Done™️ in general with everything. lestat getting some TLC from his consort and madame de pompadour on the regular is harm reduction at its finest lbr. i wanna see armand and louis giving him a perfumed bath a la QotD but without the trauma (and like in Air Catcher too now that i've triggered the memory, i love your brain so much DO YOU KNOW HOW OFTEN I REREAD THAT FIC 🥹)

OH MY GOD STOP PLEASE!!! i wanna know like was armand intentional about wearing louis's lestat shirt? in his mind, is this The Next Logical Step in their threesome relationship? was he expecting a reaction or was he just looking to self-soothe and instead of going for one of louis's baggy sweaters that would hit the thigh on armand, he just grabbed the shirt? regardless, i hope they dped him 🫶🏼 (i totally need this to happen both in canon verse and in teen au future verse)

NO ASHLEY YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND LMAO NOBODY KNOWS BECAUSE I HAVE TOO MUCH GOING ON TO ACTUALLY WRITE BUT THE SMUT MACHINE NEVER STOPS AND LATELY I JUST WANT ARMAND TO TOP EVERYONE!!!! i wanna see the short king bend back those long legs and go to town on these catholic boys! 🤧 armand is the ultimate switch and he is, in his own words, NOT A WAIF. he can lift that bag of bones easily!!! ❤️ and i remember we talked about like top/bottom dynamics with lestat and louis--either physically or just energy wise--and how it would probably take a considerable amount of time and effort for louis to heal enough to relinquish that control to lestat again following the RR years and all that went down... i'm thinking like if i wanted squish armand in there and I DO, it would be a good step in that direction for louis to practice being open (get it? i'll see myself out) with armand first (literally expanding on PL canon here just adding the sex LMAO). tl;dr: it would be good for both of them if armand fucked that sad, wet man (as a treat) ALSO ALSO SEE MY FAVE "ARMAND FUCKS LOUIS" FICLET THAT IS WAY TOO FUCKING SHORT

[just-jordie-things]

your writing is so so good do u have any tips? hope u have a great day! ^^

i’ve never been asked this before! i had to think about it!

a biggie take your time finding your style- as you can see on my masterlist i have a looot of shit on there from years of writing fanfic and experimenting. getting out of my comfort zone can be kinda hard for me personally, but with writing it was so worth it bc you can really see a metamorphosis there of when i was writing just to write and when i was writing with a drive.

don’t be afraid to ignore the rules of grammar. run on sentences are beautiful. i’ve found that especially so when the plot is driven by someone’s stream of consciousness as though they’re narrating it. thoughts are messy, they’re long and sometimes awkward and there’s no such thing as grammar in your mind !! of course spelling and punctuation are important and i’d recommend editing tho (idk her 😳) but get creative with it!!

thesaurus.com is my bestie 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩 i often find myself using a lot of the same words and i don’t want to bore readers with repetitiveness! and also it’s just an easy way to expand my vocabulary too. (in person i stammer and have the reach of a fourth grader lmfao so i always want my writing to be concise and make the reader feel exactly what i want them to with my language)

also something i’ve started doing recently !! when i’m away from my wip and daydream about it, i write it down right away! in my notes app or on sticky notes or even my hand hehe. sure if it’s a significant enough plot point i’ll probably remember… but there’s no time like the present!! i want A to look at B a little differently in that one quick scene? i want to make them eat something different for foreshadowing? little details like that can be huge in your writing !! something a reader might gloss over but then realize later it was all a part of a greater scheme?? yes. so take note of those thoughts and daydreams you have !! even if you don’t end up adding it to your work, it’s better than having a profound, fic changing idea that you forget before you get the chance to write it!

this one is simple but a biggie- think about what you would want to read. i’ve been trying to keep this in mind as of late, especially when writing longer pieces where i want to make y’all suffer. find new ways to build the tension in your plot. give us different points of view, give us an untrustworthy narrator that thinks they’ve got it all figured out. throw in extra conflict. fanfiction is the melting pot of whatever the fuck you want !! so go stupid go crazy and make it something you love, and you should be good to go!! not to be cheesy but as long as you love it then you’re solid. doing something you love over and over will naturally lead you through growth and finding your style. don’t be wrapped up in notes right away (yes it can be a bit of an issue on this app- but none of has have control over how people enjoy your work- so you might as well focus on enjoying it for yourself) because as long as you’re doing something you’re passionate about and sharing it with us, more people will soon flock to enjoy it with you <3

lastly i just enjoy making mini playlists for whatever i’m currently working on. they don’t have to correlate completely with your plot. sometimes the sound of a beat is good enough for me to throw it on. if it gets me excited and planning out scenes i haven’t gotten to yet then it’s good enough for me!! i will listen to the same song on repeat in the name of ✨vibes✨ even if the words themselves have nothing to do with the plot i’m writing. that’s probably lazy basic advice but it works well for me and i love listening to music so !!

i hope this helps, and i wish you all kinds of luck as you explore this hobby for yourself !! it can be so freeing to get lost in your own work, and tbh sometimes i feel a little cringe about writing fanfiction but… i just adore it. it’s my favorite thing to do and when i think like that i stomp it down bc i’m proud of my work! i’m proud of how far i’ve come and i’m eager to see what i can push myself towards next!!!

happy writing, happy reading, and if you ever need more help i’m happy to do the best i can for ya! this goes for anyone, please always feel free to reach out even if you just want to talk brainrot. making friends thru this hobby is amazing bc like-interests are 💞🩷

xoxo ~ jordie

[anon-bunny]

I love your work! Do you happen to have any tips for artists looking to get into digital art using procreate?

Sure! I absolutely love using procreate. For whatever reason it’s considered a lowbrow art tool by major studios and companies??? But I can do pretty much anything I’d want to do in Photoshop in Procreate at a fraction of the cost. Plus working on an iPad means portability— If I want to draw in the car, on a plane, in a cafe, etc. I totally can. Glad to see more people are getting into using it! 💖 Alright, onto some tips.

The best way I can think to give tips is leading by example and offering points of reference through my own work and process. If you have follow up questions or are looking for something specific definitely send them my way. ✨😊✨

1. Know Yourself; Know Your Art Style

Whether you’re a long time digital artist or a traditional artist porting over to the digital medium it’s very important to know your work, your strengths, and your personal style. For example, I was very much a traditional artist who delved into digital artwork to keep up with career demands. For a LONG time there was stylistic dissonance between how I drew on paper and how I drew on SAI (the desktop paint tool where I got my start) because what I was subconsciously doing was keeping my style to myself traditionally and just mimicking the artwork I saw online when trying to make digital art.

Here are two pieces I made back in 2018, one traditional and one digital. They're both nice pieces, but if someone was asked which one was definitively one of my pieces they're much more likely to say the traditional piece because it's consistent with my style: limited colors, lineart heavy, etc. I kept trying to divorce from my traditional style when what I should have been doing was taking the extra time to learn how to do what I could already do traditionally in a digital program.

It's especially important to know your style and practice maintaining it regardless of media because the next tip is

2. Invest Time In Watching Others

In nearly every hobby, profession, skill, or interest one of the best ways to hone your craft is to see how other people do it. Hozier said in a recent interview when he's not writing or performing his music he's listening to someone else's music. It's very important to our ability to learn to see how a task can be done to help influence how we ultimately do it. I of course do not mean try to copy someone else's work, which was something I had to learn the hard way when I was starting out in digital art. One of the things I frequently did early on was tried to copy someone's painting technique as closely as I could which resulted in some less-than-inspiring artwork that didn't look much like my usual body of work.

Which is again, something that is easily prevented by just knowing your style.

Some places I go when looking to see how other people draw are YouTube, Tiktok, Artbooks, and Pinterest. Youtube and Tiktok are fabulous sharing platforms usually dealing in quick media where a single search for "procreate" or "speedpaint" yields THOUSANDS of results. Artbooks require a little more financial dedication, but they're great visual references that frequently come with some kind of tutorial in them. Some in my personal collection are Gothic Lolita Punk, Japanese Comickers, and The Complete Masters of The Poster. And Pinterest is frequently painted as a digital piracy war zone, but searching "art tutorial" or "digital art techniques" yields lots and lots of valuable information.

I've been professionally illustrating since 2017 and I STILL go back to these points of reference to see how other people are drawing, painting, etc. Who knows? I may learn something new that takes my art one step further.

3. Explore Brushes!

There are literally Tens of Thousands of brushes that are available all across the internet and I highly recommend taking the time to search google for packs of them. For the first year or so of working with procreate I ONLY used the default brushes that came with the program and while the art was decent I definitely could have used more experimentation to make more cohesive pieces.

As of right now I use a Frankenstein pack of lining and painting brushes that are a mess of brushes I made myself, brushes I got in art packs I found on itch.io or etsy, and some default brushes I've heavily modified to match my style.

I highly recommend playing with brush settings, searching for new brushes, and trying literally every brush you come across to see if you can find a use for it.

I've mentioned it several times throughout but it deserves its own bullet point, so my final tip is

4. Don't Ever Be Afraid To Google It

No artist knows everything. No one who claims to be an expert on Procreate knows absolutely every function, every application, and every trick all on their own--- but between all of us you can find practically anything just by googling it.

I have found super specific pattern brushes, youtube tutorials for pattern creation, configurations for pressure sensitivity, ideas for color palette building, templates for sticker making-- whenever I personally can't figure out someone else likely knows what to do. That's what community is all about!

You are not beholden only to your personal knowledge, so remember google is your friend!

I hope this helped! I tried to pair down the tips as much as I could but I just love getting asked about how I draw. 💖 If you or anyone else reading this has any specific questions you're more than welcome to DM me or send another ask. 😊 Have fun! Good luck drawing!!!

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

My info for our Obey Me matchup swap~

Name: Faun

Age: 19 (almost 20)

Pronouns: Any

Zodiacs: Sun - Sagittarius | Moon - Scorpio | Rising - Libra

Personality: I’m very shy when in a new environment, I tend to just become nonverbal and pretty much zone out if I’m not enjoying anything in the moment as I struggle a lot to speak up for myself. Once I warm up to someone, prepare to be called out constantly as I will make them aware that they’re doing something to themselves I won’t sugar coat it. Mostly because I don’t see the point of beating around the bush if I can’t understand it when people go around it for me. I am extremely cuddly and absolutely crave affection in any form, I just have trouble asking for it but if they tease me I will completely shut them down for weeks until they make it up to me. I have a customer service persona that makes everyone happy, but I’m usually super burned out afterwards and just want to hide in a nest of blankets.

Likes: Listening to music, reading, writing, cooking, baking, cleaning, walks in nature (must be visually appealing or I’ll get bored of it quickly), kayaking, cuddles, and watching TV

Looks: I’m 5’7” and I have an average build on the thinner side so much smaller figure. I have grey eyes that everyone thinks are bluer than they are, and I have very long straight hair that reached my lower back that’s dyed a purple undertone with the rest being dyed light and dark grey

Extra Info: I’m working full time for minimum wage at a grocery store bakery. I don’t have the highest opinion of myself due to a horrible relationship with my family, but I’m working on it. I have thought about getting into voice acting or professional writing once I get out of my family’s house and lives

I sincerely hope the rest of your day goes well!

Hi Faun! Thank you for agreeing to do a matchup exchange! I hope you like your matchup!

In Obey Me, I match you with...

Satan appreciates your honesty. Yes sometimes it can lead to people getting offended but he for one would rather know how you really feel about something rather than wonder if you're being honest.

Will never tease you for asking for affection. He's so touch starved, he doesn't want to accidentally scare you away if he jokingly declines your hugs or teases you about it.

Enjoys reading with you. Whether it's out loud, from the same book, or reading your own things, he just loves the peace that comes with relaxing with the one he loves.

He also enjoys going for walks with you. He knows the best routes with the most interesting scenery (as well as a bunch of cats to say hello to along the way).

Satan would love to read anything you write. He's always got positive feedback for you, even if you're not happy with what you've written.

Also enjoys cooking with you. Whenever it's his turn to cook dinner for everyone, he'll ask you to join him. If you're cooking, he'd like to help you in the kitchen but if you'd rather do it yourself, he'll pull up a chair and watch you. He loves the domesticity of it.

Satan also doesn't have the best opinion of himself due to his family (and Lucifer in particular) so he'd be more than willing to listen to you if you feel like you need to talk about your past.

He'd be grateful if you would do the same for him. He's not quite ready to talk about his birth yet, but he's getting there.

All in all, a relationship with Satan is one built on mutual comfort and affection.

[sallertiafabrica]

AO3 Wrapped 3, 10 and 27

3 - What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

That I wrote and published this year, The Mouse’s Tale. It was pretty out of my comfort zone, in terms of writing style and structure, and I’m really happy with the result. Same for Brandish the Needle, Sing a Lullaby, now that I think about it (while the flashbacks mixed in with the present time was similar to Trickster’s 20th chapter, but while in Trickster the focus is more on the flashbacks and the present just provides some kinda extra context to Tricky’s mindscape at the moment, in Brandish the Needle, it’s the opposite; the flashbacks are there for extra context for the present time and it feels like they directly affect each other, in some way, while in Trickster, it has more of a dissociating feeling; what was my point again? Oh, yeah, Brandish the Needle was out of my comfort zone because this was the first time I wrote about someone else’s AU and you know firsthand what a nervous wrack that made me, lol) but Mouse’s Tale took it a step ahead by being from an omniscient POV.

That I brought to and finish it this year: Trickster. I mean– just *gestures vaguely*. I still don’t even know how to put it into words. Just– it’s completed! It’s sitting there in my works with the little green check! After +100k words, 54 chapters, more than a 1 year, and three different therapists, it’s completed. Not sure if I’ll ever be over that. Oh, I’m in the process of reading it in full for the first time since completing it, btw, so, yeah, there’s that.

10 - What work was the quickest to write?

Not sure? I reread my drafts so many times and like to edit things so much that it’s hard for me to estimate how much time I take to write things.

OK, just went through my oneshots and remembered the existence of A Bad Ending, that Ib AU drabble. That was very easy and quick to write since it’s just Marinette “waking up” into the gallery and describing the place’s general feel as well as the Hanged Man painting.

27 - What do you listen to while writing?

I have a YouTube playlist called Sensory Heaven, where I put in all songs that sound good in my ear (here’s the link), and if I wanna some background while writing, I’ll split the screen with YouTube and put this playlist on shuffle. I also started using Spotify more often (so that I can get a wrapped next year, lol) and am doing basically the same thing with the favoriting feature. For pieces that were explicitly inspired by music, though, I’ll put the specific song on loop. Trickster and Symphony of Lights have their own playlists, though, which I alternated between playing their specific playlists or just using Sensory Heaven.

Oh! And when I don’t feel like listening to music, but still wanna a background noise, I’ll put on one of Markplier’s videos to play (preferably, one I watched so many times already that I won’t mind not being able to pay attention).

[themel-ancholymuse]

*this is a shortened version of her intro post because i...got carried away with her, i won't lie. her full bio is here if you're interested.*

Darnell Muse, the Muse family patriarch, was a wealthy businessman with a wife and child at home when he meets Pamela Carter at a lounge. It doesn’t stop him from pursuing a relationship with a young, beautiful woman; and having an unplanned child with her is still not enough to get him to be honest with her about his real life. Melpomene Muse is born the second child of Darnell Muse, owner of a successful nightclub in Echo Isle and benefactor of various arts centers. She’s naively unaware that her home life is unconventional by most standards; her father is only ever around on the weekends, he never spends holidays with her, and her parents fight a lot. In fact, one of her earliest memories is of a screaming match between her parents, before her father storms out the house and her mother retreats to her bedroom, both slamming the doors so loud little Melpomene can feel the walls shake.

Darnell would only really ever see Mel on the weekends, he’d pick her up on Friday nights and they’d stay in one of his rental properties. Daddy-daughter bonding was a pretty big deal to her, days at the park, trips to the zoo, stopping for ice cream on the way home – they were all some of Mel’s most treasured memories. But nothing was more precious to her than the first musical he’d ever taken her to see. Their trip to see The Wiz was a special gift for her birthday, and little eight year old Mel leaves the theatre wholly and truly obsessed. She dives into the world of musical theatre head first, perfecting swelling solo numbers in her bedroom to show her father the next time he comes to visit. At this point, weekly father daughter days had become rather irregular, so she has a few solid months before she’s allowed her father’s full attention once again. She performs ‘Home’ for him, hair tied up in two braids and in a little blue dress she’d had sitting in the back of her closet waiting just for this moment. Darnell is thrilled to learn she’s got a voice on her, and a natural charisma that makes her a joy to watch. Her only experience with singing prior to this was singing in her church choir when her grandparents would take her to Sunday service. Darnell enrolled her in singing, dancing and acting lessons, sparing no expense and setting her up with the best instructors money could afford them. The new extra curriculars don’t make Melpomene any less lonely, but the theatre gives her a chance to leave her life behind, a few hours to become someone else and get swept up in the only kindness she’s ever received – the adoring applause of people who thought she was a star.

It’s safe to say Mel focuses fully and wholly on her craft as a performer and musician; she joins the school choir, the drama club, and even did a brief stint in the school marching band. She participated in every production her school put on. She takes up learning new instruments, adding the piano, drums, and guitar to her roster. She spends hours combing through record stores, looking for new things to add her to ever growing collection and she’s down to listen to a little bit of everything, building an eclectic music library of her own. Her musical influences are vast and wide, the most notable: Tina Turner, Donna Summer, Nirvana, My Chemical Romance, Green Day, Aaliyah, Prince, Muse, Janet Jackson and Minnie Riperton. Her favorite musicals are: The Wiz, Wicked, Dreamgirls, Spring Awakening, Bare, American Idiot and Phantom of The Opera.

When she turns thirteen, her father gains full custody of her after learning about how horrific her living situation with her mother is. The custody battle is long and exhausting, and having her parents in close proximity under intense circumstances is enough to drive the little girl insane. She’d always just sit with her headphones on, zoning out as she listens to her music loud enough that she should probably be deaf by now – but it’s the only thing that can drown out the fighting, music had always been the only thing that drown out all the pain.

Her senior year of high school, she and her sisters decide to perform in the school talent show together. They perform a medley of Counting Stars, Holy Grail and Smells Like Teen Spirit), and continue to operate as a band for fun, performing covers and even writing a few songs and uploading them to YouTube. 

When Melpomene graduates high school, she gets approached by a record executive off the island for an opportunity to sign with their label in Los Angeles. Initially, she’s hesitant because The Muses are still operating as a unit at this point, even if it’s not serious, and she doesn’t want to leave her sisters behind – but after much deliberation she decides that if Teri and Clio are still finishing high school nothing should stop her from being able to pursue the career she wants. So Melpomene leaves home to go on a new journey that she hopes leads her to pop stardom. 

Long story short, things with the label do not work out for a number of reasons. Full story in her full bio as it's got mention of some potentially triggering things. Inevitably, Melpomene is dropped from her label, and she returns home not sure how exactly she’s supposed to explain this to her friends and family. So, she doesn’t, she instead lies and says that she just didn’t have what it takes to be a big star.

Melpomene is a ride, always looking for something to keep her mind focused on anything other than her past. Hooking up with strangers in the backs of their cars, hanging out the window as sports cars speed down winding roads, if it’s something that sounds fun and a little reckless, chances are she’s agreeing to do it. 

After graduating college, Melpomene focused her time on theatre yet again, performing in a few productions. She played Dorothy in The Wiz, Deena Jones in Dreamgirls and has always got her eye out for a new project to sign onto. She also produces a lot in her spare time, working as an out of house engineer and producer for Couffaine Records. It’s the closest she’s gotten to fully working in the industry again, keeping her close to the creation process, but since it’s basically freelance work she doesn’t feel trapped in a situation in the event she doesn’t want to be doing this anymore. Sometimes she records demos when she’s feeling the itch to create, she rarely shows these demos to anyone because she’s self conscious about her work considering her former label spent all their time telling her she wasn’t talented. 

she doesn’t handle stress, or anything emotional for that matter, well at all and will much rather die before she talks about what’s going on. her parents weren’t the best as talking about their feelings, and she develops their same toxic trait of ignoring her problems and finding something else to distract her. sometimes it’s diving head first into work, sometimes it’s a week filled with parties, too much alcohol and hooking up with people whose name she won’t remember, sometimes it’s stress baking a million cakes. the third one, she feels, is the most productive because at least she can share treats and goodies with her sisters and friends. 

[sugar-petals]

surprise smut roulette ♣︎ | x male idol 𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰

⇢ enter the matchmaker_  ⇢ play at your own risk_

## feat. [txt_] HUENING KAI・[skz_] FELIX・[bts_] YOONGI・[nct_] TAEYONG・[exo_] KYUNGSOO・[shinee_] TAEMIN

↳ ★【ＩＮＴＲＯ. 】welcome to this ‘pick a treat’ roulette. find your perfect match through 6 questions that lead to a hot surprise candidate. are you ready for a gamble? 

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰. ⚠️ 18+, smut, dom & vanilla fem!reader, face-sitting, kinky stuff (breath play/self-choking | bondage | masochism | finger sucking), non-pg food mention, anxiety, corruption & praise kink

⇉ 【 ♠︎ 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 】

↳ read all - do not skip

looking for a handsome devil who’s an angel. ➝ choose A.

the expert of experts please. like, the living legend. ➝ choose B.

the fun kind. an inexperienced, nasty, pretty mess. ➝ choose C.

soft hours, i just want the sweet & innocent bean. ➝ choose D.

i’m ready. point me to the craziest guy you have. ➝ choose E.

passionate, slow, loving, classy, you name it. ➝ choose F.

▸▸▸ 𝚕𝚎𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍.

MATCHMAKER LOADING… (scroll for result)

A.  l e e  t a e y o n g ♡

Cooks you a tasty meal three hours beforehand. Your favorite one, and it’s restaurant quality. After digging in, the two of you share a lovey-dovey calm down moment on the couch. Taeyong puts on a sweet romantic movie. Like really sugary sweet. Kiss the cook sounds like proper advice in that situation. It’s not just making out, though. You do pay attention to the movie as well. The atmosphere is nice, he put up incense sticks, and the plot is wholesome. An impatient voice in your head remains. Taeyong’s body is too shapely to ignore in his all-tight, all-fashionable clothing tonight. When the credits roll, it’s time for cleaning up. In two ways of the word if you catch my drift. Him in the kitchen. You in the bathroom. Everything planned out. Ready to go twelve minutes later. He arranged the bed to be extra comfortable. You lay down together. Shit, the tension is about to snap. You can’t stand it anymore and end up shrugging off your showering robe without further ado. You sit down on him. Make yourself at home. You’ve done this plenty of times before. But it still feels like a first. Caring Taeyong is the type to ask how you want it every other minute. You tell him some soft kitty licks would be nice. He starts off superficial, but accurate. Deep and sloppy is for later. Looks great in his black tanktop by the way. The hair going all over the pillow. His eye makeup wavering. If only he fully realized he’s such a perfect 10, hands down. You tell him at every opportunity. But Taeyong is always cautioned and has a self-sacrificing character. He’s anxious, but curious at once — which is his and your advantage. Continues very slowly, whimpery. He always needs a comfort zone. And warmth around the bed. No cold room ever. It needs to be heated.

Can’t tolerate anyone walking in on the two of you, either. Door’s locked. Music’s playing. Taeyong’s getting it good with your palms on his thighs. „Baby, you’re delicious.“ That’s all he can say between his hard breaths and one madly working jaw. You talk super dirty to him, though his ears are… firmly enclosed for the most part. With you on top of it, his face never felt so amazing, but god damn. He also notices just how he’s straining his tongue to the max the more it goes on. Taeyong is exhausting every muscle in it. You once said that stamina is all it is: He listens to your feedback very carefully. Taeyong secretly wants to be bossed around. He’s always a little worried and concerned, needing your guidance. Dependent on your lead, even. Immerses his face very profoundly the more he works himself up. Wants to feel your warmth. And make you feel so good and connected to him. Checks on you all the time. ‚Okay like that?‘ Dedicated boyfriend who just wants to know you’ve clenched up at least once a day. Intimacy, it’s like a confession. But it’s also about licking the stress away. You should know he’s all yours. The sheer eye contact will make you cum. He has such a thing for your bucking, thrusting hips. Never overstimulates you, though. Always stops at the right moment. Got your favorite towel ready at all times, too. Mirror mirror on the wall, he’s the cleanest of them all? Taeyong deserves all praise, he’s so neat with everything. Needs his bunny plush to come down afterwards. This really is the man who has a whopping truckload of sex with you all week in full slut mode. Curls himself into a ball. Little spoon Taeyong gets his due reward by snuggling him to sleep. It’s all, all, all about affection.

[ play the matchmaker on ao3 ]

B. m i n  y o o n g i ♡

Sitting on his face? Hmm… Gotta break it to ya: That’s for starters. Fact is: Any position will do. Any. Your wildest imagination. Just tell him. Yoongi is a very creative character. He will find a way. want him to kneel down while you’re standing, leg over his shoulder? He’s perfectly tiny, what did you think he was gonna do! Do tall people stuff? So, you get the idea; no limits. He’s dreamed about all of it anyway. Just never had the courage to speak those ideas out loud, you know. Nothing else on his mind. Beyond the calm and reserve of his personality is something incredibly erotic that needs to come out. Actually, Yoongi is far more physically flexible than people would expect. Plus, a lot more sensual, tactile, and touchy-feely in any case. And we’re not just talking nose boops and hand-holding, although he really gets very excited about those, don’t get me wrong. He really loves intimacy. And for you, he would do anything anyways. You don’t have to worry about him being in a mood. Or his latest audio file waiting for some last tweaks, that one can wait for another hour. Valuable time with you can’t be postponed or bought back. He’s a realist. Yoongi sets his priorities. Booked and busy he might be, but his girlfriend has a more important spot in his big bf heart. So, long story short. He’s always down. No problem. Anywhere, anytime. Out there hiking in the highest mountains? Someone’s gonna melt the snow outside the tent with his heated tongue technology. No need to light a campfire, that one only attracts the insects. Talk about bugs: Yoongi tends to be hyper-private about having sex with you, nosy people and haters should never know your business. His door codes are like 19 letters long at this point. You’ve been thinking the same thing. Who the fuck deserves to hear your man moan except you.

You both try to be quiet as you can when he goes down on you in the studio lab. Which backfires on his ears later on when you’re alone at his house and can really let it out. It’s hilarious though because Yoongi is a pianist, in his head it’s like „ohh bro she’s moaning in C minor!“ Jokes aside. Yoongi has one huge craving. A certain… drive to impress. In typical understated manner. Knows you feel so good when lying down on your back, so he can service you. Sitting down on him would only mean extra work — he wants to do those things for you. Caress your whole body. Take good care of you. Get his hair tugged on and your feet in the air. When the weather is freezing cold at best, so you can both warm up like that under a blanket. Winter is eating out season. When you’re not glued together linking hands, which is most of the time, he asks you pull off his hoodie so you can hold onto it while he gets busy making you cum. The fabric smells so good. The material is really soft. The whole garment has so much Yoongi body lotion scent and subtle perfume in its every fiber. It arouses you double. You can smell his hair shampoo as well. Knows you get off on his hands preparing the great finale, so he’ll use ’em for good. Knows the spot where to place his thumb and leaves it there to rub it side to side diagonally. Yep, this can go on and on. He doesn’t get any joint or muscle pain the next day anymore. He just wants to work you up and get you off. Yoongi can drag his tongue the slow way. Or give some lighting fast nips. Lives for your heavy hitching breath. Tongue-finger combination? Sends you spiraling, complex tongue movements in all directions. It makes you forget about responsibilities that burden you. Gives you positive dreams for the night. He really does spoil you. Wears his hoodie with a gratuitous, bashful smile the very next day. You really came crazy hard digging your fingers into it.

[ play the matchmaker on ao3 ]

C. h u e n i n g  k a i ♡

Fresh from the shower. The two of you, madly in love. Already made out lots under the water stream. Got steamy with lathering the shampoo everywhere on your bodies, but didn’t go all the way. Kai isn’t a fan of giving you pleasure that isn’t properly set up. Fumbling about without any aim with the water going everywhere in his eyes. It needs more structure. Your boyfriend is less impromptu than you think. Every now and then, he’s very nervous about that. Good boy gone bad where? He’s soft, that’s why you like him. But it’s up to you to come up with the programme. Spontaneous, planned, something in between? You need to show him. And it’s no rocket science. You’re obsessed with your tall ass cutie, the ideas about what to do come naturally. Needless to say, no chance to jump the gun right away though, Hyuka is pretty clingy. Cuddles a lot before. Very tight hugs. Very deep kisses. Needs his curly hair played with or he just won’t feel the mood that night. Kai needs to feel safety. Longs so much for you. Then goes absolutely stupid. Doesn’t even know where to start. Extremely overwhelmed. Talks in several languages at once. Moves about constantly. All these long ass shaky fingers roaming everywhere. Desperation on two long legs. Pleaser and an ethereally beautiful face to look at, all over the place in the opening rounds. Hyuka is a crying, shivering mess. Painfully straining boner. It’s gonna be another orgasm denied. Begs for you to go harder, wrap your thighs around him firmly. Give it to me, go for it.

Getting the hang of it sooner than later — he’s a natural talent. Adores you so much. He wants to do this all day every day. Kai’s really shocked by your body in the best of ways. Mouth gaping wide open in awe. Gotta seize the opportunity to fill it. You’re not gonna give him a shy and dainty ride. All those stuffed toys are gonna fall of the bed cuz you’re fucking the shit out of his face with increasing creaks of the mattress. Gets his spit in his eyes, but keeps on going. Hyuka ends up out of breath after only two minutes. Hopeless and sloppy, looking like a wet puddle — or poodle, depending on how you look at it. Such a gorgeous face utterly ruined. Tries his best to keep on licking cuz he’s Kittykai with his bowl of milk (that’s your nickname for him, it’s in his KakaoTalk bio ever since). Thinks you taste so great and loves being nasty. Gains in self-esteem the more he sees his nose bridge do the work for him. I mean, what else would it be doing. It’s literally built for a good time. Things are seriously chaotic with him. Might… discover he has a bratty side in the process. But, he likes being told exactly what to do and being put in his place which is of course supine. All the time. Your cute lil’ babe. Hyuka is at his best when he subs. He’s not afraid of being roughed up and having his nips pinched one by one. Goes full throttle hormonal seeing you cum: He almost passes out. Oh gee listen, this really brings out the hoe in him. He thinks about other people looking at his face tomorrow without suspecting what you did on it. Cums in his pants not once but twice. A sticky mayhem on both ends. Showering round two here we come, it’s aftercare, and then you’ll doze off after sorting his plushies back in place, that’s just proper etiquette aye.

[ play the matchmaker on ao3 ]

D.  l e e  f e l i x ♡

His pink cozy sweater. That silky long hair to swirl around between your fingers. A very talkative, jittery boyfriend. That’s what you find kneeling in your bed in the later evening. He definitely took your text message to heart and prepared. In fact, Felix, your happy pill, has been waiting all day. It’s not like he’s been twirling thumbs only, though. He sent a lot of cutesy pictures to show himself off. You know, a little bit at least. It’s not like he’s arrogantly bragging. It’s more about cheering you up by looking good (it works) and giving you an early taste of what you’re getting (works just fine as well). That serve of a face card never declines, baby. Felix selfies are good for your health. He’s your absolute bestie after all. Good thing you can also inspect his face up close between your legs, and he’s doing his thing, it’s become a glad routine recently. He figured that stuff out I’m telling you. He has an ethic. But he’s also a coy kind of closet pervert (if that doesn’t sum him up, what does). Felix is the type to dream about burying his face in you, and that dream comes with a shocking intensity in his fantasy world. Nobody would suspect his mind to be that graphic. He wants to jerk off furiously to that thought of himself. But heaven knows he’d feel too naughty and shy to actually do it. The guilt is too strong. He’d rather save the energy — that’s actually smart. He’s right on edge when you come home. It gives him an extra slutty desperation. And a readiness to do it all. As much as you like his innocence, you gotta admit that you wanna steal it a little.

Upon the first relief of assuming the position, Felix has a reassuring sparkle in his eyes throughout. Still talks a lot, even with his mouth full. No manners, but it shall be forgiven. Cuz he’s cute, and he says all the sweet nothings. Boy’s addicted to you, but in a wholesome way. Light banter is a must. Convos are a turn-on. That bomb ass voice gives you goosebumps. It kinda riles you up, too, does it. So gratifying to listen to. Let him talk! He’s using his most seductive asset. But don’t underestimate your own voice. He likes it a lot. After all that foreplay talk, at one point it’s come on now, let’s get to work, let’s do it right. Loves his head in your hands. Pleases you very diligently. Trusts you with everything. Could eat you with his eyes closed at 3:25 AM, suspended upside down from the San Francisco brigde. Needs everything settled between pillows. Flustered when you say something kinky to him. Felix has a hidden raunchy side that needs to be provoked through topping him properly. Corrupting him like that makes you excited for more every time. It’s a sexy balance to an otherwise wholesome bedroom life. Legs are kicking when you suffocate him for a little longer than usual, he’s groaning his ass off. You can stare at his freckles for as long as you want. He makes amazing little slurpy noises, that’s adorable as shit. Treats eating you out like a kissing session. Clean eater overall, not too sticky. And even if something’s a little all over the place: Who cares about awkward moments when he can be a sunshine. Says please when asking if he can make you cum. The orgasm is deep and it’s satisfying. Felix loves it when you ride it out on him and he can’t see anything but ass from below, hello darkness my old friend. Loves the hugs afterwards. Can’t let go. He seriously and really needs you so bad. Can not even bear the two minutes of a bathroom break until you get to huddle up again. Sleeps like a baby. Your baby, he’s been so so good and all your pride.

[ play the matchmaker on ao3 ]

E.  l e e  t a e m i n ♡

Somebody signed up for the ultimate sex symbol. The distinguished one and only. Lee Francesco Alejandro Fernando in flesh, I see I see. You want a goofy fucking weirdo. A ruined whoring catholic on crack. That’s the aesthetic, am I right or am I right. No problem, though! Taemin got it all. You know how the story goes. Starts with a smile. Finishes with a smile. Charming, he’s well aware. He thrives on praise and your lip bites, and the fact that he can make you wet with just one glance. There’s no way to resent Taemin for being so hot, it’s his right, but you know. Going by how often you’re changing into fresh underwear, you’re a little under his spell. And don’t be mistaken. He himself sweats pretty damn hard, so much he’s gotta tie his hair back. Taemin is a workaholic in bed. Because just like on stage, he always aims for his best physical performance. You really can’t call it anything else. On the one hand, he wants to be killed by the squeeze of your thighs while you’re at it. But it’s mostly about having a good time past 8PM. It’s the golden Taemin rule: Gotta have fun together, not one by one. Eating you out means enjoying himself, too. He never thinks of it as a chore. Deliciously enthusiastic. Can put on a show. Is most likely tied up. Who knew, totally surprising. A perfect blend of faux shy with lazy nips and being confident in his err, ‚artistic’ abilities. Taemin needs a freak who’s hard to handle lest he’s gonna wind up bored — Taemin loves you because you’re wild and free and wanna fuck him up for his decade of sins (seriously now, someone finally needs to punish Taemin for being so daring). Best ever edging. His technique is unusual, but it does the trick. Keeps your toes curled and your lips twitching. Like throbbing. Needy moans in between licks because he can’t get enough.

But, just like he enjoys your possessive staring, he also wants your loud response. Figured out ways to tease your clit that make you gasp out loud and smack his thighs (oh yum… he likes that). Knows his cheeks are great to sit on. Don’t lie — you’ve seen them and you’ve been thinking your thoughts. They’re all soft. They’re all inviting. Can you tell he’s encouraging? Wants to feel your bounce, he’s a guy you wanna lose control with. You can go pretty crazy on him if you think about it. The messier you move, the more he’s into that. Routinely chokes himself out while he’s gobbling you up. „Sounds so good, right?“ — his words, not mine. Blame his eagle eyes because he’s right, you’re liking it. A tease as always. Needs you riding, and needs you rolling. Your hips, no hesitation. You don’t have to worry about disturbing him. Taemin can take a little heat, and his coordination is strong. If anything, it can’t be disturbing enough for the goth emo horror prince. Who knows. He’s lusciously masochistic anyways. Taemin is built to entice and satisfy you on any given day. A little stronger is just right, a little rougher is just right. Give it to him like it’s hate sex, but like it’s love. Never tires. Wants it bad. Works the shit out of his A+ lip game. Taemin’s lips are legendary. You can feel why. As is his kinkiness. Viciously gags himself on your fingers just for fucking fun while you catch a breath and kneel a little higher. Hearing you react with coos will only give him more eagerness to have you reach today’s peak in the most spectacular way. I can’t even describe how unhinged and slutty his tongue is. Taemin is the type to give you a screaming orgasm. He won’t settle for less. All his hyungs are jealous when you brag about him being good in bed in the group chat. Taemin loves your kiss and tell. He knows where he belongs.

[ play the matchmaker on ao3 ]

F.  d o  k y u n g s o o ♡

Listen. Dating apps, the bar, the club, colleagues, the friend of a friend, uni, whatever. Plenty of fish in the sea — if you fancy being disappointed at the end of the day, after such an effort and all that time and money spent, for nothing, thanks. And we’re being generous. The real maestro of oral science is right here. Call it back to school because he’s the headmaster in charge? Yeah, pretty close. Every trick in the book, he’s studied it to delicate perfection. He has the certain something that distinguishes him from the bulk of humankind: A real sensibility. Kyungsoo is a friend, talent, and kind person (unless it comes to self- and partner-defense, we need to be exact here) you just don’t find anywhere. If there’s one guy who knows what he’s doing? You’ve come to the right place. Whatever expectation you’re having, he can meet it with flying colors. You want to be serenaded with Spanish ballads before and after? No problem ma’am, coming up next, your own private concert! Kyungsoo is like, not gonna simply forget that he’s a walking RnB playlist. It’s called oral fixation, that also should entail some really sexy singing okay. When pleasing is an art, D.O is the Leonardo Da Vinci among his kind. Michelangelo. Raphael. And the other member from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, I forgot his name. It might have been Donatello. Anyways, the four Italian Rennaissance Art dudes alright, that’s the spirit. Despite being so good in bed, he really does keep his secrets — probably so nobody else will hit on him in the search of a good lover — he’s yours entirely. How does he do it? Probably just intuition. And observing. He actually bothers with really ‚reading’ you.

In the right situation, he told you quite a while ago that he had a long-term partner before. You’re a little jealous of whoever it was. Still, he doesn’t give out any intimate and personal details because he’s respectful of his ex, as anyone should be, and they moved away miles from you already. On the other hand, he chose you now, who he’s in love with is you, and Kyungsoo truly comes with a whopping amount of sexual experience. A „just lean like this“ kind of advice of his has more trial-and-error knowledge behind it than you think. And, which is bittersweet, his breakup also gave him ardent will to make it 200% right this time and not just 70%, to really get to know you inside out, which is double the motivation. Kyungsoo is the blueprint, the instruction video, the romantic novel, the sex ed handbook, the latest edition. Not that he eats you out like a pornstar. He doesn’t think too highly of that. Contrary to how people hype that benchmark. It’s too much going buckwild with the fingers, and it’s too short, too shallow, too showy. Kyungsoo advocates for a more loving and indulgent approach, and doing it no strings attached just because. It doesn’t inherently lead to anything else. He’s not here to get sucked off. He’s too busy making you arch. Has a tender hold around your thighs. Not a grip, that would be too strong. Kyungsoo is too deliberate and soft to be seriously brash with you. He can’t stand pushy behavior. Takes his time. Makes it all no big deal. Gets really swollen lips. There are at least three types of foreplay before he even remotely puts his mouth on you. Trails his tongue around the best spots. Listens for the desired effect. Bought some elegant toys to use on your clit. Incorporates it like the most natural thing in the world. But make no mistake: His glorious lips still leave the most intense tingle there is. He makes you wanna explode. Everything he does is well-thoughtout. Kyungsoo is a champ of the highest order. Doesn’t care if technique is boring on paper. It works wonders in practice. He’s such a keeper.

[ play the matchmaker on ao3 ]

MASTERLIST

♦︎ FINAL NOTE » if you managed to rat out your bias among the questions, due congratulations 😏  i really enjoyed creating something more experimental, tell me where you landed and how you liked the results! thinking about it, if i entered the roulette... i’d probably wind up with the angelic but handsome devil ;)

© 2017-2022 sugar-petals. all rights reserved. no reposts allowed. all depictions are fictional and for entertainment purposes only. this post does not portray actual gambling practice.

[no-droids]

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

Warnings: SMUT, religion kink (maybe?), squirting, consensual stalking/pursuing, canon-typical violence, mention of underage drinking, uhh I believe that’s it but as always, let me know if I’ve forgotten anything please!

A/N: Hey yall!!!  So I know this chapter has been a long time coming and though I’m not completely satisfied with it, I hope it brings a little happiness to you for an hour or two while you read!  School has been kicking my ass and I’ve been in a bit of an emotional slump recently, but I pulled a few all-nighters to post this on time and it’s finally finished!  Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me and sent me encouraging words over the past month or so, I hope you enjoy the end of the Sanctuary arc💕

Also like last time, part 2 of my collaboration with @followwhereshegoes will be posted after the chapter!!  As a reminder, sweet girl is a reader insert and every imagining of her will be different—this is Lisa’s interpretation of her and her artwork is absolutely gorgeous, so please go give her a follow!

Day 5–11:13am:

You zone out again in the early morning, but that happens a lot.  Din always keeps you up so late, all the time, and without any caf here, the rising sun just makes your eyes droop instead of flutter brighter and wider.  You helped a bunch of younglings find their way into their robes when it was still dark out, tying sashes and fitting masks while holding back your yawns.  The walk into Nariss is close to three hours, probably more with all these tiny little legs, and you almost forget to change into your new digs before everyone grabs breakfast.

Even though your ragtag entourage leaves for Nariss just as soon as everyone finishes eating, you don’t reach the city until nearly lunchtime.  Mostly because the kids walk about as fast as the elderly holy women chaperoning the trip.  You and Naydee lag behind the group, forcing yourself to meander slow as fuck when you nearly sprinted this same exact path just a few days ago.  On the way there, you listen to children of all sorts sing happily as they walk, chatter about their excitement for the parade, complain about wearing the fabric mask they made themselves, and more than once, somebody takes a tumble onto the ground and is left in teary sniffles and dirt stained clothes.  Likely for this reason, the robes are designed to be two pieces—a long tunic with a hood and a separate pants portion to prevent tripping instead of a draping skirt, but the smallest ones are clumsy and find a way to fall anyways.

It’s a colorful bunch—a chaotic rainbow of babies running around, and you share easy conversation with your new friend about the plans for the day until she asks something that makes you nearly trip and join the dirty robe club.

“Sister Drya said your family is meeting you in the city,” she tells you, ignoring your immediate subtle toe stub and the awkward shuffle you have to do to make up for it.  “There’s going to be lots of people downtown, I’m worried it might be hard for them to find you.”

Your heart thuds in your chest and you feel a bit short of breath at being abruptly confronted with the need to lie, but at the same time, you kind of love it.  Having a secret, hiding the truth from others, and just the reminder that you’re almost guaranteed to see Din and the baby before midnight pours warmth and tingles through your tummy.  Everything together is a hit of spice, filling you with a kind of excitement that used to be foreign to you.  Having fun, experiencing new things isn’t quite over yet, but home is calling and you miss it with every fiber of your being.

“I don’t think so,” you eventually respond, hoping she can see your kind smile and the sentiment it carries even as light, shimmery fabric wraps right around your mouth.  “If I disappear, you’ll know why.”

Naydee’s eyes crinkle in the corners to match yours.  “Hopefully you’ll be able to see the fireworks first,” she nudges you, her skin glowing against the pale cream fabric she has wrapped around her own mouth and the hood laying delicately over her braids.  “They start at eight.”

The fireworks, you almost forgot.  You know what?  Today is a good day.  You hear yourself think the full sentence multiple times, and the words put a spring in your step after every single one.  The road gradually becomes wider and filled with more travelers, and you feel safe in the back.  Like some kind of sheepdog bringing up the rear of this migrating cluster of children, making sure none of them drift off by themselves and start eating grass or something.

Surprisingly, the kids manage to be relatively patient and well-behaved once they’re in line at the gates.  The Sisters shuffle them along one by one as everyone moves up slowly, taking even longer to get into the city than it did a few days ago.  The entrance is packed already—so many people visiting for the festival, and they’re all dressed in costumes or robes of sorts, or at least a mask.  Most are beautifully crafted, but some manage to look slightly scary even with the soft springtime color schemes.  It’s a completely different world, a different life for each person as you pass them by.  Your stomach is starting to growl by the time you finally make it to the front, and luckily the guards just let the kids through without any ceremony.  Just you and the rest of the caretakers in light robes need to hold still for the retinal scan, matching each other perfectly except for differing shades of fabric, skin, and eye color.  Once the gates open for you and you step through, though… it’s… Maker.

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

It’s like they hung up bouquets wherever they could think to fit them, and this is just the edge of the city.  As the group moves through the streets and closer to downtown, it becomes more and more overwhelming.  The air itself is a warm fragrance wafting all around you, sunshiney and breezy and perfect, flowers of all kinds lining the modern buildings and archways like they were planted there from the very beginning and it just took this long to bloom between the cracks in the concrete.  You wish you had names for all of them so you could list them—the only thing you can offer is the color and vague descriptions of the ones that stick out to you.  Tiny yellow ones that are so small, they need to be bunched all together in massive quantities to even resemble normal flowers.  Up overhead, elaborate arrangements of enormous blue and purple and pink ones, wrapping around each other and hanging down from rooftops.  Some don’t even have petals, it’s like they’re big green cups that are big enough to hold things inside them.  You’re fascinated by every single one, wanting to stop and smell them all individually but needing to keep up with the large group and not allow any stragglers to be left behind, including yourself.

About an hour later, when you’re almost in the middle of the city and there are people everywhere, it’s time to eat lunch.  There isn’t much to it because of how expensive it is, and you’d normally feel bad for accepting the small meal each one of the children gets, but you donated all of your credits to the Keja and left absolutely zero for yourself.  Good intentions, terrible idea.  Still, you pull your mask down and snack on some deliciously fried food, trying not to eye anyone else’s platter after you finish yours.  It’s so good and it’s gone in an instant; you couldn’t even say what exactly it was besides which stall you got it at.  Whether it’s just the brilliant atmosphere or if the food on this moon is really just that good, you’re not really sure, but you’re still slightly hungry afterwards with no extra money to sneak a snack.

Soon after, the kids all line up to get their faces painted, or whatever portion of their face is visible behind the cloth masks and hoods they’ve got on, and music blares from at least four different directions and none of the songs are even in the same language.  Depending on the part of town, it seems like the celebrations are all different.  It makes sense, considering most if not all of these individuals were victims of the Empire’s wrath, spread far and wide across the galaxy.  Here, they’re free, and they want everyone to know it.  Spring festivals of some sort are likely common for most cultures, at least those from planets with seasons, not like Arvala-7 where it was arid and hot year-round, and you’re assuming there are multiple things being celebrated today depending on which street you live on.  There’s chanting in different tongues, dancing and drums, outfits and masks from different cultures every single time you look.

At some point, the children spot a crowded street with flowery rails set up all along them, and you stand behind the tiny heads while everyone waits for the parade to begin.  You think your heart has just been beating slightly faster than normal all day today, but when you finally hear the sound of sirens blaring in the distance and cheers begin to pour out from the gathered crowd, it kicks up and you feel like you’re just as wide eyed at the spectacle as the waist-high babies all huddled together up against the railing.

A flurry of people and things pass in slow succession.  First, New Republic officers with their blaring holobikes, bright orange as always.  Then come large groups of people walking behind banners in languages you can’t read, some of them waving, some of them making different sounds and songs.  Bands marching in formation, dancers in dresses and masks and gorgeous flowers in their hair like crowns, and then brilliant hovering vehicles decorated in bright colors and festive depictions.  The craftsmanship and cultural significance is stunning to witness, it’s so insanely loud, there’s so much going on, and yet…

Through it all, you think of Din.  No matter the faces, the sights you see.  There’s someone juggling.  There’s either a very tall man and woman walking together or they’re both on stilts.  There are enormous balloons being led through the air, people are riding atop an assortment of animals you’ve never seen before, there are traditional costumes and spectacular stunts being performed.  Stalls with games and prizes line the stretches of concrete on the cross streets, people are laughing and celebrating and drinking in equal parts, everything is so lively and festive and fun, and yet, though it all, you think of Din.  Him and the baby, they’re always in the forefront of your mind, occupying your thoughts and making your tummy stir more and more as the time passes like the parade in front of you.  You don’t think this environment would ever be his favorite, and in some far away galaxy, perhaps if you lived other lives together and called a beautiful moon exactly like this home, then you might have to drag him out to see all the with you and the kid every year.  You’d have to bat your eyelashes and kiss his cheek and snuggle up to him all nice and pretty like, and he’d probably grumble and complain about it while wrapping his arms around you—all the people and the noise, sweet girl—but he’d go.  For you, he’d go.

Your thoughts suddenly stop short and you blink for a second.  Why… Why was that scene so vivid?  So wistful?  You used to preoccupy yourself with fantasies about Din all the time, back before you even knew him as Din.  But in every single one, it was sexual and likely came from a place of boredom, a lack of external stimulation.  Here you are amidst bustling surroundings, and you’re daydreaming about domesticity with him.  Why?  You want to travel the galaxy, right?  You want to see things you’ve never seen before, right?

For some reason, you think of the floor, and you miss it.

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

It’s late afternoon at this point and nobody can find the teens.

More people have made their way into the city and it’s starting to get extremely fucking crowded, especially where you are downtown, and the handful of them must’ve slipped away with all the excitement happening and how difficult it is to keep the young ones together now that the parade is over.  You don’t know how long they’ve been gone—one second they were walking around just slightly detached from the rest of you, you assumed because the boisterous younglings fucked with their cool vibe, and then the next Naydee is gasping out to you that they’re gone.

“Sister Drya is going to kill me,” she hisses, her dark eyebrows furrowed in self-admonishment and stress.  So many fucking people here, you know her pain.  “I was supposed to be chaperoning them, they were just here—”

She shakes her head under the loose, cream-colored hood, groaning and then speeding up her gait to catch up with the woman in charge, but you decide to grab her wrist before she can relay the bad news.  

“I can go find them,” you offer, speaking as low as you can with the blaring noise surrounding you.  “Before anyone knows they’re missing.  Is there a way to convince everybody to stay in one spot for a little while?  You won’t get in trouble, but I need to know how to find you again.”

Naydee’s eyes widen in surprise, and even though it’s likely a bit out of character for you, you have a feeling it’ll be a deceptively easy task.  Even with the masses right now and how atrociously big this city is, you already have a general idea of where they’re likely to be.  Besides, you’re not even sure your absence will be noticed if Naydee is the only one who figured out the teens were gone—the other Sisters can thrive without you while missing anyone else would be noticeable, and you owe your new friend a thousand favors for helping you out these past few days.  The least you can do is save her from the scolding of one of the scariest old ladies you've ever met.

“Be as quick as you can,” she finally agrees.  It’s a lot of trust to put into you, but you’ve had experience in reading the most unreadable man in the entire galaxy, some teenagers shouldn’t pose too much of a problem.  “If you’re not back in thirty minutes or somebody notices, I’ll have to say something.”

You nod, silently breaking away from the group without another word.  You think you can hear her announce to everyone that it might be best to eat dinner now to skip any long lines later—smart—but you’re out of their hearing range and line of sight almost immediately.

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

“Really?”  You raise an eyebrow since they won’t be able to see the way your mouth is twisted up underneath your mask, crossing your arms and tapping your foot against the ground to further illustrate just how not fucking impressed you are.

Seven teenagers freeze, and slowly—depending on how much bravery they can individually muster—they turn around on their stools to face you.  The atmosphere in the tavern is bustling and cheery, booze being passed around a large crowd that laughs and mingles, but your vibe is stone cold and quiet.  The contrast doesn’t feel wrong on you like it normally would; the negative and disapproving energy you’re emitting makes you feel powerful, untouchable, armored and strong.

“How did you find us so fast?”  One of the twin boys squeaks out behind a light blue robe, sounding worried.

“Had a hunch,” you grumble, glaring sternly at each of them in turn.  Your tone is dry, your voice sits lower in your throat when you’re pissed off.  All you had to do was look for the closest bar that doesn’t have any orange jumpsuits poking around waiting to card underage younglings, it wasn’t that difficult.  “You’re not exactly unpredictable.”

“Are you gonna rat us out?”  The other twin asks you, in a voice that’s oddly deep compared to his brother.

“I should,” you snap, quickly reaching out to push their drinks away.  “I should let Sister Drya rain down her holy fury on your asses, got good people all twisted up over you for nothing and I’m missing dinn—”

You don’t know why, but you suddenly cut yourself off and jerk upright, spinning around.

The sounds of glasses clinking and boisterous voices fill the bar, but they seem to fade out for a second.  Your eyes fly around the crowded space, your heart lodged in your throat and looking for anything reflective.  Every flash you see is a false alarm—belt buckle, wristwatch, cocktail shaker—

He’s here… isn’t he?

Only, there’s nothing.  Nothing is out of place, nothing jumps out at you the way you’re assuming it will.  You’re braced taut and ready to bolt at the first sign of a chase, but it never comes.

It’s so… unexpected, this feeling.  It’s not like you’re being hunted anymore, but instead, you’re the hunter.  You’re feeling the weight of him from this far away and it’s like he’s calling for you to come find him, teasing the wild adrenaline rush you get from just feeling his presence, as if he absolutely knows it happens.  Whispering soft in your ear and then vanishing the second you’re able to turn around, like he’s here but he’s not.  Playing with you from so far away.

This… this is a taunt.  

The whole thing at the inn was leagues below this, that was rudimentary.  Teasing, getting even, having fun with each other, whatever you want to call that, that’s what it was.  This is scarily sophisticated.  Fluid and practiced and the best kind of frightening, stark and dangerous compared to the carefree and upbeat setting surrounding you.  You’re not making it up, it’s not just you being paranoid.  You know him with your eyes closed.  You know he’s here somewhere watching you, just like you know the starlight that streaks across the pitch black horizon of hyperspace.  Not because you can see it, not really, not directly.  But because by it, even in the vastest and darkest and emptiest of voids, you’re suddenly able to see everything else.

“You okay, Nerida?”

The volume gradually comes back up and you blink, suddenly remembering where you are, who else is with you.  The chatter becomes slightly louder than it seemed before.

“Yeah,” you eventually say, slightly airy while continuing to stare emptily at the crowded room.  He’s not here, you don’t think, not anymore at least.  But you’re not stupid, you know what this means.  You’re already caught, there’s nothing you can conceivably do that will delay the reunion for the next—you look down and pull the loose sleeve up to check your communicator—seven fucking hours, there’s no way.  He’ll pull back and follow you, keep up with you from a distance and then snatch you away right when you let your guard down.  You at least need to get the kids back to their guardians before that can happen, though.

“Let’s go,” you quietly tell the group of foundlings, grabbing elbows and hauling them out of their stools.  “Naydee was the only one who knew that you were gone when I left.  Here’s to hoping she managed to keep it that way.”

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

Against all odds, you’re able to rally the wayward teens and successfully lead them through shoulders that are beginning to move closer together as the crowd grows and grows.  You stay towards the back and don’t look behind you once—not only do you not want to give the younglings an unnecessary reason to become paranoid or to question your actions, but you can still feel Din lingering.  Moving like a shadow, probably fitting in perfectly with the masked festival-goers, nothing drawing any attention to him with all the spectacular sights and noise occurring.

Soon you return to the same spot from before, and you and the teenagers seamlessly integrate yourselves back into the rest of the group without anyone noticing a thing is out of place.  When you move to stand beside her, Naydee’s bone-deep sigh of relief is palpable even behind the concealing fabric; she squeezes your hand incredibly tight in a silent gesture of thanks, and then pulls something from the deep pockets of her robe and passes it to you sneakily.  A purple fruit.  She must’ve saved it for you.

Maker, fuck yes.  It’s not much but it’s more dinner than any of the seven troublemakers get, but Naydee quietly assures you they’ll be able to eat something once they return to the Keja around midnight, just not the tasty expensive treats they’re selling at the vendors.  As the sun goes down, you try not to stain your pretty fabric a deep maroon as you chomp and feel your lips start to curl upwards.  It sounds so fucking stupid when you put it like this, but you keep going back to Din and revelling in knowing that he’s so close, like you’re just mentally checking in on him.  You don’t get the sensation by thinking, though—more like you just focus really hard on your heart and feel him there just a second afterwards.

Is that how pure, stupid, shameless love feels when you’re completely entrenched in it?  It’s not like it’s surrounding you, it’s not suffocating you or making you float.  It’s just a thing.  Like… a thing inside your chest, a physical thing you can search for and find, something you can point to on your body and say it’s right here, this is where my love for him lives.  Right at the bottom of your heart, right where it curves and beats strong when other hearts meet flat at sharp angles.  You do it over and over again, reconfirming its existence every single time.  You don’t know what else you’d call it.  Love is the only word.  To love, to know.  To hold in the heart.

Soon, you start to notice that people are slowly moving around your stationary group.  You look up and watch the crowd begin to walk, some of them giving soft smiles to the cute children as they pass by, but all of them following the same unspoken direction.

“Where is everyone going?”  You ask Naydee, standing on your tiptoes to watch the crowd migrate like a giant system, an organism or mechanism of thousands (or tens of thousands?) of smaller moving parts all traveling in tandem.  It’s fascinating—you’ve been to crowded places, you know what it looks like when a lot of people are packed into one area, but you’ve never seen what it looks like when they all move together.  They would normally be bumping into each other, slipping in between, fighting and never really getting anywhere, interacting individually and thinking separately.  Now they’re progressing in one single direction, so many with the same mindset and understanding of what comes next.  A second parade, almost, with New Republic officers directing the flow of pedestrians as they pass.

“The eastern part of the city!”  Naydee yells over the noise and points, and beyond her extended finger, you can barely see the light of a dusky body of water in the distance beyond the buildings.  “The fireworks are going to go off over the bay, but it takes awhile to get there!”

“Is…”  You blink for a second, suddenly caught off guard, trying to think back to the holomap the concierge pulled up at the front desk of the inn.  Surely you would’ve noticed it, but your sudden childlike hope makes you ask anyway.  “Is it part of an ocean?”

Naydee shakes her head.  “A really big lake!”

Your shoulders drop just the slightest bit in disappointment but still, you ache to see it.  You can’t even imagine—the fireworks are likely going to reflect across the water, giving everyone double the view.  And luckily, after all the children and caretakers are individually accounted for, you start to behind the slow-moving crowd towards the docks you know lie beyond.  

Naydee scurries ahead to keep the kids together, ushering them forward and preventing any drunk passer-bys from accidentally stepping on them, and you quietly bring up the very rear of the entourage.  You take the time to observe more than anything, walk in the back and experience instead of trailblaze.  So many people, so many stories to be told, so many differences and diversity around you.  Your face is partially concealed and you don’t move your head too much, just your eyes.  They flick around to take in everything, the crowd thinning little by little as you make it out of the confined space downtown.  You’re able to make out full bodies and outfits again instead of just heads and shoulders, allowing you to breathe just a bit easier under your mask.

And then at one point—and it’s almost a little startling because it happens all at once—the organizers must decide that the sun has officially gone down, because the lights come on.  All of a sudden, paper lanterns and bulbs flicker into existence all around you and the world decides it wants to glow, glint and twinkle from the inside out.  They’re everywhere, draping across rooftops and tangled around street signs and stuffed into the flower bouquets overhead, raining soft colors down on everything.  You’re in complete awe, trying to keep walking but also needing to look at as much as fucking possible in the suddenly luminescent city.  It’s so colorful, so vernal and warm and you feel like you’re… Like when you took a shower on the Crest for the first time and spent a few happy moments just playing with the water and soap for your own enjoyment, it’s as if all the brilliant rainbow of colors the bubbles would make under the fluorescent light decided to surround you at the same time.  You’re inside stained glass, blinking at the flowers and wondering if Din can even smell the air or if it’s filtered, processed and reduced to nothing under the helmet.

And that’s when you see him.

But with the way your chest rapidly constricts and you can count your heart beats as they pound, blaring white noise through your ears and adrenaline through your veins, it’s like he's just allowing it to happen.  You immediately understand that you don’t have fucking anything the second your eyes land on him; this isn’t a heads up that you caught wind of early, it’s not a gift or an advantage you’ve incidentally gained over him that you should be thankful for.  Being able to see him directly like this, being able to make out all these fucking details from this far away…  This just feels like you’re being informed of the endgame right before it comes.  If you were anyone else, if you were a real bounty and this was a real hunt, his armor glinting and reflecting the lanterns overhead would feel like a knife you're about to be on the wrong side of.

You have a decision to make, very quickly.  Either keep in this same direction, head straight towards him and just pretend like you are who you’re dressed as, a random caretaker for a bunch of rowdy foundlings during a spring festival on Nariss, or disappear.  Drop back, move through the crowd and use the distance you have between you right now as your only hope of getting away in time.  Neither one gives you a particular advantage—your chances of being caught have already skyrocketed exponentially just being able to see the reflection in his armor, the hovering shield at his side with big black eyes… staring directly at you.

You almost trip over your pantlegs, gasping.  Baby.  He beams at you and you think he calls out through the passing crowd, his tiny arms extending out, and your chest feels like you’re pulling organs as if they were muscles, cramping up and seizing with emotion.  You want to run to them even though you’re meant to be running from them, call out over the noise and wave even though you’re not supposed to.  You want to hold the kid again, squish his little forehead with kisses, walk around with Din’s hand pressed against your lower back and see the fireworks with him.

Your hands clutch at the draping fabric covering your chest, pulling and twisting it uncertainly.  What do you do, what do you do?

No matter what, you know it’s over.  Keep your head down and try to move past him, or break away from your group and try to escape—both are different paths that lead to the same result.  What’s the point of running when he’s the one chasing you?  The heart-pounding thrill is the only reason you’re even considering it, but his body stands so tall amongst the crowd, not moving while people ebb and flow like a river passing around him.

Except then you can hear his voice repeat the last thing he said to you in person as if he says it directly into the comm in your ear.  When you do see me… try to outrun.

You should run—run, it’s better than just hoping he doesn’t see you when you already know he does.

Unless…

Out of a trillion different possibilities, you soon realize that there is exactly one situation in which this could turn out in your favor.  You can immediately picture the scenario in your mind, but there’s just too many variables to conceivably rely on getting them all right.  This maybe has a… two percent chance of working?  Maybe?  Everything would have to go perfectly, just fucking flawlessly, but what other choice do you have?  Two percent is better than whatever odds you’re dealing with now.

You walk silently behind the group of foundlings as you approach closer and closer, keeping your head purposefully down as they skip and giggle and dance ahead.  He knows you’re here—he has to know, you’re counting on him knowing.  Walk right in front of him, pretend like you don’t see, make sure you keep left.  Keep left, keep left, keep your head down, keep your head down—

A leather glove suddenly catches hold of your wrist hard enough to tug you backwards.

Your gasp is audible over the sound of the crowd and you spin around, jerking your head up to look at him in fear.  Your heart slams as the beskar reflects your mask and hood back at you—you’re terrified and it shows, you can see it in your eyes.

You quickly try to yank your hand away, even as your index finger stretches up towards the communicator around his wrist.

“Miss Nerida?”  A child’s voice cries, and then small hands grab at you from behind as you bury the urge to actually fight him.  Your instincts are demanding you attack when his grip is this strong, but you just whine and struggle, slapping weakly at him with your free hand and feeling more of the younglings begin to pull at you, their high pitched voices calling more and more attention to the scene.

Your gaze flicks to the side, suddenly landing on a pair of New Republic officers helping direct the thousands of moving bodies from the closest street corner.  They’re looking at you, pointing and beginning to speak into their own comm units.  Din’s helmet snaps sideways to follow your gaze, and then he’s immediately dropping your wrist and stepping back, retreating as quickly as he caught you.  Though you don’t want to—though you don’t want to give yourself away even more, you want to pretend fully that he was a complete stranger and the children were right to try to help you get away—your eyes fall to your son in the hovering crib by his side and you feel yourself crumble just a bit.

Just a few more hours, kid.  A few more hours.

Children pull you away while your pursuers both disappear into the crowd, and you quickly turn to soothe the tiny babies instead of chasing after the one you miss so terribly.

“I’m alright,” you tell them, scooting them up and encouraging them to continue walking.  Blend in, blend in, don’t let anybody think anything is wrong.  “Come on, we’re fine, come on, we have to catch up.”

They take your lead as soon as one of the caretakers turns around and sees the small group crowding around you.  You think she asks what happened, but you just tell her a man mistook you for someone else and nothing more comes of it.  She’s able to settle the chaos better than you are, and by the time you’re continuing to travel forwards once more like nothing happened, the communicator suddenly flicks on in your ear.

“What did you do?”  He breathes out, his footsteps moving fast through his voice.  He’s traveling much quicker than you expected—is he still being followed?  The officers are gone from your sight, they might be going after him right now, weaving between bodies and calling out to the perpetually vanishing glint of armor as he navigates his way out of danger.

You look down at the comm on your wrist and your heart nearly soars with victory.  It worked.  It worked.  You just have to outlast a bit longer, don’t draw any extra attention to it—he’s preoccupied and he certainly doesn’t sound happy, but you hope that’ll be enough to make him slip.  Use his frustration to your advantage, let him think the only thing you were successful at was momentarily escaping him.

“The cops weren’t part of the plan,” you admit quietly, keeping your head down as your loose hood billows in the twilight breeze.  “Don’t get caught.”

There’s a few moments of just his breathing, his footsteps, and the noise floor humming through the comm, before he finally responds.  “You look beautiful.”

You stare unseeingly down at the concrete under your feet, still feeling your hand tingle from where he caught you.  The line abruptly mutes on his end and you just keep moving forward, onward, wanting to look back but knowing he’s already long gone.

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

He had you.  You were right there, right in front of him, and even if he hadn’t been subtly trailing you all day, seeing the red footsteps get covered and flicker out of existence just a few moments after you make them, he would’ve recognized you anywhere.  In black and white, in the fading light, with your face covered, children calling you by a different name and attaching themselves to you like they’ve known you forever—doesn’t matter, he would’ve known you.  Your eyes have always given you away, always so expressive and starry and soft, but able to see right through solid steel whenever you look at him.

But then you slipped from his grasp, and then more guards pushed him further and further away from you.  They must all be in constant communication, because every single jumpsuit he sees immediately spots him and starts following.  It’s fucking exhausting, and he thinks of you the whole time.

He waits in a dark alley with the kid and taps the side of the helmet a few times to bring up the time on his comm, but then relaxes just slightly when he sees the hour.  It’s earlier than he thought it was, he’ll be able to find you again.

Though, something tugs at him while he’s looking at the clock ticking away in front of his eyes, counting down each second that passes.  There was… a moment.  Back in the square, when he was holding onto you again, when you were looking directly into his once more—everything in his helmet— 

No, he shakes his head while the kid looks up at him curiously, it can’t be.  It was just a split second, it was gone so fast.

But he can’t get rid of it.  Though there’s no explanation, he thinks the display screen flickered.  The sky behind you looked different for a single frame, your footsteps weren’t bright red and visible anymore, your eyes weren’t grey and he stopped wondering what shade of fabric you and your friend decided to choose for you to wear.  It was silvery, he’s almost certain.  Like his armor, it only reflected the color of everything around it.

Color.  Everywhere.  Bursting for a blink of an eye, and then gone just as quick, before he could actually figure out what it really meant.

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

It doesn’t ever really get truly dark thanks to the enormous hanging moon and ringed gas giant dancing with Sanctuary II, constantly reflecting light back onto the surface and reacting with some of the trace chemicals up above the atmosphere, and you think the sky just might be the prettiest you’ve ever seen it.  Must have something to do with the equinox, the glimmering angles of light being played with by celestial bodies in this stunning system, but it’s a dream.  The Maker apparently couldn’t decide which colors he wanted tonight so he just splashed all of them together all at once, let them run and blend like ink in the gentle water below, like the various people who call this moon home.

That view in front of you, coupled with all the flowers and lanterns lining the streets behind you, and you’ve lost track of time the exact same way you hoped Din would.  You think you’ve stood for about an hour or so in this one spot, half-listening to excited chatter from the babies, mostly just gazing across the stretch of water and being able to just barely spot the docks in the distance, but it feels like it’s only been minutes.

You check your watch—the fireworks should be starting any second now.  You don’t know what to expect, just that in your experience, explosions tend to be loud.  You've decided you’re not going to plug your ears, though.  Tummy twisting with nerves and another inexplicable feeling you can’t quite put your finger on, you resolve to experience the unknown exactly the way it’s meant to be.  Fully, without worry or fear.

Then, lacking any warning or ceremony whatsoever, a single flare launches silent and high from one of the small boats skimming the bay, and the crowd seems to hold its collective breath as the dim light disappears into thin air for a split second, before—

It’s… quite possibly the most dazzling thing you think you’ve ever seen.  So shamelessly decorative just for the sake of it, not serving any other practical purpose besides celebration and visual spectacle, and you’ll probably never know another extravagance like it.  You grew up with dust pelting against tired eyes, you never thought they’d get to reflect such gorgeous bursts of color back up at the sky, glassy and childlike amongst a group of equally wide-eyed children.

As expected, a deafening boom follows closely behind the singular display, but just witnessing it is incredible enough to make you forget to brace yourself for the sound and you jump almost violently in response.  There comes a loud cheer from the people standing around you, a few delighted gasps and children who decide now is the best time to start crying, but then more flares begin to launch from the boats and the subsequent show will sear itself into your memory to replay over and over again.

Still, you think the endless sky and dark water below would have to light on fire to stop him from coming to mind.

Din.

You click the comm on, continuing to stare in stunned awe but wanting nothing more than to hear his voice right now, feel his hand rest on your lower back and the kid’s three fingers squeezing one of yours while the stars rain down from above.  You’re only continuing to run from him because it’s expected of you, that’s the reason you’re here, but it’s becoming harder and harder to argue with yourself.  “Do you always see in black and white?”

It takes him just a few seconds to respond, but he always does.  “Only when I’m tracking someone.”

The loud booms can be heard over the earpiece, happening maybe a second after they crack and sparkle above you.  You can’t tell if the latency is due to the electronics or if he’s just that far away from the source of the sound itself, but… you don’t think he is.  He feels close again, like he could just walk up right next to you any second, or maybe that’s just how he always feels now.

“Does that mean you haven’t seen the sky here?”  You ask after a moment.  This whole time, everything has been grey for him?

“I saw it,” Din murmurs, and even though it’s quiet and explosions are thundering loud enough to deafen more sensitive ears, his quiet voice somehow breaks through it all.  “When you left the Crest, I saw it behind you.”

For some reason, you suddenly feel like crying.  Whether it’s the way he phrases it or the sentiment in the words, you’re close to tears without even knowing why, looking up at the sky illuminating spectacularly.  He says it like he wasn’t the one who parked on this moon and told you to go on without him.  “Can you… turn it off for just a second?”

He takes a second, before clarifying for you.  “I turn it off and I lose your footprints.”

So that was the ultimatum.  He doesn’t want to turn it off until you’re back with him again.  Does he not understand?  Does he not know what you know?  Maybe you just happened to feel it first, this overwhelming physical sensation inside you whenever you think about him.  It’s like the exact opposite of a hole in your chest.  And it’s so odd, so counterintuitive.  Being comforted in his absence, feeling him with you when he isn’t.  Falling in love in the dark, knowing him without ever seeing him.

“You never needed them,” you say, reaching up to pull your mask down under your jaw and chin for a moment, wanting to freely breathe the freshwater and flowers while stars explode and fracture across the sky.  It’s a truth you’re acknowledging, something you’ll carry with you, something you fundamentally own at this point.  “You’d find me without the helmet.  And I’d find you.”

The fireworks continue to bleed into the water beneath them, multicolor splashes rippling into existence and disappearing just as quick.  You could’ve never imagined a more colorful, magnificent landscape—besides your waterfall on Naboo, of course.  That was a pure product of nature though, a place hidden away and untouched by people, completely sacred.  Light refracting against mist, natural glass that would shatter under your weight.  This is a celebration of life and family.  Loud in a different way, affecting you in a different way, but just as wonderful and touching.  A cultivated paradise, designed to be beautiful and safe only because they wanted it to be.

“Think so?”  He asks softly.  He sounds so deep and warm, but… a little distant.  You’re able to hear it in his words.  You don’t know why, though.  Doesn’t he believe you?  Perhaps… perhaps this isn’t The Way.  Perhaps this is part of a completely different oath, one where knowing and loving somebody isn’t the same thing as looking at their face, not at all.  Where you can have them exist entirely separate from each other, because this is love.  This is real, enduring, bone-deep love, and you haven’t ever seen his face, so how would he explain that?  How would the Mandalorians reconcile that?  You bear the mark of the mudhorn, you’ve moved through time and space with him, you’re a mother to his son, and you’ve never seen his face.  It defies both the Mandalorian oath and traditional understandings of love, or it meets them right in the middle, depending on how you look at it.

“I know so.”  For the first time, you think you might sound more confident and certain than he does.  Maybe he doesn’t fully get it yet, but then you suppose he’ll just have to trust you.  “Will you look at the sky?”

“I see it,” Din tells you, but you know he doesn’t.  Not the way you want him to.  And stars, you just want so many things for him, don’t you?  The sky, fresh air, water, light, food, rest.  You want him to see the galaxy the way you do—have a new appreciation for the gifts that are given just because you’re alive to experience them.  All the physics and mathematics aligned perfectly for it to happen—all the chemistry, the systems, the dynamics that dictate the universe, they all got together and crafted a world where you, him, and the kid all exist together at the same time.  You want him to know the significance of that.

“With color?”  You ask, knowing his answer before he seems to.

“I…”  Din wants to argue, or at least say it again.  He can’t or he’ll lose you, he already told you he doesn’t want to turn the setting off.  It’s such an unnecessary conflict, but you want to respect it so much that you’re willing to give up things of your own to make it happen.

“How do I fix it then?”  You whisper, so desperately wanting this one thing for him, this one grandeur to behold.  How do you fix this problem?  How do you convince him to look with you?  You’d offer to just go and find him instead of continuing to run away for the next few hours, but you know the show will be over soon and you don’t have much time left.  “Do you want me to come look for you?  It’ll be too late by then, you’re too far away.  Look at the sky.”

It’s silent for a moment—truly silent, even though colorful bombs are going off above the bay.  You don’t know why you’ve attached yourself to this so strongly, but it’s almost devastating when you don’t get a response.  You look away from the spectacle for the first time in an eternity, gazing unseeingly into the crowd of onlookers with a sudden sadness taking hold of you.  He won’t look, he’s too stubborn, he holds onto things too tightly.

But then, a flurry of flares start launching in rapid succession from the distant boats, screaming and crying on their way up and then igniting into showers of light, and the abrupt increase in activity manages to catch your attention once again.  This must be the end, they saved the best for last.  Every corner of the horizon flashes and sparks, and you’re mesmerized at how bright it is, how many colors they’ve managed to fit into one single frame.

“It’s beautiful,” comes his voice, and the smile that you break into feels just right for the brilliance of the view above you.  Maker, it is, isn’t it?  Now you can hear it—he sounds like he’s looking at it too, with color, in all its breathtaking glory, and you feel like you’re flying.  Like he picked you up and let you watch up close, like you can feel his armor under your fingers right now as he carries you through the sky.

It swells up inside you, a rising wave similar to the ones you can see in the distance, and you know you probably shouldn’t say it because it’s not in your best interest to say it right now, but you have to say it anyways.  It’s an unknowable compulsion, a need to connect and communicate directly with him but for your sake, not presently, not at this exact moment in time.

Luckily, you mute your comm just in time and simply give the words to him from very far away.

“Hurry up,” you say, sending the sentiment into the sky with all your love, and the conflicting hope that he won’t take the advice until a bit later on.  “Come and find me.”

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

After the fireworks are over, people start to drift off in separate directions, clearing the traffic and congestion from the streets around you.  Someone puts their hand on your shoulder and you blink a few times, spinning around and almost stepping on a bunch of tiny little feet by accident.

Stars, that’s a lot of children.  They’re all crowded around Naydee, who pats a few heads and almost buckles under the younglings clinging to her leg.

“Figured you would be long gone by now,” she grins at you from behind her mask, and you’re reminded to pull yours up over your face just from looking at her.  “It’s late—we’re going back to the Keja.”

“Oh, shit,” you breathe in surprise, but the noise of the gradually dispersing crowd manages to cover it up.  At least from younger, more easily distracted ears, but you think Naydee hears you.  Her dark eyes roll good-naturedly, looking happy but exhausted from the long day.  You’re going to have to say goodbye now.

“What happened to your family?”  She asks after a moment, and you think she’s being careful with the way she says it, likely because family is a difficult topic to navigate in general around some of the children hanging on her and begging for her attention.  “Have you been in touch with them?  If not, I’m sure you can come back with us.  It’ll be late by the time we get there, but at least you’ll be safe.”

You open your mouth to automatically decline her offer, knowing Din is still in the crowded city looking for you and wanting to stay where there’s lots of people.

But then… well, he would expect you to do that, wouldn’t he?

There’s more people here.  More danger, but better places to hide.  It’s the obvious choice, it’s the one that makes the most logical sense.  But you’d also be completely alone and you’re assuming the only reason he hasn’t snatched you up yet—which you know he could’ve done multiple times by now, is likely because you’re with a group of innocent foundlings, moody teenagers, and very stern older women.  He probably doesn’t realize you’ve told them about him and the kid, though you were slightly vague on the details.

It’s also a little over three hours to get back, but you’re banking on it being closer to four with how whiney and tired some of the small voices sound, others sounding like they’re an enormous sugar rush contained into a tiny little capsule.  Would he have the gall to try and get you right from under their noses?  Will he even know you left the city, or will he assume you made the smartest decision possible and simply account for it ahead of time?  No, you're overthinking it, just make a decision and stick with it.

“There’s also free food,” Naydee shrugs while you’re still considering, but… well, that settles that.  Almost three days of friendship and she already knows exactly how to win you over in the end.  Sustenance for your empty tummy, an escort the entire way there, and heavily guarded walls beyond.  Din will have to get creative in response—you flaunted your imagination for days, coming up with dozens of evasion tactics to outlast him, but this one just seems… incredibly practical.  Exploiting a weakness of his—isolating it, having it be reinforced by precedent, and then taking advantage of it.  You bet he’ll catch on, but still, it’ll make it more difficult for him, and you’re grasping at straws to hang on just a little longer.

“I…”  Quick, come up with something.  You clear your throat.  “The city is too crowded, I haven’t been able to find them.  I could just… tell them where I’m headed and see if they can find me along the way?”

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

Yet, the entire walk back… you keep thinking you’re going to feel Din trailing behind you, waiting to feel the nerves twist in your tummy and your palms to sweat, but you don’t.  You keep glancing over your shoulder and then down at your wrist, needing to talk yourself out of addressing him through the comm to let him know exactly what the plan is.  You like maintaining a sense of secrecy from the new characters you’ve met on your adventures—Naydee, Karga, Peli—almost everyone you’ve been introduced to, you found a way to find a subtle enjoyment in hiding certain things from them.  But with Din, you don’t have any walls.  They crumbled nearly a full year ago when he silently pushed a cauterizer in your hand and took his armor off for you, and you’ve felt the inexplicable need to bare yourself to him in return ever since.  It would be to your extreme detriment to do it now, but you still have to fight the urge.

Even if you don’t feel him following, you still find yourself acting like he is.  Constantly turning back to double check the road behind you, drifting off in the middle of shallow, distant conversations with tiny foundlings who can’t tell the difference, keeping towards the middle of the pack this time to avoid being picked off towards the back.  The belltower at the orphanage is loud and will ring for quite a distance, so your timing has to be utterly pristine for this to all work out.  You eye your comm the entire way there, trying to stall just the right amount to avoid any realizations or fall into any traps he may be setting for you.

You eventually leave the city walls far behind you, and now you have no clue where he is.  You lost him, and maybe that’s why you feel your heart beat insanely fast the whole time.  He could be anywhere now.  Behind you, adjacent, parallel—you can’t decide where to look, but it keeps you wide awake and focused while the group tiredly travels back to the temple.

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

You can see it in the distance, the brick buildings slowly coming into view.  One might think your stress would have worked itself out by now, been brought back to a manageable level after four hours of walking, but you’ve been on red alert for the past hour or so.  Any movement or rustle that doesn’t come from the sleepy children or exhausted caretakers, you’re on top of it, snapping your attention to the offending tree or animal and not being able to relax even after affirming it’s just nature, it’s not shiny metal bounding after you in the darkness, ready to take you down.

The infants are all likely snoozing away in the nursery, and the Sister who volunteered to stay behind and look after them comes to greet the group at the gate as you approach.  Like always, two Brothers open the iron bars to allow you inside, and you feel the anxiety dig its claws into your tummy.  If Din is going to get you, this is the very last moment to do it.  These walls are guarded and you’re nervous for him, you’re nervous for yourself—you’re just fucking nervous.  Jumpy and worried, not being able to pinpoint him anymore and feeling all the more anxious because of it.

It doesn’t feel right.  Nothing feels right about this, but you can’t figure out specifically what’s wrong.  This was the exact plan, this was a way for you to just survive these last few hours and yet, it doesn’t feel right that you actually succeeded in doing so.  It doesn’t make sense that he’d allow you to return all the way here, especially when he was close enough to touch you earlier.  Din has had so much time to snatch you up, so many opportunities to lure you away, confront you—anything to catch you, and he hasn’t done it yet.  Why?  Either you truly did escape and he has no idea where you are, which doesn’t feel right, or he’s choosing not to get you for whatever reason, which also doesn’t feel right.  What’s he waiting for?  You can’t have won.  It was all too fucking easy, you’re expecting to see him around every single corner because he should be there, he shouldn’t have allowed this to happen.

When someone gently touches your elbow, you’re so on edge that you nearly whip around in surprise.

“Sorry!”  Naydee immediately apologizes, taking her hand back to lift her hood and remove the mask covering her face.  “Didn’t mean to scare you!  I was just going to say that the commissary is still open,” she offers, and you watch the small group of hungry teenagers break off from the group to make their way there.  “It’s going to take awhile to get the children ready for bed, so we’ll be in the dormitories if you need to sleep.  Otherwise, I’m not sure I’ll see you again.”

You stare at her and blink a few times, trying to readjust your focus.  She’s your new friend, she just said this was likely the last time you’ll see each other, but you can’t stop thinking about Din.  Imagine he’s hours away in the city right now, still looking for you.  You’re trying to evaluate your priorities here, but you truthfully never expected to get this far.  Inside the gates, surrounded by brick buildings and silent guards.  You know your way around here, you know hiding spots, you know how to outlast—it’s incredibly advantageous for you to be inside these walls.  What is he doing?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you give Naydee a quick hug and she happily accepts it.  “I’m sure we’ll meet again at some point.”

She smiles and nods, pulling back and letting a couple grumpy foundlings catch her robes and yank on them impatiently.  The loud group eventually disappears into the dorms, and the door shutting behind them cuts off the tired crying and chatty voices determined to stay awake, leaving you in silence that feels slightly unfamiliar after going without it for so long.

Fuck, you just need to breathe.  As soon as the dead quiet grips the air around you, you realize you need to relax.  You’re way too fucking wound up; you want to bolt at the smallest thing and the sudden silence of being alone multiplies it to the point where you have to remind yourself of its importance.  Breathe.  Focus.  There’s about fifteen minutes before the bells ring, fifteen more minutes and the chase will be all over.

Can you eat?  You thought you’d want to, but you think you’re too fucking antsy.  You can’t stay here alone, that’s for sure, but you also don’t want to be around all the children right now.  The commissary will have a handful of people wandering around, teens snacking and maybe a Brother or two standing guard.  It’s the best place to wait the clock out, so you make your way there.  The gentle breeze billows around your loose robes, your pantlegs swishing as you walk.

A few minutes later, you’ve got a plate of food in front of you but your mask is still up, and you’re just sitting there.  Towards the back of the large room, sitting by yourself at one of the tables and staring down at your communicator.  Five minutes.  You have five fucking minutes left before he finds you.  Can you feel him?  Is he closing in?

You sit up a bit straighter, taking a deep breath.  Focus on that feeling from earlier.  The presence in your chest, the weight that didn’t used to be there months ago—focus on that feeling and branch it outwards.  Can you feel him?

Something catches your eye.

Or no… it doesn’t, does it?  Nothing is out of place here, nothing is visibly wrong or amiss.  The only thing that’s changed from all the times before is how dark it is through the windows, and how there are only a few kids in here grabbing a midnight snack instead of being packed like usual.  Nothing else.

But there’s… there’s an acolyte in the far corner, standing guard with his back to the wall.  It’s not his presence that gives you pause—you expected him to be here, there’s always been at least one present whenever you’ve sat down to eat.  He doesn’t look any different from the rest of the Brothers you’ve passed by this evening or the days before—tall, silent, dark brown robes, hooded and mysterious—so why do you suddenly feel yourself break out into a cold sweat as soon as your eyes land on him?

Bubbling laughter and chatter echoes through the large room from one of the tables near the entrance—seven teenagers stuffing their faces with food and sharing animated conversation with each other now that it’s late and they’re alone—but your stomach twists and your fingers start to tremble as you slowly rise from your seat in the back.  You want to keep your head down and be casual but it’s impossible, you desperately need to keep looking at that silent guard in particular and your heart kicks up in your chest—

—and then it wrenches sideways when you’re carefully backing away from the table and the offending acolyte takes a single step forwards.

Run.  Everything in you screams for you to run, and it’s rarely done that before, but you can’t.  Not yet, you don’t want to draw attention, and the logical part of your mind rages against your gut instinct to haul ass.  He’s here—of course he is, the thought screams through your veins as you try to weave quickly in between tables, feeling light on your toes and readying yourself to run as soon as you can.  The dark figure seems to find a careful pace behind you, staying just far enough behind and walking in perfect silence, and you have so many fucking questions but you can’t even think a single thing beyond run away, run away.  Where’s the kid?  How did he get those robes?  Did he actually take his helmet off just to get to you in a room where anyone could confront him?

Your feet propel you forward as soon as you make it out of the door, you break out into a sprint—just flat out bolting because you know how fucking fast he is and you need as big a headstart as you can get.

You race down the stairs and through the courtyard, the beautiful surroundings contrasting drastically with the way you’re running for your fucking life through them.  It’s not beautiful to you right now; you feel clumsy and physically unable to move fast enough no matter how quick you go, your eyes are wide and every nerve is on fire and you can’t even tell if he’s behind you anymore with how silently he moves, but you just trust that he is and keep barreling forward.  Your breath puffs against the clinging fabric of your mask as you keep sprinting, willing your legs to pump faster.  Get to the belltower at least, get to where you have the smallest chance of being caught by the people who guard this place.

As soon as you allow yourself to even conceive the possibility, two Brothers in dark hooded robes suddenly turn the corner a little ways in front of you and your reaction time is perfect—you jerk to a halt and take a single step forward as soon as they spot you.  Since your momentum already committed you to it, you just have to walk, keep your head down, move directly past them and hope Din disappeared from behind you in time.

Step, step, step—keep going, control your breathing, you’re okay, you’re allowed to be up late tonight and they shouldn’t stop you.  Walk right by…  Stars, you feel their silent stares as you casually pass, and it just feels so cold and analytical compared to the kind of danger Din is gives off when dressed in the exact same clothing.  He’s hard and tangible and an unrelenting force, where they just feel like ghosts that haunt this place.  The threat they present is impersonal and detached, but the terror currently chasing after you is so real that he can read your mind.

You wipe the sweat from your brow as soon as you turn the corner, and your feet are already starting to speed up on their own knowing you’re out of their sight.  Run, get to the belltower before Din does, you can see it standing tall about a hundred feet away.  The stairs leading to the door come closer and closer, but you hear something behind you and it propels you faster.  It’s like you can feel him right at your heels even though you haven’t seen him, snapping at your ankles even though your footsteps are the only ones you can hear anymore.

You scramble up the stairs and close the door behind you, spinning around and facing it even as you slowly retreat backwards into the moonlit tower, trying to stay quiet.  Breathing through your nose, eyes shifting around the enclosed space, continuing to back up and away from the door.  Where is he?  There are so many windows that allow you to look outside, but why can’t you spot his movement through them?  Wasn’t he right behind you?

Behind you.

There’s no reason or logic at all to it; you just react.  Spinning around and throwing a mean punch.

Din jerks back just in time to miss it, twisting and dodging at the very last second to avoid your next few hits—but… things seem to slow down, even if they’re happening so fast.  The moonlight cascades through the dozens of windows lining the circular walls and it shines just enough to reveal small glimpses of him.  With every aggressive strike from you, you see something else—you see a flash of his chin when you try to uppercut, you aim for his chest and you see a bit of his jaw.  When you go for his jaw, he steps sideways and catches your wrist, and you see the bend of his nose catch the light this time.

But then it’s like he finally figures out that you’re actually fighting him, and now he’s coming for you.  Trained and ruthless, not weighed down by any armor and lightning quick, launching perfectly aimed attacks that you’re only able to avoid from reaction and muscle memory alone.  You block or move whenever he strikes, you attack whenever you see an opening, you sidestep at the same time he does—

Until you land a spin kick directly to the center of his chest and snap your leg to shove him back, your heel smashing into that soft spot right above his stomach with dead precision and brute force.  He exhales sharply and takes a few more steps back to steady himself while you pause to catch your breath.

Din abruptly comes back and you fall into it with him again, keeping a sharp rhythm with each other that’s faster, harder, and way more real than any sparring match you’ve ever shared.  The hours and days in hyperspace you spent practicing with him are but a fraction of what he’s throwing at you right now, the combinations so rapid and blurred that you just have to trust your knowledge of him and his movement through the dark.

But then, your downfall.  Bells begin ringing an earsplittingly familiar melody above you, and it shatters your concentration—you falter just as he grabs you and sweeps your feet out, and though you know how to get out of that, you’re not quick enough on the jump nor counterswing to prevent it.  He takes you to the ground, hard, and then your wrists are being pinned together above your head and your mask is being tugged down.

Din’s mouth on yours makes you want to cry.

The whole thing is like coming home.  You spent a week surrounded by strangers and having them call you by a name not given to you, fending for yourself, and now here he is.  Someone who knows who you really are, someone that wants to care for you.  Tears come to your eyes even as they're pressed tightly shut, and Din kisses you like he’s never known anything else.  His mouth fits to yours as if the Maker made your lips before ever considering the rest of you, his bare hand clutching your jaw and forcing you to open for him, letting him lick deep inside after going so many days without it.  It might feel dominant and overwhelming if it happened to any other person, but through it, you can also taste his desperation and weakness, how soft he is even when he’s squeezing your jaw and squishing your wrists together too tightly.

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

He pulls back and your heart throbs at how moonlight continues to bathe just the smallest glimpses of him under the hood—never the full thing, never the whole face, but enough.  The quiet light that brushes the arch of his nose, how it bathes the hard line of his jaw so that you can barely see his scruff when he turns his head the right way.  His eyes are hidden in near darkness but there’s the faintest glimmer where they should be, and it’s the closest you’ve ever been to looking at him without the helmet.  You can see him, you can see shadows of his chin, his neck—dear stars, his fucking neck.  You’re pinned and paralyzed under him and the ringing bells, yet you feel like you just might float if he wasn’t holding you so tight to the floor.

“Where’s the baby?”  You finally lift your chin and ask, needing to raise your voice over the melody clanging loud throughout the tower.

“Making friends,” Din pants back down at you, and… stars, then you just start giggling.  Adrenaline turning into pure joy, imagining the kid wreaking havoc with all the other babies in the nursery right now.  It feels more light and airy than anything your body should know.

“What are you so happy about?” He asks, swallowing and then continuing on with the same quick gasps.  “You lost, I caught you in time.”

“Did you?”  You drop your head to the brick floor and ask, biting your lip as he stares back down at you.  Suddenly—

—Bong—

Din holds utterly still over you while you take a quick breath and wait for the next eleven bells… 

…but then break into a slow grin up at him when nothing but utter silence follows.

There’s a moment.  Just a single moment where the cogs turn rapidly under that shadowy hood, one where the faint reflection of light in his eyes flickers down to the communicator on your wrist that says midnight and back to you, one that solidifies the longer it takes for another bell to ring.  It’s not going to.

One o’clock.

You think he puts it together.  The one moment he was never able to figure you out—when you tried reprogramming the comms just a few days ago.  The one trick up your sleeve that you resigned to throw away and almost forget about because the circumstances for pulling it off were never realistic.  Fuck with the electronics and set the clock back just one hour—all you’d need to do is reset his communicator, the timecode is synced together.  He told you before that it’s connected to his helmet, but all the buttons still work.  Rapid, panicky thinking and a wild surge of bravery in the face of certain downfall is the only reason you were able to pull it off, and you’re perfectly willing to admit you just got lucky… especially when he’s still holding dead still over you.

But then Din moves so suddenly.  You can’t account for it because there’s no build-up whatsoever—it’s so fast, you yelp while he grabs your knees and throws them both to one side.  You flop over sideways and large hands reach up under the draping length of your tunic to yank your pants down over the curve of your ass, before he’s fitting his palm up between your legs and pushing two thick fingers inside you.

Your head thunks back against brick with how unexpected and merciless it is, but his other hand is grabbing your jaw and twisting, forcing you to look up, stare right into the dark shadow under the loose cowl.  The whole thing is too overwhelming—you’re trying to keep quiet but your breathing feels like thunder crashing inside this tall, echoing chamber.  He’s touched you so many times, he knows exactly how to do it by now, but it feels like so much more than that.  Probably because you can see the way Din’s mouth silently falls open as he feels you, stretching his fingers up and hooking them tight inside.  You can tell when he closes his eyes, the smallest glint slowly disappearing into nothingness while the hand around your jaw blindly moves up.  It catches your chin and lips, and then two fingers push over the bottom edge of your teeth to slip into your mouth.

Your entire leg twitches and jerks while you lay sideways on the ground and open up for him, your neck twisted at a sharp angle to keep your eyes on him and his fingers in your mouth, giving you something to bite to stop making noise.  Din makes room for himself inside you two different ways, and you just choke on his fingers and try to stay quiet, praying he’ll go deeper.

But then you’re not expecting his whole fucking arm to start moving the way it does—oh fuck, what is that?  First you just feel jostled and displaced, but then suddenly a wicked, deep, burning pleasure starts to roar through you, radiating outwards from the rapid motion of just two fingers inside you.  It’s not in and out, it’s up and down so hard and quick against your g-spot that your eyes cross and your hands go numb.

You think you grab at him, clutch onto his arm or chest and open your mouth to moan at the new and overwhelming sensation, but his hand pushes up against your chin and closes it for you, the bend of his fingers caught hard between your teeth but you don’t think he cares.

“Quiet,” Din hisses the word down at you while his arm continues to work, your toes starting to curl as the feeling overwhelms you.  Fuck, what is happening, what is happening?  It’s like he’s just shoving unfamiliar sensation at you so forcefully that you can’t even think straight anymore, not even ten seconds in.  You can only feel the pleasure, fire blurring hot and shapeless through your entire body as your eyes clamp shut, his fingers isolating that perfect spot and stimulating it directly, relentlessly.

Something dull and white hot presses up tight against all the muscles you have down there and you’re almost afraid of how strong it is.  You gasp and choke and he has to take his fingers out of your mouth and just clamp down around your entire jaw, sealing the whole thing shut with his large hand.  And then Din’s fingers leave your pussy too—and stars, you should be embarrassed by how desperately it clamps around nothing for as long as it does.  He’s not even inside you anymore but your body is on such a delay from the hot, twisting pleasure, and he doesn’t put them back in until your muscles are finished spasming.

Everything comes back full force as soon as he starts moving again.  Noise starts to come from your throat, humming in your vocal cords to deal with the arcing, swirling build, and so Din just moves his hand there instead.  He finds where it’s vibrating from your neck and he pushes up against it, trapping the sound right at the source.  He’s fucking perfect at it for some reason… how many times must he have done this to know how to cut noise out without stopping airflow?  You clutch at his wrist and silently mouth his name, feeling his arm work between your legs—faster, faster, harder, pushing you higher, higher—

Din pulls his fingers out again and this time, one of your thighs suddenly feels warm and wet while you spasm and you hear him growl out a ragged, “Fuck yes.”  Everything is sparks zapping through you long after his touch is gone, you cry out but it’s all trapped under Din’s expert grip.  His fingers soon push back inside you and you dig your nails into his forearm, your sounds muffled and quiet enough to hear his raspy groan.  

“Let me see it again,” Din breathes, his arm starting to work up and down once more, and you don’t even know what he’s talking about anymore.  What does he want to see?  You losing your mind again?  Being reduced to an utter mess in front of his shadowy but unobstructed gaze just because you managed to pull one over on him?

Fucking… apparently.  It’s what happens, after all.  You’ve never seen him like this before; whenever he’s worked up and taking it out on you, there was always something in it for him, too.  He’d hammer into you and rock your world until his eventually shattered, and then you’d both lay exhausted afterwards, equally affected and satisfied.  This isn’t like that—this is just cruel, targeted retribution on his behalf, coaxing the molten pleasure out of you with his fingers and keeping his other hand locked around your throat.  You blink helplessly up at him, your vision starting to blur by the time he leans down to whisper to you.

“I missed you, sweet girl.  Did you miss me?”  It’s so soft and quiet compared to the strength and relentlessness of his movements.  You can’t speak even if you wanted to, but when he finally pulls away to yank his hand out and you feel all your muscles automatically flex outwards and push against the sudden emptiness inside you, his voice groans long and satisfied while your thighs get wet again  “Yeah you did,” he breathes, pushing your shaky legs to the brick with his hand and watching you struggle through the aftershocks.

Did you just cum?  You don’t even know, that’s how fucked up you are right now.  The whole thing felt like an orgasm from the very beginning, just a boiling hot tornado ripping through every single cell in your body, never really having a peak.  If you didn’t cum, then why do you feel so weak?  You feel heavy, your limbs don’t work properly, and you barely even register Din pulling at the fabric of his own robes until he fits himself up against your entrance.

When you do realize it, though… your body burns with it, wrecked already but wanting him to take what he wants from you.

“Oh, plea—” you gasp but you don’t even have enough time to get the full sentence out.  He’s already pushing his hips forward, pressing you tight into the ground and opening you up after what feels like a fucking eternity without him.  It’s the hottest, slickest welcome you could give him, you hear it in the whispered curse his lips brush up under your ear, the wet noises your body makes that get louder the longer you hold the moan in your throat and bury your head into his shoulder.  He throbs thick and perfect inside your tight, spasming cunt, stretching you and smacking the rough ground near your head with how fucking good it is to be back, finally, finally—

Your hands grab uselessly at his chest while you try to acclimate, try to breathe while you’re blind with sensation.  It’s so fitting for him, isn’t it?  That your reunion should be just as physically debilitating as it is mentally.  Din’s voice scrapes on a groan like he’s dragging it across the brick ground as quiet as he can, catching when you clamp down on him and shuddering when you clamp down harder.  That’s just it—you don’t ever loosen, you just keep tightening and tightening around him, threatening to break and cum again.

This feels different from before, though.  It’s deep, purposefully so.  His hand reaches up to push the fabric of your hood back, lifting himself up over your body and wanting to start as deep as he can.  You feel him in a place you’d never be able to reach and that’s just the beginning—that’s before he starts thrusting into you, hitting a dull sensation at the apex of each movement so hard that it becomes sharp.  His hips don’t make practically any sound smacking into you because they don’t really smack, they just rock downwards and fuck you into the floor without needing to pull out really at all.  You know he’s just trying to keep it as quiet as possible, but what he lacks in speed and agility he makes up in power.

You don’t even realize you’re making too much noise until a palm wraps tight around your mouth and the room gets a little emptier.  Din keeps you all to himself on the floor, silencing as much as he’s working you up, smothering as much as he’s freeing you.  There’s no easing up, no dragging it out, no gradual build or climb—it’s just there all of a sudden, pleasure and pain pummeling you all at once, engulfing you in flames.

You reach up to grab at the loose fabric of the hood over his face, catching a fistful of it before his hand suddenly snatches your shaky wrist and pins it back to the ground.

Maker, you forgot—oh, you completely forgot about how many people could find you right now if they ever decided to look in the right place.  You’re not in hyperspace; your body is rocking against rough brick, you’re probably going to have a lump on the back of your head from how terrible you are at trying to map out heaven while holding still.  He’s pinned down what he can with one hand; your fingers are the only things that can move besides how tight you can curl your toes, but you feel your moans turn into words against his palm.  They garble indistinctly and you’re not really even sure what you’re saying, but Din decides it’s worth hearing.

“Shh,” he whispers, slowly lifting his hand from your mouth.  “Shh, tell me—”

“W-wanna look,” you hear yourself whimper, trying your best to keep quiet but wanting to scream it while he fucks you hard and slow on the ground, “—I wanna see, I wanna look at you—”

“Fuck,” Din gasps, and though his grip tightens on your wrist and you know he can’t do it right this second, the words seem like they shatter something inside him, “Keep—oh fuck, please, k-keep saying…”

“I want to marry you,” you nearly whine for him, feeling his hips kick up rapidly and start hammering in and out, in and out, in and—“I want to see your face, I wanna be yours, I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I-I—”

You think he drops his head into your neck to muffle his own sounds.  Though they start out rough and quiet and indiscernible, but they gradually become louder as he repeats himself over and over again, growling and fucking you rough.  You only catch it on the peak, when he pulls his mouth away from your skin and gasps them raggedly one last time.

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

He kisses you to stop himself.  But it’s not really a kiss, it’s more desperate than that.  Though it’s beautiful, it’s beautiful in a different light.  It’s not rejoicing at having you back with him once again; it’s a last prayer begging you to stay by his side forever.  He loves you.  He gives it everything—it feels even more concrete and simple than taking the hood off him and revealing his face would.  You told you that you'd know him without ever seeing him, and you did.  You picked him out and found him when absolutely nothing was giving him away, and this feels like a manifestation of that.  Even if you’re not in a place where he can show you his face, his beautiful brown eyes, something still feels like it changes.  He loves you.  You gasp into his mouth and his tongue sinks deep into yours, tenacious and brave and unyielding.  

When you finally cum, you almost bite him on accident.  

Everything surges hot and molten while he pulls back and keeps fucking you through it, and you can’t tell where you’re touching him anymore, just that his skin is blazing hot under your hand and he feels like everything the armor isn’t.  He loves you.  You’re looking into his eyes right now.  You can’t see any of the details, not really, but the moonlight flickers like silent stars moving through dark depths, staring right back at you and giving you an anchor for the euphoria rocketing through you.  He loves you.  Your nails dig in sharp and slowly drag downwards, scratching hard red lines into whatever thick muscle that is—

The back of his neck, making his hips stutter and when he cums for you, he does bite.

You lift your head just in time to feel his teeth catch your chin instead of your mouth, and his entire body shakes while you keep dragging your nails down the side of his neck and his throat.  Din fucking lives for it, he releases you and arches into the pain and owns your marks like he wishes you made them deeper, stretching his neck and lifting his chin into the moonlight and—

Maker.  You can see it, with direct light, you can see more of it than ever before.  You can see his soft lips and white teeth gritting the sound of your name as quietly as he can, the dark facial hair dusting across the lower half of his face.  A fucking gorgeous jawline and throat extended long over you, flexing hard with his cock pulsing inside you.  You can just barely see the bottom of his nose from under the brown hood, the dark curls brushing up under his ears.

Stars, you still never see his eyes, the fabric of his hood acts like a blindfold draped over them, but you think you cum again.  Even if it’s on accident, it’s mean—Din tries to keep from squishing you and his hand pushes down hard against your lower tummy while he shoves his hips deep one last time, and you cum while staring at half of his face in the moonlight.  Completely lovestruck.

How can he be this beautiful when you’ve only seen fractions of him?  You have everything but the eyes now, everything but the most mysterious thing about him, the reflection into his deepest self, but you feel like you’re hypnotized by every single feature you do see.  His tongue coming out to wet his lips, the vein pulling under his sharp jaw—he’s gorgeous, he’s gorgeous, and your body agrees.  It shakes and shudders under him and eventually, Din finishes and you keep looking as his chin slowly lowers, face disappearing into the shadow once more.

Stars.  He’s so handsome and no one has ever told him, fucking dreamy and the biggest grump you’ve ever met.  Without being able to see him, you already want to reach your hands out and touch him, drag your nails through his scruff and force him to extend outwards into the moonlight again for you.  Whenever he does end up showing you his face, you know right fucking now that you’ll never be able to look away.  For the rest of your life, you’ll be staring at him, apologizing blankly for your rudeness but not feeling sorry at all.

Din leans down and gives you a slow, gentle kiss, finally relaxing into a slouch and breathing hard with the effort it took to shatter you with pleasure.

“The kid is with the other foundlings,” he whispers against your lips.  “You… you’ll have to go get him, I need to grab my armor.”

You squeeze around his cock, pulling at the fabric of his robes and ignoring him for just a second.  He fucked you in robes belonging to one of the guards and nobody has mentioned it, you need to say something.  “Where did you get this?”

“I found it,” he tells you after a moment, kissing up under your jaw.  Oh fucking Maker, he feels so good and perfect inside you, shoulders so broad and crowding you on the floor, and his lips are plush and hot, brushing and fitting your skin like it’s just an extension of his own.  “Some guy was wearing it.”

It takes you a second.

“Mando,” you suddenly gasp in quiet horror, pushing at his chest and trying your best to detach his mouth from your throat.  It’s so much more difficult than it needs to be, but you eventually succeed.  “What did you do to him?  Where is he?”

He lifts his neck up just the tiniest bit, turning his face towards yours under the hood and holding still for way too fucking long.  He’s too close to see the expression he’s making, but you know the tone of his silence.  He’s in trouble and he knows it before you do.

“Ma—”

“They’re in a closet,” he admits at the very same time, completely monotone.

You don’t know which word to emphasize.  A fucking closet?  They’re?  Plural?  Instead of stressing any particular word, you decide not to do it at all and it ends up just coming out in the same exact blank tone as him.  “They're in a closet.”

“Inside the Temple,” Din continues on when you lay still as a statue underneath him.  His head slowly dips down once more, pushing his hips against you just the slightest bit to make you remember the cock still inside you instead.  Your eyelashes flutter with it—fuck, focus—“I didn’t know there’d be more than two.”  He kisses your neck so gently.  “It was an accident.”

You don’t say anything at all, your mouth pinching down at the corners because it should but your heartbeat galloping with how… fucking sexy he is.  You shouldn’t encourage this, this horrible behavior just to get close enough to catch you, but your curiosity overtakes you and you ask a question you’ve asked yourself before.  “Did they put up a fight?”

“Mm,” he whispers noncommittally, rocking his hips down once more.  “You did.”  Your nails dig into his chest, making him falter just slightly before slowly kissing your neck again.  “Did so good.  Fought hard, outsmarted me.  Pretty fucking girl.”

And then your eyes pop open as you feel it.  His cock suddenly beginning to harden once again inside you, twitching and gradually gaining a thicker shape, and for a moment, you actually fucking consider it.  He’s the only one in this galaxy that could not only ruin you on these sacred grounds, but then coax you into doing it more than once—stars, are you actually considering it?

“We can’t,” you automatically tell him, but it’s fucking pitiful.  Zero effort, absolutely no umph behind it, leaving it entirely up to him and how much he wants it.  Your logic reminds you that the kid is probably wreaking havoc in the nursery and there are tied up guards in the fucking temple that could be discovered any second.  You shouldn’t have even let him fuck you here in the first place, but…  “Mando, we can’t—”

His mouth opens against the crook of your neck and his tongue brushes velvet hot on your skin, tasting the glistening sweat there and not moving his broad figure a single inch over you besides getting closer, deeper.  Your nails dig into his collarbone, aiming for reason one last time.  It’s apparent that you’d be better off rephrasing, knowing the challenging streak in him and how much telling him what to do doesn't help.

“It’s not a good idea,” you attempt instead, breathless and trying not to move under his mouth and lazy hips.  “Not smart.  Bad idea to fuck again.”

Din’s body stops moving, even though he keeps getting harder.  His jaw opens and then his teeth scrape softly against your flesh, making you tilt your neck back and gasp.

“Later,” he lifts his head to state aloud, committing it to truth now that it’s been spoken and heard by another person.  “Later, I’ll fuck you on the ship, in our bed, when I can get you naked and have your taste in my mouth.”

Tingles rock through your body and you squeeze around his cock just as he pulls it out and tucks it back into his pants.  Your lungs quiver when you inhale—it’s shaky, but it reminds you of how long it’s been since you’ve been able to breathe correctly.

“Later,” you finally agree, combing your fingers through your hair and glad you have this hood to cover your freshly fucked dishevelment.  He came inside you and you don’t want to be leaking and getting your nice pretty robes all wet and stained, but then of course, without any prompting, Din quickly scoots back on his knees and drops his head down to take care of it for you.

***

Commotion.

After Din helped you clean up the way he sometimes likes and then disappeared to change back into his armor, you put your mask and hood back on and tried to look as casual as possible walking to the nursery.  Your knees wobbled slightly and you couldn’t stop smiling under the mask the entire walk there, but when you arrived, you just saw a dim room with sleeping infants—not what you were expecting.  Soon, however, you hear it: down the hall, distant and coming from the dormitories, you hear a loud commotion.

Fuck, you’re nearly wincing with every step you take now, and not because you’re sore.  Well, you… are, a little bit, but in a great way.  No, you’re just dreading the ridiculous shinanigans you already know are well underway, wondering if Din actually dropped the kid off in the dorms from the beginning or if he somehow migrated his way there to cause trouble.

When you walk inside, the first thing you see is a handful of crying and shouting toddlers, and while you can’t immediately spot your favorite floppy-eared monster, you don’t have to see him to know he’s probably standing tiny directly in the middle of this tense showdown.  Automatically, you’re taking a few steps forward to rescue him, but then you stop as soon as you see what the other babies are so mad about.  A large piece of chocolate leftover from the festival levitating just beyond their pitiful little reaches.

Hm.  Who could possibly be responsible for using demon powers to steal snacks and hold them hostage from a sizeable group of hostile children.  A mystery that may never be solved.

It makes you take a second.  The sheer… the… stars, you can’t even think straight—how fucking typical it is just hits you right in the chest, sends your heart into orbit.  Of course.  Of course this is what he’s gotten himself into without immediate supervision, of course this is the shipwreck you’d walk into, and you’re holding back a chuckle before making a single move to intervene.  In the midst of everything, you can hear adults approaching distantly from behind you.

“—don’t know where it came from, I was helping the younglings into bed when I heard the ruckus and I—”

The voices gradually grow louder, and you snatch the floating piece of candy out of thin air and whip around right before Sister Drya and Naydee walk in.  Their hushed, concerned conversation is cut to an abrupt end, and you clear your throat as they take you in, standing in front of chaos central continuing to go off behind you.  Do you… look as freshly disheveled as you are?  You’re not supposed to be here, you know, but hopefully the only strange thing is your presence itself and not anything concerning your appearance.

“Nerida,” the older lady suddenly announces, the name alone holding so much expectation, and the younglings missing their candy have now turned their ire towards you and the crinkly food wrapper hidden in your fist.  “What is the meaning of this?”

“Ah, yeah,” you stand up a little straighter, letting the chocolate casually fall out of your grip behind you, and a stampede of feet suddenly kick up to recover it.  It’s fine, nobody will know, it’s fine.  “It’s just…”  Your head tips behind you to the cause of the uproar, feeling a bit sheepish yet so incredibly fond.  “My… kid.”

Sister Drya stares at you for a few seconds, before tipping sideways and staring at the culprit.  “That is your child?”

You turn around just in time to see him, now abandoned by the angry mob of children, finally notice you.  All of a sudden, his pitch black eyes light up something bright and sunshiney, and you just start beaming in return.  What an adorable little creature, apple of your eye and pain of your ass.

“Yep,” you sigh, dropping into a squat and watching him barrel towards you, catching him right before he can trip over his brown potato sack and scooping him up into your arms.  “Hiya, bug,” you murmur with a grin, lifting back up and plopping him in his favorite spot in the universe—your left hip.  “You making friends?”

He giggles and it’s like sparkles and bubbles fill the room instead, wrapping tiny arms around the largest surface area he can get and clinging.  He laughs with a tiny open mouth, bless him, clearly not understanding the sarcasm, and suddenly your eyes feel just the slightest bit wet.  No, you’re not crying, don’t be fucking ridiculous, but you missed him like hell and he’s just the cutest fucking thing—why do you feel like crying?

“Sorry about that,” you apologize to the two women while slowly turning around, brushing your thumb over one of his cheeks and smiling as it squishes.  “He’s… uh.  Not great at sharing.  We’ll work on it.”

Takes after his dad, you purposefully leave out, just a different kind of sharing.  Din hasn’t shown you his full face yet and the kid performs magic tricks to taunt a roomful of children a fraction of his age for a single piece of chocolate, completely different kind of sharing.

Sister Drya says something in response, but when you look up to address her, all you see is Din standing silently behind her and Naydee, slowly dropping his hand from his helmet to his side.  They don’t seem to notice he’s there and you automatically try your best to pay attention to the Sister speaking to you, but your eyes get caught on the silver reflecting in the dim light beyond.  Fuck, he’s a presence.  An immediate distraction, taking all your focus with a single glimpse.  Seeing him fully armored again, staring at you from the silent shadows behind everything… you melt a little bit, knowing that you’ve seen more of what’s underneath than anyone.  Your shoulders settle and your entire body burns warm, wobbly like the air around a fire, and one of the kid’s hands leaves you to reach out towards his dad.

You watch the metallic helmet tilt sideways after a moment, saying everything without saying anything.  Come on, make up an excuse, let’s get out of here.

Looking at him in the quiet shadows, you’re reminded once again about how much you love him, how much softness you have inside you for a man so hard, so guarded.  And, for the first time, a voice in your head finishes a poem you didn’t realize you were writing, adding its own verse and bringing everything back around to the beginning.  He loves you, too.  How much he lets his guard down for you, the way he’s revealed more of his face to you than not.  You love each other.  You’re family.

So, all at once, you decide to mess with him, because that’s what family does best.

“Don’t be shy, come say hello,” you suddenly urge his silent figure, taking a step forward and speaking directly to him.  “Sister Drya, Naydee, I’d like to introduce you to my—”

It’s remarkable, you see it happen in front of you.  Like he has powers of his own, Din just literally fucking disappears.  Like magic, he’s nowhere to be found within a blink of an eye.  You know he’s capable of it; he’s done it plenty of times during the chase just to fuck with your head, but you’re staring straight at him when it happens this time and it might just be the funniest fucking thing you’ve ever seen him do.

Sister Drya and Naydee both turn around to an empty hallway bathed in shadows and you laugh.  A deep, shameless, loud belly laugh.  Where the fuck did he go so quick?  You were staring straight at him and you have no fucking clue.  He’s just out, and you’re left alone with his child and the unspoken understanding that he’ll just catch up with you later.

You’re giggling even as you shake your head and give the women your genuine thanks for keeping you and feeding you these past few days, grabbing your backpack with all your belongings and eventually using three green fingers to wave goodbye to them.  The very first thing Din says when he seamlessly joins you outside the Keja later is, “That wasn’t funny,” which just makes you laugh harder.

***

About a half hour has passed, and you’re walking along a dirt road, cradling a very happy baby in your arms and giving the grown man next to you an incredibly hard time.

“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, your back twinging slightly at the way you’re leaning about as sideways as you can get without falling over.  You think you’re basically just the hypotenuse between the ground and Din, who easily supports almost your entire weight with your backpack slung around his far shoulder and readily allows you to rest against him.

“They’re fine,” he grumbles in response, squeezing you tight to his side.  You just have to focus on moving your feet; it’s like he’s practically carrying your upper-half anyways.  “I gave them the night off.”

“You stuffed them in a closet,” you hiss, feeling his shoulder shrug under your cheek.

“I gave them the robe back,” he says, not really defending himself and more just throwing it out there to see if it helps any.  “I’m sure someone’s found them by now, they’re fine.”

Your eyes suddenly go wide, absolutely mortified at the thought.  “Wait.  What do you mean you gave the robe back?”

He shrugs once more, apparently not seeing the problem yet.  “I borrowed it, so I gave it back after I put my armor back on.”

If you could plant your feet on the dirt road and screech to a halt, you would, but all your weight is already resting on him and you’re working solely off his forward movement.  You just hope your tone holds the same amount of shocked disapproval your body language would’ve conveyed if you weren’t so completely attached to his hip like a parasite he adores.

“You fucked me wearing it, though.”  Your voice is strangely flat, so fucking confused and horrified by the mental image of him just tossing the soiled garments haphazardly somewhere in the temple behind you, or even worse, leaving them somewhere respectful, and Din soon stops in the middle of the deserted road.

“Oh,” is all he says, emotionless and blank through the modulator.  Did he not even consider this?

“I had to promise them I was a virgin just to sleep there, you know,” you admit, and you can tell that’s brand new information to him with how still he goes as you continue to lean against him.  You’re getting the feeling that he probably knows a lot more about your experiences on this moon than you think he does, but can tell that this is brand new information to him.  “And you locked three of their holy men in a closet, chased me across the temple grounds, fucked me in one of their robes, and then.  You gave it.  Back.”

Din stays perfectly silent for quite some time.  You can never go back to that place, you know this for a fact.  You’re banned forever now, it’s what you deserve.

Never one to be outdone but not actually having anything to say for himself, Din suddenly decides to just scoop you into his arms and boost up into the sky without a single word like an actual fucking maniac.

You squeal and damn near drop the baby because of it, but he cinches you tight to his chest and refuses to loosen with your struggle.  Eventually, after you realize he’s completely locked you in and you won’t fall to your death with this poor innocent child in your arms, you glance over the shiny pauldron on his shoulder and watch the kid’s crib disappear by the abandoned road as Din takes you higher and higher.

The crib—he forgot the crib—

“D-Din,” you stammer out through the whistling air, stiff as a board.  Stars, you have such a different sense of adventure than him; an explorer and a daredevil, one who gets a thrill from discovering the existence of the edge of a cliff and one who’ll take a running dive off of it without thinking twice.  He’s hit with blaster fire some days, he faces down death completely fearless like it owes him one every single time, and you’re stiff as a fucking board while he carries you through the sky.  It’s stunning up here, it’s exciting and wonderful, but you’re so scared that you can barely even look.  He’s giving you the most fantastical view, everything your budding adventurous streak could ever ask for, and your terror is crushing.  It would be different if you could hold on, but you’re responsible for not letting the baby slip through your arms and you just have to trust that he won’t let you slip through his.

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

“I won’t drop you,” he automatically reassures, and well you sure as fuck hope not, but there’s something else.

“What about the crib?”  You call out over the wind whipping, tucking the baby tight to your chest and settling your hands over his ears to avoid them flapping and whacking you repeatedly in the chin.

“We’ll come back for it,” he responds, just as easily.  Maker, you wish decision-making came that easy to you, that commitment and choice should be so simple as to just fly away from things on the ground and promise out loud to come back for them.  You know he will, but still, his spontaneity shocks you after spending the past week thinking every decision through meticulously, and you’re taken aback by the casualness of it all while soaring through the sky, committing such spectacular feats without a single thought beyond it.

Soon—incredibly soon, which honestly kind of blows your mind—you spot Nariss glowing in the distance and then you’re flying overtop of the city, slowly dropping altitude in the middle of a quiet little side street.

Din carefully allows your feet to settle on the ground before letting go, but you still stumble a bit stupidly after flying so high without any sort of safety measure besides him, prioritizing the steadiness of the baby in your arms instead of your feet underneath you.  His gloves catch at your clumsy body and pull you along with him without another word, leading you out of the quiet alley and into the middle of a beautiful, luminescent street.

What’s he doing?  He seems slightly hurried, and you’re clueless but you go with it, clamoring along behind him to wherever he’s leading you.

Though, you suddenly remember one of the very last things you told him last night right before he steps up in front of a vendor.

“Caf,” Din grunts, sliding a few credits towards the man standing behind the counter. “The… biggest one you have.”

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

“Y’sure?” The vendor asks skeptically, jerking his head at the large thermos behind him.  He’s balding, wearing a white outfit with his eyes scrunched up and forehead sweaty, likely working all day.  “It ain’t fresh.  Closin’ up soon, was just about to trash it and go home.”

The helmet turns to gauge your response to the news, the sharp angles and contours looking so sleek and dangerous as they reflect the colorful lamplights, but just filling you with comfort beyond anything in the entire galaxy.  He’ll take that armor off for you tonight and you’ll sleep next to him.  He’ll call you by your given name, or the fond name he’s given you, and you’ll cuddle your baby on a metal floor in hyperspace with him, and all will be well.  Even if he needs to leave again soon—even if you don’t get to go with him, you’ll always have these small eternities with each other, and that’s more enough for you now.

You’re completely zoned out while staring at him, and Din turns back to the vendor before you can even remember the conflict he was attempting to defer to you.

“Yeah, just empty the whole thing in there for her,” he mutters, and you want to marry him.  It’s been a long week, and in your haze and delight of being with him in this gorgeous setting, your brain turns to cavewoman mush.  Big man, makes me happy.  Strong man, loves me, knows me.  Provider, makes me feel good, protector, loves me.

Din hands you the large cup of steaming caffeine, clueless to your grunted inner monologue but knowing better than to reach out and grab the kid from your other arm.  You’re just fine like this, hands full, the little frog snuggled up against your side and blinking up at your face instead of any of the shiny or glowing things around you.  When you look down at him, you can see the world through his eyes—quite literally, they’re reflective and gigantic—and his father’s hand quickly finds its preferred spot on your lower back.

“Try to drink it quick,” Din advises you gruffly, pulling you snug into his side and sloshing the big cupful of piping hot liquid in your hand.

“It’s a thousand degrees,” you protest, trying to balance your three favorite things in the universe all begging for your direct attention at once.  “It has to cool down.”

He gives a dismissive hm in response, and you frown even as your heart soars with how tightly he’s gripping you, how little leeway you have to even move without him.  Part of you is so thrilled at being reunited with him that you consider snarking something back at him, excitement making you brave.  He could probably chug boiling hot liquid in thirty seconds and doesn’t see the point in letting it sit any longer, and you could make some stupid joke about filtering it through his helmet or having a built in bendy straw but you decide to keep it to yourself.

So then you just stand there together, under stringed lights and flowers everywhere, and he waits.  Holding you glued to his side, completely silent and clearly just waiting for your caf to stop steaming so threateningly in your hand so you can drink it.  For some reason, the fact that he’s wanted by the New Republic doesn’t really register at this second—you’re not looking for cops, though he may be.  You’re just lost in this beautiful, fancy city that’s on the edge of finally quieting down after a long day, and you’d like to see more of it with him next to you.

“Well, do you wanna just…”  You ask, tilting your head around at all the vendors.  “Shop around for a bit?”

“Shop… around,” Din repeats slowly, sounding the words out like they’re not common Basic.  Admittedly, they do sit a bit awkward in his voice when put together like that, describing a phenomena he’s likely never even considered a thing before, but it’s so fucking pretty here and you’d like to show him something this time instead of the other way around.

“Yeah, like,” you shrug a shoulder, tipping your head in a random direction.  Anywhere, you’ll go literally anywhere with him, the three of you can go explore.  “Just wander around, and look at all the pretty things.”

From where you’re standing right now, you can already see glittering crystals and jewels being sold at the tent across the street, there’s a booth dedicated entirely to floral arrangements and crowns next to it, you can hear a distant quartet playing melodically in the distance and a couple is being painted by an artist on the corner.  Bars are in full swing at this point, as if they weren’t all day, and even though the merchandise is all different, the multicolored tents look slightly similar when they’re underlit with multicolored lights.  It’s less slightly lively than it was in the daytime, but also… more beautiful, in a sense.  Muted, softer, more romantic.

“I don’t have any more credits,” Din admits casually, finally turning to look around at everything.  You get the feeling that he’s just now seeing it, even after spending the entire day here.  “That stale caf was the last of it.”

Money well fucking spent, you can assure him of that.

“It’s okay,” you tell him automatically, gently bumping your hip into his.  “We don’t need credits, we can just look.”

So that’s what you do.  Even though it’s completely not his fucking style, for the next hour or so, you just walk around downtown with him and sip your caf, looking at anything and everything new and experiencing it with him.  At first, you think he’s just entertaining you, following you while you discover new streets and attractions, but then he points out different things and you know he's looking, too.  There are large animals harnessed up and pulling carts for people to ride, there's an enormous spinning wheel set up in the distance, its colorful lights flickering out as soon as you ask what the fuck that is and why anyone would ever get inside one.

You eventually end up finishing your caf around the time he’s leading you back through a quiet, abandoned alleyway, and you hand him the empty cup to throw away in one of the trash cans on the corner.  The conversation has faded to a comfortable quiet and you don’t really need to ask—you go willingly, not requiring anything beyond his hands on you and the baby dozing in your arms.

“Come on, sweet girl,” he murmurs, gently sweeping you up into his.  You sigh, glad he’s giving you a moment to prepare yourself this time, holding the sleeping kid securely to your chest and resting your head on his shoulder.  “Let’s go home.”

After you’re comfortable, Din rockets up from the ground and climbs high up into the canvas sky.  He disappears with you and the baby into the pastel clouds above, making it back to the Razor Crest in probably about an hour, maybe less.  You and the baby do nothing more than climb into the comfy floor blankets while Din starts up the engines, and you think you’re dozing off together by the time he makes the pit stop to collect the crib and the jump into hyperspace.

You think he might shower?  You’re not sure—you just know he moves up behind you in bed at one point without any armor, burying his face in your hair while you cuddle the sleepy kid to your chest.  It’s dark in the hull, Din’s palms are bare and warm as they slide around the front of your body and he breathes you in, and there isn’t a single place that can touch you here, not a single place you’d rather be.

Home.

***

@followwhereshegoes​ Thank you for the stunning artwork! 💕To anyone interested in possibly doing an art collab in the future, please message me!!

[horsesandhockeyplayers]

When Life Gives You Lemons-- Part 4

Warnings: Mature content, abuse, rape, eating disorders, OCD etc. Some of these things go into a bit of detail. These warnings are relevant to the whole fic not just particular chapters.

Word Count Chapter: 3954

Word Count Total: 14,198

Author’s Note: Barbs and Lemon are back by popular demand! Thank you SO much to @hockeylvr59, @newlibrary, @itisawitchesworld, and Nora, who I can’t seem to tag. The rewrite of this fic wouldn’t have happened without all of you. Thank you for indulging my impulsivity. All of you can see Mark in action during the upcoming Olympics! Reminder, that this fic starts during the summer of 2019. I will be tagging the Avs and Lausanne HC. Also *~*~*~*~* means a POV change. Flipping between Mark and Clementine. Today we are beginning with Clementine.

Part Four

The next morning I was in a fog that not even a venti latte with two extra shots could clear. I hated the feeling, but I hated the voice more and she was vicious. Man, you are sad. Can’t even put up with some valid self-criticism without medicating yourself into a coma and entirely screwing up your ability to function the next day. How are you supposed to keep this job? You’re pathetic. Just realize that you don’t even deserve to run the drive-thu window at McDonald’s.

I sighed and tried to tune her out; absently, I set my stuff on the chair behind me and started fiddling with my camera. Suddenly, she shut up and there was a presence looming over me. Barbs was on the other side of the glass, so close, his nose was almost touching it.

My eyes rolled of their own volition, but I felt the corner of my mouth quirk even though I was in no mood to verbally spar with a hockey player. I kept it simple and civil, “Hey, Mark.”

His grin was hopeful, “Hey, Orange. What’s up?”

“I’m tired, I didn’t sleep well. What do you want?” It was the opposite of the truth, I had slept like the dead and was feeling the effects of it still.”

“Want to grab coffee with me later,” he asked hopefully, but his smile fell slightly.

I sighed again, “I don’t want to go out with you, Mark.”

He nodded, “Okay, I hear you on that. What about a coworker taking another coworker out for coffee?”

At that moment, the offer was tempting; as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I needed more coffee and my Starbucks budget was severely waning for the week. “Fine. Just coffee, as coworkers.”

The grin that split his beard was almost infectious and I felt a little bit lighter as he skated off with a jaunty wave. Even more surprising, the voice in my head stayed quiet the rest of the morning.

As training camp began for the day, the environment at the rink was hypnotic and at one point I just closed my eyes and listened. The creak of the blades on the ice, the slap of a stick against the pick, the ringing that echoed through the large building as the puck hit the post or crossbar, coaches shouting, the quiet hum of players' voices as they spoke to one another. If I focused hard enough, I could put together a rhythm that sounded like the beginning of a musical number or a scene from STOMP.

When I realized the sounds were no longer happening around me, I opened my eyes. A glance at my watch told me I had basically been zoned out and meditating to the sounds of hockey long after camp had finished. I was packing up my bag when Mark came down the stairs. His hair was still dripping from the shower and his shirt was one button off making it hang crookedly.

“Hey, so coffee?” He asked breezily.

I couldn’t help but smile a little, “You didn’t have to rush Barbs, I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He quirked an eyebrow at me with a curious expression on his face as he questioned, “Rush? Who rushed? Not me. I didn’t rush.”

I gestured toward his shirt, “You’re crooked, dude.”

He looked down, confused, and tried to smooth the front of his shirt; I don’t know why, but it was an endearing gesture. Why I stepped forward to willingly touch him and started unbuttoning his shirt, down to the button he missed, was also a mystery -- I blame it on the meditation. I was so zen it was out of my control. My head was completely empty for once and I was acting on impulse. After unfastening the buttons that were misplaced and buttoning his shirt again coffectly, I smoothed my hand down the seam, his chest was firm beneath my palm and when I looked up he was so close I could see his eyes had ring of molten lava around the iris.

As a reflex, I cleared my throat, “Uh…” I said awkwardly, “so… coffee?”

Mark nodded his head, leaned over and grabbed my bag, smiling as he informed me, “I hope you understand that after feeling me up, this is officially a date now.”

I crinkled my nose at him and fought a smile as I remarked, “So you show up to a date disheveled with dripping wet hair? Good to know that’s your standard.”

“The second date.. Yeah,” he said through his own grin.

The eyeroll was mostly involuntary on my part as I snorted incredulously, “You actually get second dates?”

His grin turned totally douchey and I hated that I was a little bit attracted to it. He stopped to look at me and cocked his head, looking too damn smug for his own good as he said quietly, “Oh no sweetheart, the second date of the night. Not a second date with the same person.

This time my eyes rolled so hard I could see my own brain. Nonchalantly, I shortened my dog’s leash and told her, “Come on, Daze, the world’s biggest lying wannabe douchebro frat boi is buying me a coffee.”

“Harsh,” Mark complained, “But still a date.”

The border collie offered a sigh as we trudged up the stairs from the lower bowl and out into the corridor, “Nope,” I repeated, “Not a date.”

He shrugged his very nicely sculpted shoulders, “I mean, unless you halfway undress lots of men, this is a date.”

I didn’t have a response to that so I just stayed silent.

As we headed toward the street, Mark slipped my hand into his and wove our fingers together. I stopped dead in my tracks, surprising both Daze and Mark. I looked at our clasped hands and then at him directly before I attempted to untangle our fingers, trying to drop his hand, and said, “No way.”

He didn’t let go and kept holding my open hand and strolling up the sidewalk, decidedly ignoring my objection as he changed the subject and asked me, “So, how did I look today?”

It was clear he was going to hold my hand whether I liked it or not so I just gave up and let it fall to my side, “Why would I know that? Shouldn’t you ask the coaches?”

He offered a shrug, “I did and I got their opinions. Now, I want yours.” His little strut was ¼ my normal walking speed; so I adjusted my stride and started dragging him along at my normal pace. “Lemon, walking faster isn’t going to make this date go by quicker.”

I offered a dry laugh, “This is my normal walk. There’s a reason I have a border collie as a service dog and not a labrador.”

“Is the reason that you’re a high strung crazy pants?”

I stopped abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk, ready to say about 20 different things including that I wasn’t high strung, that I wasn’t crazy, and that using crazy as a derogatory statement wasn’t cool in the 21st century. But then, I realized that I was, in fact, a high strung crazy pants. I had a half a dozen different diagnoses, I had a voice in my head that was constantly tearing me down, I had anxiety as such a level it could be considered a personality trait; I was on like 10 different medications and only 3 of them weren’t for my brain disorders. It wasn’t PC, but it was an accurate description. I let out the breath I had been holding and one of Mark’s dark eyebrows arched as he said quietly, “Honestly, I thought that was going to earn a good verbal sparring.”

I shrugged, “I mean you’re not wrong. I literally have a dog because I’m such a high strung crazypants and I couldn’t even get a *normal* dog, I had to get one that could match my high strung crazy pants energy, so I guess… you’re not wrong.”

He started walking again, pulling me along by his clasped hand, smiling softly at me as he said, “And yet, you still manage to function better than so many people. It’s kind of inspirational.”

I tugged at my hand and he released it this time, “I’m not here to be motivational for you, Barberio. Every day is a battle for me from the minute I wake up until the minute I go to bed.”

He nodded at me, understanding clearly written across his features, and he looked like he was choosing his words carefully, “I’m just saying, you may have problems, but you do more than the average person so you should give yourself a break. Congratulate yourself on the hard work you do. Let go of the battle for just a few minutes and enjoy life. Stop trying to work on yourself every minute of every day and just be.”

Honestly, I was shocked that such a deep thought could have come from what I assumed was a shallow puddle of a brain. Huh. Here I was lauding my own intellect, despite it causing me such misery, when Mr. One Point Five Total Brain Cells seemed to be enjoying his afternoon. His philosophy was pseudo positivity bullshit, but yet, he wasn’t wrong. Again. I was waaay harder on myself than everyone else. I felt my failings intimately and forever, while my successes were infinitesimal, like chasing a fleeting high. But maybe in chasing the big successes, I was missing a lot of small ones. Like today, when I just let go and listened to the sounds of the game I loved.

I was so lost in my thoughts for a moment that I didn’t notice Mark taking my hand again, and so caught up in my own head I didn’t realize my fingers were loosely wrapping themselves around his in return.

This idea that I needed to be more present and enjoy life was going to haunt me for days and it really wrinkled my panties that it was a dumb jock that put the idea in my head and gave me a lightbulb moment and not the psychologist or psychiatrist I paid thousands of dollars to every year.

We wandered all the way to the coffee shop on the corner, which was quiet and mostly populated by people I had seen around the Pepsi Center. Mark maneuvered me in front of the register and I stared blankly at it for a few moments, still mulling over the comments he had made. He let go of my hand and I felt his palm against the small of my back; when he spoke he was close and his voice was low and patient as he murmured, “Clementine, come back to Earth and order what you want.”

Daze nosed me and I blinked a couple of times, “Venti latte, please,” I blurted out. It felt robotic and overly cheery, but the barista didn’t even pause. I was sure he saw all kinds of wild things, and my robot/AI malfunction wasn’t even in his top 100. It was just my latest in a series of embarrassing interactions that would keep me awake for the next decade.

Mark ordered a cappuccino over my shoulder and with his hand still on the small of my back, guided me to a table, after he slipped his credit card back into a money holder and returned it to his pocket.

Once we got our drinks and sat down, Daze took her spot underneath my chair. Mark looked down at her when her tags clanked against the metal table leg and he smiled softly as he commented, “you know, it’s amazing-- half the time, I forget she’s here.”

I nodded, “I mean that’s part of her job. She’s a dog, and a cute one at that, so she’s going to get attention no matter where she goes, but she’s supposed to be as unobtrusive as possible.”

He shifted in his chair and I thought he was going to lean back, but he leaned forward instead; with his forearms on the table and his brown eyes focused on mine, instantly, he prompted; “So how do you like the new job?”

I shook my head, “It’s not really a new job, it’s temporary at best for now. It’s a trial run for a position they’re thinking of creating.”

Again, he prompted, “And what position is that?”

I felt the corner of my lips tick upward, he was trying really hard to get a natural conversation going and I was giving him nothing, “Digital Content Media.”

He offered a sigh, “let’s just assume I have an IQ of 80, which, honestly, probably isn’t that far off, so could you explain that, please?”

I smiled for real, sometimes, he was ridiculously humble, even thought he put on a show of being a sex-obsessed moron, I was positive his IQ was a lot higher than 80. It was at least 100. “Basically,” I started, “I’d be like middle management between the creative director and the actual content creators. My job would be to take the content, photos, videos, etc. and create a storyline for behind-the-scenes videos, promotions, etc.”

He thought for a moment before responding; when he did, his question was not one I expected. “But I see you with a camera in your hands most of the time.”

It was actually a very thoughtful observation. I smiled again, “Well sometimes, if I’m going for a certain aesthetic, it’s easier to create examples of the content I’m looking for. Also, I like that aspect of it, I just can’t do it all.”

It was weird having a man ask so many questions and actually seem interested in the answers. If it had been anyone but Mark, I would have been suspicious as he continued, “That makes total sense. How did you arrive at this being your calling, for a sports team no less?”

I fingered the napkin under my coffee cup, “I like sports, I guess. My dad is the coach for the basketball team at DU and I think growing up it was the only way to connect with him. I ended up liking hockey more than basketball though. I actually even convinced him to let me play for about a year in middle school, but I was horrible.”

He looked surprised but not entirely thrown off as he continued, “Ah middle school, what was that like, fifteen years ago? So you’re like what? 26?”

A bark of very unladylike laughter escaped before I could stop it and I put my hand over my mouth, embarrassed. “I’m so sorry,” I squawked, “I’m just surprised, you caught me off guard -- I actually turned 30 earlier this year. I’m just a late bloomer, I guess.”

His dark eyebrows raised, “Well damn, girl. You look good.”

I rolled my eyes, refusing to accept the compliment. It was like 1 step forward and 2 steps back with this neanderthal.

Mark’s eyes flashed as if he knew what I was thinking as he pressed on, looking just a tad guilty as he confessed, “I have to say, I really dig the hair.”

I fingered the dark blue ends and absently nodded, “Thanks.” His confession made me brave enough to share one of my own, “My ex-husband made me dye my hair blonde and basically, I had to be this perfect little Stepford housewife that did all of these different things that he liked. This was my rebellion afterwards. Honestly, I’ve had my hair every single color under the sun at this point, and I like this one best.”

At that, his gaze became troubled, but we were distracted as Daze sat up and put her paw on my leg: a medication indicator. I dug around in my puse for my Caboodle of pills.

Despite this not being the first time he’d witnessed Daisy in service mode, Mark shook his head in amazement as he commented, “It’s so cool how she does that.”

I popped the capsule in my mouth and washed it down with the water bottle I kept in my bag for precisely this reason. “Yep. She has a lot of time and effort put into her training.”

When she took her post under my chair again, the conversation turned to the upcoming season, then dream vacation destinations, followed by the best places to eat in town. Conversation flowed easily with Mark and it wasn’t until the sun was shining bright through the western facing windows, the baristas started closing up shop, and our cups were long empty before we realized how much time we had spent talking.

My phone beeped, and Daze whined, “Holy crap,” I said, noticing the time, “I have to get going.”

He stood and shrugged like he didn’t have any place better to be, “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

His hand found its way to the small of my back again and that seemed to rouse the voice inside my head again, as before I knew it she was yelling at me, ew why is he touching you. Does he know how gross you are? Part of me though, liked his hand there and I decided I was going to let that part of me win today and tell her to fuck off for now. I tried to ground myself in the moment, noting little things like how warm the sun felt on my skin through the windows, and how shiny Mark’s hair was now that it had dried, as well as the soft sounds of traffic rushing by outside the shop. It was enough to distract me from her unwanted commentary for a bit. Once we were outside, he didn’t move his hand. I stopped short and said, awkwardly, “Well, I’m just going to go to my car.”

He looked confused and emphasized his words like he was making sure he wasn’t the crazy one, as he informed me, “Yes. I know.”

I motioned toward the employee parking lot on the other side of the block, saying, “So I’m gonna go.”

Finally, he seemed to understand, but when he spoke his words were soft, “Lemon, I’m going to walk you to your car.”

His hand rubbed a small circle on my back, and I hoped he didn’t see the confusion plain on my face as I insisted, “But why? I’m capable. Hell, I have a dog.”

He blinked like he wasn’t quite sure of himself and simply said, “Because it’s polite.”

I must have bristled a bit at the idea that I couldn’t take care of myself or even do something as simple as walk to the car, because I felt myself deflate a bit. Even though he was being polite, the voice decided to jump on that angle. See? He’s just being polite. He would never like you. It somehow sucked the joy out of the moment for me. God, I wish she would just go away.

Mark’s hand slid across the small of my back and he cupped my hip, dragging me against his body. My arm had the option of being crushed or relocating; I opted to grab the strap of my bag hanging on the opposite side, which squished my boobs together awkwardly and I really hoped I didn’t look as self-conscious as I felt.

If he risked a glance at said squished together boobs, he was sly enough that I didn’t notice. We passed the last line of cars in the parking lot, and I was pulled to a stop by the hand on my hip, “Lemon, where’s your car?”

I looked at my car, the only remaining car in front of us and we were walking straight to it, “Uh, the only one left and we’re walking right to it?”

His hand tightened on my hip, “You mean to tell me that you drive a pink convertible Corvair?”

I shrugged, my shoulder moving against his chest, “Technically, the color is called ‘Evening Orchid’ it’s a popular color for cars of this generation, but yeah I drive a 1967 Corvair.”

He clutched his pec with his free hand like he was having chest pain, “You’re killing me, Smalls.”

Other than quoting one of the best sports movies ever made, I didn’t know what was happening, “I don’t understand.”

His hand left my hip and his arm hooked around my neck and pulled my temple in for a kiss, “You wouldn’t and it’s one of the reasons why I like you.”

I had no idea what he was talking about and most of my attention was analyzing why I didn’t freak out about Mark being physically affectionate with me. My ex-husband had manhandled me all the time, but it was with malice and zero tenderness. Being touched by Mark felt more like a suggestion or an invitation and less like a painful reminder of dominance and ownership. His touch was always soft, like a caress. It never felt like an unyielding cage.

I stuck my key in the door and turned it, the mechanism clunking as it unlocked. Daze hopped in before me, taking her spot in the passenger seat and I tossed my bag into the back. When I turned around to shut the door behind me, Mark was close. I caught a whiff of his cologne; it had an undertone to it that had to be his natural scent, and it was intoxicating. I wanted to bottle that scent and spray it on a body pillow to cuddle with at night.

His hand slid under the curtain of my hair, his fingers on the nape of my neck while his thumb tilted my chin up. My jaw clenched as I tried not to flinch. His eyes met mine as he smiled at me softly and murmured, “Thanks for coffee.”

I swallowed before answering, “Well, you paid, so I should be thanking you.”

His smile evolved into a grin that looked like it might break his face, though when he spoke, his voice was still low and soft as he admitted, “You know what, you’re right, as usual.”

I resisted the urge to rub my face into his hand like a cat, “Get used to it, Barberio, I’m right a lot.”

He took a deep breath and bit his bottom lip, “Go home, Lemon.”

He leaned forward, fingers pressing into my neck as I reflexively leaned back. He stopped, sensing my hesitation, and I relaxed. After a moment, he leaned forward again, and this time, I didn’t retreat as he kissed my cheek, the corner of his lips catching mine.

We paused there, lips barely touching. I was the first to get overwhelmed and I stepped back half a step. When I spoke my voice was barely there, “Thanks for coffee.”

He held the door while I got in the car and closed it as I leaned over to buckle Daze into the passenger seat. After I buckled my own seatbelt he rapped on the window with his knuckles, “Lock the door, Lemon.”

I rolled my eyes and hit the lock down anyway, “Thanks, Dad.”

His grin was contagious and I felt myself smiling back at him, “See you tomorrow. See if I can’t convince you for a second date.”

I rolled my eyes again but this time it was for dramatic effect and I turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life, the exhaust whum whum whum whumming with a throaty growl.

Grabbing a hold of the gear changer on the dash, I slid the car into drive and pulled away.

[stilldani24]

is that ur ex?

corpse husband x reader

words: 1015

request: “Can I request one where you run into an ex boyfriend while out to eat or something with corpse and he’s like protective and intimidating?” from anonymous

You didn’t make Corpse go out when he didn’t want to. You knew about his social anxiety well before the two of you began dating, and it didn’t bother you any. You enjoyed going out on your own, especially to the grocery store. It was a cathartic time for you, listening to the soft, generic supermarket music and the slightly squeaky wheel of your cart. It was almost soothing. 

However, you did request one night out of the year where you wanted to go out with him, and that was your anniversary. He couldn’t say no to you, even if you asked him to go out every night. You would never make him do that, though. So, your anniversary was the one night you wanted to go on a proper date. Corpse let you choose, so you chose Dave and Buster’s. You wanted to have fun that night so you wanted shitty food while playing games. It was a Monday as well so it wasn’t as busy, so hopefully he wouldn’t be too stressed.

The both of you had dressed up slightly nicer than you usually did, wanting to be a little fancier for your special day. You got there at six in the evening and just as you predicted, it was almost a ghost town. From the corner of your eye, you saw Corpse’s shoulders relax. You gave him a smile before taking his hands, following the hostess to your table and leaving a table marker on there before the two of you head out to play some games. 

“Watch this, watch, bowling champ of 2014,” you joked as you grabbed a skeeball and bowled it up the machine, gaining a smooth twenty points. Corpse barked out a laugh as he hit his hip against yours, moving you out of the way as he grabbed a ball next.

“At that rate, we’re gonna go home with a handful of Laffy Taffy,” he teased as he threw his ball next, making you bump his elbow so he would miss. 

“Hey, Y/N!” you heard a familiar voice from somewhere next to you, and your eyes widened as you locked eyes with your ex-boyfriend. You hadn’t seen him in ages, since he cheated on you and you had kicked him out of your apartment. Not to mind he had also been manipulative and mentally abusive, but you didn’t realize that until a few months after leaving his sorry ass. 

“Oh, um. Hey, Brian,” you grimaced a little as you faked a smile, wanting to put on a face just so it would make him go away. 

“What are you doing at a Dave and Buster’s on a Monday night, huh? Hot date?” he joked as he jabbed you in the side with your elbow, making you recoil at the feeling and stand closer to Corpse. Corpse immediately stood closer to you, wrapping his arm around your waist tightly and holding you close. He wasn’t one for public affection, so this was a huge jump from his comfort zone.

“Yes, actually,” he replied, looking down at your ex. While Corpse wasn’t insanely tall, standing at five foot ten, he was a hell of a lot taller than your ex. While there’s nothing wrong with shorter guys, Corpse was a huge improvement in more ways than just height. “We’re on a date for our anniversary, so if you’ll excuse us.”

Brian’s eyes were widened slightly. The combination of Corpse’s voice along with the height difference between the men, he was definitely intimidated. Corpse then led you away from the skeeball machine, having grabbed your tickets, and walked you back to your table so you could finally order dinner. 

“I’m sorry about that,” you apologized sincerely, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “We ended on bad terms and he’s been trying to hit me up for months.”

Corpse offered you a gentle smile, squeezing your hand in return and promptly planting a kiss on it. “Don’t worry, okay? You’re here with me and that’s all that matters.” 

You nodded in agreement before picking up your menu to skim through it. Throughout the night, whether at your table or playing games, you noticed Brian out of the corner of your eye. Just, staring at the two of you. It was making you uncomfortable, no matter where you were.

He approached you again when you were at the prize counter.

“Need some extra tickets? Maybe I could get you a teddy bear,” he told you, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. He had obviously been drinking. 

“Alright, cut the shit,” Corpse spoke up before you even had a chance to respond. He gently grabbed your arm and pulled you behind him, guarding you from him. “I’ve been watching you watch us all night. Get it through your tiny brain that they aren’t going to miraculously take you back, asshole. If you’re smart, you’ll tuck your tiny dick between your legs and waddle out of her with whatever pride you have left before I kick the shit out of you.”

Brian scoffed as he shoved Corpse by the shoulder. You think he tried to say “I’m not scared of you” before Corpse punched him square in the mouth, shutting him up in under one second. He hissed and shook his hand from the pain of the impact, since punching something with hard bones behind it would hurt. Brian grabbed his mouth, blood trickling between his fingers as he stared at Corpse.

“Fuck off,” Corpse told him before turning to the prize booth attendant, who was staring at him with wide eyes. “Listen, pal, we’re leaving right after I get my person a teddy bear.”

The attendant just shrugged and nodded. “Purple or orange?”

“Purple, please,” you grinned happily, staring up at your boyfriend with such adoration. Never in your life would you ever think that Corpse would punch someone. He just wasn’t that kind of person to hit first. But when it came to you? 

He would kick the shit out of everyone in that fucking building.

[celestialrry]

bunny

6.3k

summary: Harry's shy and you need a tutor.

warnings: like none, cursing?, severe fluff

You rushed into class, and scrambled over to sit in your chair, huffing as the clock struck 9:00 a.m. the moment you touched the seat. Why you signed up for a morning class you knew you would never want to wake up for is beyond you. Why the class you were taking was about English literature, a genre you had only read less than 3 books in was also beyond you. Being undecided in your major didn’t have many perks, you had come to find.

“Alright class, first things first, you’ll be having a test in this class next week about what we studied this past month.”

As your professor droned on, your heartbeat started to pick up. A month into your second year of university and you already had a test? This was absolute torture. You were psyching yourself out at this point, almost positive you would fail, until you zoned back into class to hear a deep voice speaking.

The boy with the curls almost reaching his shoulders in the back of the class, Harry, you thought. He was terrifying and intimidating, but he raised his hand almost every other question and got it right. Always. He was the answer to all of your problems. The one who always wore those tattered brown Chelsea boots and long coats. You had even seen a peek of tattoos on his hand once.

The rest of class was spent thinking of ways to ask him to tutor you. So far, you would suggest to pay him for his time, do it only when he’s available (you would switch your schedule around for him, you were already going to ask a lot of him), and just try to be really nice. You always tried not to judge on looks, but Harry seemed quite scary, and you were afraid he’d turn you down immediately.

Soon class was dismissed and you grabbed your trusty bag (it had survived multiple sleepovers at Niall’s and that boy could destroy anything by just touching it) and slung it over your shoulder, looking to see Harry walking out of the classroom. You hurried over to him out of the doors and caught up to him. “Hi, um, Harry?” You asked, and he stopped in his tracks.

He looked back at you and his eyes widened. He had to look back down for a moment so you couldn’t see him flush out of surprise. He looked back up at you and smiled softly. “Hello.” Harry mumbled, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. No one really ever spoke to Harry all that much. People just never approached him and he had no idea why (his friends had tried to clue him in that he did seem a bit intimidating with his brows furrowed almost all the time, his body littered with tattoos, and the fact that he’s quite a buff guy, but you couldn’t really tell from his oversized sweaters that he seems to wear every single day, but that’s besides the point) and it confused him a bit. It also made him a bit shy around anyone he didn’t already know, because he didn't want to come off too strong at first and scare anyone away.

You smiled at him and introduced yourself before you continued to ask him what you had been dreading out of pure nerves. “Um, I know this is weird, but we’re in the same English lit class and I notice you know like, all the answers to what Mr. Reeves asks, n’I just really wanna pass this test so I was maybe wondering if you could tutor me or something? I would pay you of course-”

“You don’t-you don’t have to pay me.” He interrupted you from rambling on for too long because you tended to do that a lot, and Harry had no idea but he had just saved himself about ten minutes of time. If you were his chance at a new friend, he wouldn’t want it to start off on money, because helping a friend wouldn't be a job. “Oh!” Your mouth formed an “o” shape and your eyebrows raised at him. “Are you sure? I mean that's fucking awesome if you really don’t want money, but I would just feel so bad taking up your time without giving you anything in return.”

You prayed that he would say that you really didn’t need to pay him anything. If he meant it, it means this boy was a godsend and you would be happy spending time with this bloke if he is really that sweet all the time. You wouldn’t expect it just because he rarely ever speaks to other people. The most words you had ever heard him speak was when he was answering a question from Mr. Reeves-

“S’fine, really. If I tutor you, um, it's basically like studying m’self so...” He trailed off scratching the back of his neck, and bringing you back to Earth. You broke out into a grin and bounced a bit on your toes, because he was going to help you pass the final and you didn’t have to pay him. “Perfect! Wow, Harry, you’re an angel. Thank you so much,” You complimented him as you grabbed your phone from your back pocket and as your eyes darted away from his face for a few moments, he attempted to bite back his smile, because you were talking to him, and calling him an angel.

You pulled your pink-case covered cell and unlocked it, handing it to Harry and saying, “Here, put your contact in so I can text you about meeting up, s’that cool?” To which he nodded and took your phone gently and began typing his name and number in, and biting back his tongue when he was about to tell you he had the same phone case as you, because you probably wouldn’t care (you actually would care a very great deal, but Harry had been so used to being ignored he figured he wouldn’t muck up his one chance at a new friend). he handed your phone back to you and you just shoved it back in your pocket, the smile never leaving your face.

“Thanks again Harry, it really means a lot. I’ll text you later, yeah?” You said, slowly beginning to walk to your next class. He just offered you a small smile before continuing the way he was before you had asked him to tutor you. Why he didn’t want money was still itching at the back of your brain, mostly because when you told your best friend, Niall, about it later that night he had said “What kinda college student turns down money?” before going off into a rant about how he wished he actually knew what he was learning so he could tutor someone and get some extra cash. You reminded him he already had a job, but it seemed tutoring was “so much easier than dealing with kids whose parents didn’t give a rats-ass if they yell in the restaurant.”

｡:°ஐ

You and Harry had arranged to meet on Wednesday, because you only had one morning class as did he, and would meet in the library at 12 p.m. You don’t think you had ever been so anxious walking into a library before, but here you were, opening the double doors and swiping your student I.D. (which had a horrid picture on it, they really never tell you when they take the photo) before your eyes scanned the front part of the library you could see. It was safe to say you weren’t in the library very often, if seeing your frazzled face as you zig-zagged through the rows of bookshelves was enough to go by.

You made your way to the back, where you assumed the tables for studying and reading would be, and as you turned the corner of one of the oddly tall bookshelves, you thanked your instincts for the first time, and scanned the area until you found a certain flop of messy brown curls hunched over at a table.

“Hi Harry,” You chittered, flopping down in the seat across from him and immediately pulling out your notes and the book you had been reading for class, Pride and Prejudice. “How are you?”

For the first time, you noticed he wore glasses, when he looked up at you and pushed the clear tan frames up the bridge of his nose, a bit startled by your arrival. “M’good, you?” He asked, no emotion or tone behind his voice really. It sounded like he just wanted you to stop talking almost, but you settled on the fact that it was your nerves telling you he hated you.

“’Bout as good as I can be with teachers up my ass all week.” You said, and a small smile struck his face. You wondered what it would be like to make him laugh. Shaking your head from your thoughts, you cleared your throat and looked at your notes before back up at him. “Alright, so m’a bit confused on why Charlotte marries Collins? I mean, ignoring the fact that they’re all related, I’ve re-read it so many times but the old English they use is so confusing.”

After your question, Harry delves into the answer, not going on an extraordinarily long tangent, but a decently long one, explaining the relationship between them, and why they married when he wanted Elizabeth first, and so on. What was even better was that he explained it all so easily you understood it all (and his voice was sweeter than honey), you just kept wanting to ask more questions, so you did.

Harry was talkative when you kept asking him questions, and it seemed like he was enjoying himself, but whenever the conversation swerved into personal life, Harry shut off and became more quiet. It wasn’t like you were asking him about his family drama, the conversation had smoothly sailed into something about high school.

“I wish I read this book in high school when they gave us the chance.” You sighed, flipping through the pages to where you had put a sticky note to write down your confusion. You truly regretted not being one of those reading types, but you preferred to hear things more (like Harry’s voice), and listening to music became your ‘hobby’ instead.

“Yeah, reading it earlier makes it pretty easy now.” He shrugged, going through his own notes. “I just wasn’t much of a reader, did you read a lot in high school?” It's an innocent enough question, and after spending about 2 hours with Harry, you already knew you would want to get to know him more, but it seemed he didn’t feel the same. “A bit.” He said, tensing up. While you were mildly confused by his body language, Harry just didn’t want to talk about highschool. He read a lot, and was so in his own world he found it hard to really have many friends. He had a few loyal ones, but books would always be there, as cheesy as that was. High school wasn’t fun for anyone, he was sure of it.

“You seem like you’d read a lot, you just give off that vibe, y’know?” You said, looking at him. He lifted his gaze from his notes and you truly could not tell what he was thinking. He gave a small “hmph” in response to your question that wasn’t really a question and looked back down at his notes, gathering them all quite fast. “I think we’re good for the day, just text me if you want anymore help.” He mumbled, slinging his bag over his shoulder and rushing out of the library. You sat there with your mouth slightly open in shock at the way he left so abruptly. After a few moments you packed up your own things and practically ran after him, bursting through the double doors and trying to find him, to-you actually didn’t know what to do. You didn’t even know what happened. That’s why you found yourself on your couch with Niall as he ate all your snack food, deep in a long-winded advice session from him.

“He just ran out Niall, I don’t even know what happened, like did I say something?” You asked, picking your nails in distress, your eyes following the chip that disappeared in his mouth seconds later. “What’s this bloke’s name, again?” He asked, after chewing (Niall could be vulgar, but he wasn’t an animal). “Um, Harry. Longish brown curls, pretty green eyes, y’know? I-I don’t even know his last name.”

The blonde’s icy blue eyes widened in recognition after a moment of thinking, and he slapped your bicep gently. “Harry Styles! I’ve heard o’him. Apparently he has like two friends and never speaks, s’not hard to believe you have a thing for him, bug.” Your brow raised incredulously, and you were quick to defend yourself, and Harry. “I do not have a thing for him, and just because he doesn’t have many friends doesn’t mean he’s a-wait what do you mean it's not hard to believe?”

Niall rolled his eyes and sat up a bit more, turning to actually face you. “You like the quiet types, s’why we aren’t dating, obviously, n’I never said he was a dud, love, just tellin’ you what I heard.” You just nodded, deciding to not worry about it so much. “There’s many reasons we aren’t dating Ni.” You gave him a compassionate smile and pat his knee. The two of you then burst out into laughter and your worries about Harry faded away.

Until the next morning that is.

You had been going over the study guide Mr. Reeves had emailed everyone that morning and realized you weren’t sure about quite a few of the things you were supposed to know. Sighing, you opened your phone and clicked on Harry’s contact typing out a text.

Hey Harry! Wondering if you could meet up sometime again this weekend just to go over the study guide?

You hit send and prayed that he wouldn’t just ignore it, especially after running out last time. After looking back at the email, you heard your notification bell go off just a few minutes later.

I can do Friday at 8pm, and Sunday around 3.

A smile of relief graced your face at his quick response, no matter how short his texts were, he was still willing to help you, and you were extremely grateful. After texting him back and agreeing to meet back at the library, you went back to working on another assignment, happy that you were able to get more studying in, not about the fact that you got to see the quiet and unusually attractive Harry Styles again. That was not the reason.

｡:°ஐ

Eventually it was Friday night. Your friday nights usually consisted of Niall dragging you somewhere you did not want to be, like a frat party (he always made sure you got home safe though), or you sitting at home, watching a movie and binging on cookies that you had baked just 30 minutes prior. Tonight was different however, and you were attempting to open the doors of the library, because it was locked, but you were positive the library wasn’t closed.

A soft voice said your name, and you turned around to see Harry standing a few feet behind you, his hands in his pockets and his bag on his shoulder. “Harry,” you exhaled in relief. “I was about to text you, but it’s locked and I know for a fact it shouldn’t be closed because the hours say 7 a.m. to 10 p.m. every weekday.” You stated matter of factly, pointing to the hours painted on the door. He walked a bit closer to the door and adjusted his glasses a bit, pursing his pink lips as he read the hours. “You’re right.” he said simply, his sage eyes darting to the handle. You wordlessly stepped back and he went to the handle, pulling the door a bit, and pushing it. It moved a bit for him, but it was obvious it was locked.

Your mind raced for solutions, the only ones you were able to find was going to your flat, or wherever he lived, and you were almost positive he wouldn't want you in his house. You heard a little sigh leave his lips as he let go of the handle, and stuck his hands back in his pockets, rolling on the balls of his feet adorned with black boots today. “We could go to my place? If you’re comfortable with that of course, I won’t force you, but it’s like the only place I can think of and my roommate won’t be home tonight to distract us, something about staying the weekend at her boyfriends, but-”

“Sure.”

Your eyes fell back onto his face at his words and you gave a small smile, happy that he had agreed. “Alright, c’mon then.” You said, walking towards the direction of your flat. Only a few moments after you began taking steps he stopped you with his voice. “Wait, you walked here?” He asked, his face twisted up with something you couldn’t tell. “Yeah, m’only fifteen minutes away.” You shrugged. “It’s pitch black-um, come with me, I drove here and you can just direct me to yours.”

You just agreed and followed him to his car, which was an awfully nice black one, you weren’t sure of the brand, but as you got in, you could tell he took really good care of it (not that that was attractive to you or anything). Your words during the drive consisted of you telling him the four turns to take before directing him the best place to park in your lot. You ignored his gaze on you as you led him up the two flights of stairs to your hall, because “The elevator has been down for ages, and I’ve sent about four letters to the landlord, but all I’ve gotten in return is just unnecessary exercise for two months.”

He chuckled a bit at that and you swore your heart grew two sizes as you led him down the hall to your door. You unlocked it, and let him in, quickly walking in front to scan and make sure it wasn’t messy. You were never one to leave the house while it was dirty, but Niall had come over earlier to convince you to come to a party, and you were scared you hadn’t picked up his mess. He truly was like your child in a sense. Taking a sigh of relief at your clean flat, you turned around to see Harry closing your door and you brushed against him to lock it, you never kept your door unlocked at night.

You led him to the living room and dropped your bag on the floor next to the couch, and he did the same, pulling out your books and notes, as well as your laptop. Harry followed your actions and you could tell he was a bit uncomfortable in your flat, or at least that’s what it seemed like. “Do y’want some water or anything? I’m not sure what other drinks I have because I’m pretty sure Niall drank everything in here, and ate it probably as well.”

He looked up at your words and hesitated, bringing his bottom lip between his fingers. “Erm, I’ll have a water, please.” Now was not the time to ask about Niall or who he was to you, he told himself, because it didn’t matter. You nodded and stood up, hurrying over to your kitchen and grabbing two glasses of water for the both of you before handing one to Harry and sitting down on the couch again.

It was a bit weird at first, but soon enough the two of you slid into an easy conversation about the study guide, it was mostly you asking and Harry answering, but occasionally he would ask you something (that you were sure he already knew), and you would answer. It was a good back and forth, and you found yourself thinking about how it would be nice to talk to Harry like this about himself. You wanted to know everything, his favorite color down to the weird little quirks he has (you’ve already picked up on one, like when he itches the bottom of his nose with a curled index finger and slides it to the button of his nose before scrunching it).

“We’ve been studying for about two hours,” You noticed, looking at the time on your computer screen reading 10:03 PM. “I’ve just about filled my brain with enough information about fictional characters for today.”

You looked over at Harry to see him grinning a bit at your joke, and for the first time you noticed he had dimples. You were positive there was nothing wrong with him, other than the fact that he didn’t seem to want to be your friend (it wasn’t his fault, you could be a bit too much for people sometimes). “Okay, I should probably get back home to Luna anyways.” He said, his offhand comment filling your brain. Luna? You prayed you haven’t been taking his time away from a girlfriend, and before your brain could catch up your mouth was already moving. “Oh, who’s Luna?”

Harry looked at you like he forgot he mentioned her and his eyes widened a bit. “Oh, um, she’s m’kitten.�� A wave of relief rushed over you, as well as another reason to want to get to know him more. A man so intimidating people didn’t approach him, had a kitten? Harry was flushing out of embarrassment of telling you this little fact, and looking down as he put his things in his bag to avoid eye contact with you, you did not care about his kitten, and you were indirectly telling him to leave, he didn't think he ever hated speaking more.

“That’s such a cute name!”You exclaimed. “Do you have any photos of her? It’s okay if you don’t want to show but I love cats, always wanted t’get my own.”

Nevermind.

30 minutes later, and he was sitting next to you awfully close on the couch, showing you his photo album of Luna. Some of the photos had Harry in them, one in particular, a mirror picture, where he was wearing sweats and had chosen to go without a shirt, holding Luna in one hand by his side. He swiped off of that one with lighting speed, and although you were telling yourself he obviously was embarrassed by you seeing his bare torso, which he shouldn’t be because wow, you couldn’t help your curiosity. “How many tattoos do y’have?”

He moved his head to face you, and only then did he realize how close the two of you were sitting. “Uh, I don’t know, fifty-something? I lost count a while ago.” Your eyes lit up at his words and a grin spread across your face. “Wow, that's so cool. Did it hurt a lot? I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo but I have no idea what, and where. I thought a small little butterfly on my ribs or something would be cute for a good year, but I don’t have much connection to butterflies really, and I feel like if I get something tattooed on your body for forever I would want something that really sticks with me.”

He couldn’t help it.

As you watched Harry while you were rambling on about tattoos you could see him smile. Truly smile, one where his teeth showed and everything. You tried not to get too giddy about it, but it was just so beautiful. “It started hurting less the more I got, and tattoos don’t have t’be something y’really connect with, I have a bunch jus’ because I thought they looked cool and had a decent meaning,” He said, and you were positive that’s the most he’s ever spoken to you. “I actually have a butterfly on m’tummy.”

“What other one’s do you have?” You asked, attempting to get him to talk as much as he could.

It worked, because soon the 30 minutes became an hour, and the hour became two, and he was in your flat at midnight. It seemed the two of you had no idea how much time had passed, because when you checked your phone it said it was five past midnight, and you reluctantly told Harry.

“Shit!” He muttered, and that was the first time you’ve heard him curse before. He looked at you, concern taking over his features. “M’so sorry for staying so long, I didn’t want to impose, I-”

“Harry, it’s okay, I promise. If I didn’t want you here, I would've told you to leave.” You said, and that seemed to calm him down a bit. “I’ll walk you down.”

You slipped on your coat and grabbed your keys, while Harry grabbed his tote and the two of you made your way down the stairs, this time a comfortable silence overtaking the stairwell. You reached his car and smiled at him as he unlocked it. “Thank you Harry, for everything, m’sure after Sunday I’ll be aces at analyzing characters.”

He smiled at you and fiddled with his sleeve before stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you. You were surprised to say the least, but your arms found their way around him as well and you reveled in his warmth. He stepped back after a moment and let his hands slide down your arms before bringing them back to his sides. “M’sorry, I should’ve-I just-you’re so nice n’I just-thank you.”

You couldn’t help but watch him try to stay afloat as he struggled to explain the hug. He really felt like he did though, because you were just so sweet, possibly the sweetest person he’s ever met, and you wanted to know about him, and his tattoos, and his kitten, and he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to be with anyone for a hours on end, but he’s already decided that he’d want to be trapped in a room with you for days.

“No need to thank me, get home safe okay?” You smiled at him, reaching out and squeezing his arm and holy shit he’s fit. He looked down at your hand for a moment before smiling big and nodding, parting with a “G’night, I’ll see you Sunday.” before hopping into his car and insisting you walk up first. Rolling your eyes you smirked a bit and started walking up your stairs, turning around and waving at him before he sped off. That was quite possibly the best Friday night you’ve ever had.

｡:°ஐ

Harry was reeling, in the best way possible, but still reeling. After you got together to study on Sunday (and after you both aced the test, which you had given him the largest hug and a kiss on the cheek for), the two of you had hung out almost everyday after.

You met Luna during that following week, and he was expecting her to stay in his bedroom, because Luna didn’t really like new guests all that much, but she had immediately scurried up to you and walked in figure-eights around your feet. Your giggle of excitement was the best thing Harry had ever heard, and he had to take a moment not to squeal out of adoration.

He had opened up to you about, well, a lot. Told you how people just didn’t approach him, which was why he was so off-put when you did, and that he just didn’t want to scare anyone away. You shook your head and sat closer to him on the couch, lifting your hands to pinch his cheeks and pout as you said that he was “the sweetest person” you knew and you had “no idea how anyone could be scared of such a softie.” It was safe to say his face was flushed the entire conversation.

You had also commented on his sweater collection once, and everytime you would shiver, he’d pull off his own sweater and give it to you to wear, even in the courtyard when the weather was reaching 30 degrees. You had refused due to the fact that he would be cold, and eventually he just gave you a sweater you had expressed your liking for. He had handed it to you and you frowned in confusion and said, “Did you bring that just for me?”, because he was already wearing his own, and he had nodded and once you put it on he mumbled, “Keep it.” You did.

It got to the point where the two of you had spent so much time together you introduced him to Niall, to which Niall had commented, “So this is the Harry bloke you’ve been talking about all the time. Nice to meet ya, mate. So, how did you grow your hair out so long?” You had hit his shoulder for embarrassing you, but it seemed Harry didn’t even skip a beat when he started talking about how he had decided to grow his hair out. It was a story you’d heard before, but with Harry speaking, you would listen to the same words over and over again.

When you each went home for winter break, Harry had hugged you tightly and kissed your cheek, telling you that it was only 2 weeks, and the both of you would be back before you knew it. When the two of you weren’t texting, you were calling each other, and he was right, because you had both gotten back yesterday, a day full of hugs of goodbye’s from families, and full of cheek and forehead kisses, along with hugs and cuddles from Harry. You teased him about the gift, a book you had told him was the only one you wanted to read, he mailed you, and he teased you about his gift, a sweater with  a hand-stitched (by you) small little moon where the left breast was, for Luna, and posters of his favorite artists, because he didn’t have anything on his walls.

Today was a day of “movies and cookies, it rhymes” as Harry had put it, and you had just knocked on his door, adorned with the sweater he gave you and some sweats. He opened the door almost immediately, a large smile on his face as he brought you in and gave you a large hug, to which you returned. “Missed you.” He mumbled into your shoulder. “I saw you yesterday, dimples.” You said, squeezing him before letting go and poking the indent in his cheek that just got deeper. “I told you I hate that nickname, bunny.” He smirked. “Oh, shove off.” You smiled, making your way to his living room where Luna was curled up on the couch on the right side, close enough to the end that no one could sit there, but close enough to the middle that practically half of his couch was taken.

“Don’t move her,” He said, walking up beside you. “She’s been crazy all day and she's finally relaxing, little devil.” You just shrugged and looked at the cookies he had already set out. “As long as I get these, I don’t mind where she is.”

The two of you settled next to each other on the couch as he chose an old horror movie that you begged not to watch but according to Harry, “S’not even scary, pet. Nothing is realistic, swear.” You just grumbled in defeat as he started to play it and just stuffed cookies into your mouth as you fell against the back of the couch.

Half an hour later, and your head was tucked in Harry’s chest, while your legs fell over his own. His hand was splayed across your back, rubbing up and down gently and mumbled “It’s okay”’s and “I’ve got you”’s while you peeked out to see the giant ant’s taking over. He really couldn’t believe it, you of all people were in his arms at night. He wished it could be every night, and when he heard your breathing slow down he suddenly took it back.

What the hell was he supposed to do?

You hadn’t planned on sleeping over, but just the other day were you complaining about not getting enough sleep because of your “stupid Philosophy professor”, and there was no way in hell Harry was going to wake you up. He hesitated for a moment, before turning off the T.V. because in the time he was deciding on what to do the movie had long stopped playing, and wrapped his other arm under your knees, gently picking you up and taking you to his bed.

He laid you down and tucked you under the covers, grabbing a pillow for himself before making his way to the couch for the night. He made sure to set an alarm to wake up before you did, and make you breakfast.

When you opened your eyes, the last thing you were expected to be met with was a white ceiling with a sleek silver fan nailed in. You sat up groggily, looking around the room to recognize it as Harry’s room. You had only been in here a few times, mostly to scavenge his closet, but you knew his room when you saw it. You swung your legs out of bed, and slowly made your way to the living room, where you were met with a sleeping Harry, spread out on the couch in his sweats, without a shirt. You tried not to linger your gaze on all his tattoos and abs as you walked by him to check the time on your phone. Almost 9 a.m., and by the vibrating phone next to yours, with the same case, you could tell he meant to set an alarm but forgot to turn his ringer on.

He had an alarm set for something, and he never told you what he was doing this morning, so you decided you would wake him up, just in case. You grabbed his shoulder gently, and tried not to think about how warm he was, shaking him gently and calling his name. “Harry…” You said in a sing-songy voice a few times. He pouted in his sleep and grunted a bit, before scrunching his eyes open. He practically jumped back when he saw you and his head fell back against the arm of the couch. Of course he wouldn’t wake up before you. “Morning.” You grinned. “G’morning. M’sorry if you were confused when y’woke up. I just brought y’to my bed cause you fell asleep, n’I was gonna wake up before you but obviously that didn’t work out.”

You just shook your head and smiled, trying not to think about his morning voice. There were a lot of things you had to try not to think about with Harry. “No worries, wanna go grab breakfast at the diner down the street? Heard they have killer hashbrowns.”

And all thanks to you, Harry wonders what he had to worry about in the first place.

After breakfast, you went back to your place, Harry in your living room while you got dressed for the day, changing your sweats to jeans and slipping back out of your room. “Alright, what’s the plan?” You asked, tugging the sleeves of his sweater down to make paws. It wasn’t like Harry hadn’t seen you with his sweater on, but it seemed to make him more flustered everytime you did wear it. He shrugged and looked you up and down quickly. “I like your sweater, where’d y’get it?” He joked, in an attempt to mask his blush.

“From this really cute guy, he just gave it to me one day.” You shrugged, and watched as he bit his bottom lip in an attempt not to smile too much. “Really cute?” He asked as you stepped closer to him. “Mhm, his name is Harry.”

“Please stop.” He said, and you stepped back, confused by his sudden change in emotion. “I’m just joking, Harry.” You said, attempting to save the moment. His bottom lip trembled and he sat down on your couch, his head falling in his hands. “I know, n’I don’t want you t’be.” He mumbled as you sat next to him. He pulled his head out of his hands and looked at you, his heart beating faster than it ever has.

“I really like you, bunny. And I don’t wanna ruin our friendship because you’re the best thing that's happened to me in a really long time, but I cant- I can’t listen to you joke about how you think I’m cute if y’don’t feel the same.”

You swear your heart bursted at his confession. A smile overtook your face and you moved so you were right next to him. You placed your hands on the sides on his face and kissed his nose. “You think I don’t feel the same? For someone so smart, m’surprised you haven’t realized it before,” you said softly, as he looked at you in wonder and shock. “I really like you too.” You leaned in and placed your lips on his, about to pull back when he didn’t respond. He then began to kiss you back and his hands found a home on your hips. When the two of you pulled away, he smiled like a fool and pecked your lips once more.

There was never anything to worry about with you, he was sure of it.

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(TFATWS) Bucky x Reader: Protective- Part 1

 (Author’s Note: I watched TFATWS and loved it.  So here we are).

 The tension had finally fizzled out an hour or so into the trip- at least for a little while.

   Your consulting criminal, Zemo, made himself comfortable as soon as he set foot on the jet.  He was leaning back in his seat across from you, looking very pleased as he read a book and took an occasional sip from his champagne glass.  His contented demeanor had visibly affected both of your friends, Sam and Bucky, causing their irritation with him to skyrocket earlier.  But after some of the confrontations concerning Bucky’s inherited notebook from Steve, Sam’s music, and Zemo’s observations of you, things had finally calmed down.

   He was a crafty one.  He knew how to push buttons, knew exactly what to say to trigger each individual’s weak points.  Things had begun to escalate especially when Zemo turned his attention to you.  His piercing gaze had you frozen in place as he made inquiries.  While he didn’t ask anything outwardly uncomfortable, the probing questions about your life were starting to make you uneasy.

   The other two males didn’t take too kindly to Zemo’s attempts at conversation with you.  Bucky stared out the window with his jaw clenched.  At one point, Sam let out an exasperated sigh, causing the criminal to halt mid-sentence. He leaned over to raise his brow at you diagonally across the aisle of the jet.   “_________, is he bothering you?”

   You didn’t have to speak: the look on your face said it all, and Sam shifted in his seat again to look over at Zemo.  “Alright, that’s enough.”  His tone was firm and leaving no room to question.

   Directly across the aisle from you to your right, Bucky’s shoulders relaxed when Zemo followed Sam’s command.  The jet had fallen silent except for the muffled whirring sounds of its mechanics.

   You pretended to skim through a magazine that you’d found laying on a tray.  With one hour down and twelve more to go on the flight, you felt the need to unwind a bit.  Everything had happened so fast from the moment you agreed to go with your friends to Berlin to see Zemo.  After Thanos’ horrible plan came to an end, things heated up when John Walker went public as “the new Captain America.”  He’d even offered you a place working with him since you were part of Team Cap back in the day.  You declined, of course, and found yourself even more determined to help Sam and Bucky.

   You were happy for Steve.  You were.  It was still hard to have him gone.  For years, ever since the Avengers broke apart over the Sokovia Accords and Bucky’s framing, you’d followed Steve.  Even before then, when it was discovered that Hydra had been infiltrating SHIELD, you’d left the broken agency to join him as he continued his fight against threats to the world

   You hadn’t imagined that you and the others would be left to keep fighting without him.

   “You in the market for a new grill?”

   You were drawn from your deep thought to a set of dark blue eyes that looked from you to the magazine page that you hadn’t turned in at least ten minutes.  You chuckled and closed the magazine, playing along.  “Yes, I figured with all this extra time, I’d do a little shopping.”

   The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched up in a brief show of amusement.  You rose from the seat to go to his side, kneeling down beside his chair.

   “Why does he even have this?”  You lowered your voice as you glanced at the eccentric baron, setting the magazine back down onto the tray.  “You’d think there would be more European fashion magazines or something.”

   Bucky’s eyes flickered to the man in question before leaning in to speak in an equally quiet tone.  “I have to admit.  We lucked out with him.  Not only does he have a lead, but he’s got private transportation so we can stay under the radar.”

   “I think we made the the right choice going to him,” you replied.

   “We can only hope,” he muttered.  “Seriously though, what were you thinking about when you zoned out?”

   “Oh.”  You averted your gaze, playing with the hem of your jacket.  You didn’t want to delve into your train of thought.  It was plain as day that Bucky and Sam were both dealing with Steve’s departure in their own ways, and you didn’t want to add to it or open up any healing wounds.  So, you settled on being vague.  “Just...everything.”

   He seemed to know what you meant anyway.  The silence that followed made guilt gnaw in your chest, but before you could say anything, Bucky spoke.

   “Hey,” he nudged you with his shoulder, making you meet his gaze again.  His eyes had softened significantly and forehead smoothed in absence of the lines caused by furrowed brows.  It was a nice change from the scowl he had since the mission started.  “Sorry we dragged you into this.”

   You dismissed the apology with a casual wave of your hand.  “You guys didn’t drag me into anything.  I was along for the ride from the beginning.”

   A comfortable silence fell between you then.  He returned to gazing out the window while you stood up and headed back to your seat, sinking into it and letting your head tip forward.  You figured that a cat nap was in order since you hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before.  All that business with an internationally-known criminal breaking out of prison had you on edge.  With nothing but the sounds of occasional page-turning from Zemo’s book and Sam tapping his foot lightly to the beat of music he listened to on his phone with earbuds, sweet sleep claimed you in no time.

   You were pulled from your dreamless slumber by voices, but your body wasn’t ready to respond just yet.  The first thing you noticed was that you were leaning against something on your right side, your face resting on a soft material that held the scent of leather and cologne. Bucky’s scent.  It must’ve been his jacket balled up to serve as a pillow.  In fact, it was his voice rumbling closest to you.

   “Stop looking at her like that.”

   “Apologies, James, but I don’t know what you mean.”  Zemo’s accented voice was quieter, but there was a sprinkle of amusement in his tone.

   “You’re doing it right now.”

   “Bucky, come on,” Sam interjected.  “We managed to make it a few hours without killing the guy.  Don’t let him get to you now.”

   Zemo’s tone took on a new intensity, as if he was gripped by fascination.  “You seem very protective of __________.  The way you move around her is intriguing, as if prepared to defend her at a moment’s notice.”

   “Don’t engage,” Sam warned in a low voice.

   By now, you were almost fully awake.  Despite the potentially awkward situation that Zemo was creating with the analysis of your friend, you figured it would be best to intervene.  You shifted, blinking your eyes open.

   “What’s going on?” you muttered, voice still a little rough from sleep.  “It better be good because I haven’t slept that well in a while.”  You lifted your head from Bucky’s jacket, eyes darting up to see him staring out the window again.  “Sorry,” you muttered, brushing a bit of drool from his jacket before handing it back to him.  He stole a glance in your direction again, not seeming to mind.

   “No big deal.  You needed the sleep.”

   Bucky didn’t say another word, so you turned to Sam for answers.  He shrugged with the shake of his head.  “Zemo’s being... well, Zemo.”

   You nodded in understanding, as if that simple phrase was all the explanation you needed.  Zemo caught your gaze, the corners of his lips turning up a smile.

   “As I mentioned before, we will have to go undercover to meet with Selby in Madripoor.  I was merely thinking of disguises for you and Sam.”

   He seemed like was telling the truth, but you didn’t doubt that he relished the added bonus of getting under Bucky’s skin in the process.  While Bucky had been protective of you and those who chose to put themselves on the line to prove his innocence when it came to the UN bombing, you hadn’t expected him to be quite that defensive in this situation.  As flattering as it was in some ways, it made you worry.  Zemo knew what buttons to push.  Would he eventually push a button to make things go his way?  To forward some plan of his?

   You got up to stretch and use the refresher.  You took your time since there were still several hours left in the flight.  Zemo had informed the group that upon landing, there would be  limited window to get into costume and go over your characters before heading to Selby’s club.

   - - - - - - -  

   “Only an American would assume that a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp,” Zemo complained.  You stole a glance at your friend who gave his outfit another displeased look.  “You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing.  The sophisticated, charming African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger.”  He handed his phone over so Sam could get a look at his character’s picture.

   “He even has a bad nickname.  He does look like me, though.”

   “And who am I supposed to be?” you asked, pulling the jacket over your form tighter.  You wore a dark blue dress that went to your knees.  The material was soft and had a subtle glimmer in the light, and the outfit was complete with a pair of black heels that clacked on the pavement with each step, a shiny silver bracelet, and the black jacket that you were glad to have in the chilly air.  The group was walking to the halfway point of the bridge to be picked up.

   “You will be my date,” Zemo replied casually.

   You gave him an incredulous look.  “Really?  I’m just the date?”

   He released a sigh before launching into explanation.  “You don’t exactly resemble any crime bosses.  Besides, it’s not uncommon for dates to come and go in this town.  No one will be asking who you are.  No one will expect what’s coming to them if we need to fight.  You may have the greatest advantage out of all of us.”

   As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point.

   “Just remember to remain at my side at all times,” Zemo continued.  “Make it look convincing that we are together.”

   You refused to meet his amused look.  “Yeah, yeah.  Whatever.”

   A black car idled just ahead, and Zemo once more reiterated how important it was to stay in character. He told the group about High Town and Low Town, though you were a little distracted by the city lights reflecting off the water.

   You squeezed into the backseat between Bucky and Sam.  The ride was tense with only the sound of your breaths in the small space.  Bucky stared straight ahead through the windshield even as motorcycles surrounded the car and escorted it the rest of the way.  The car dropped you all off near the club, and Zemo held out his hand to help you out of the vehicle.  He put an arm around your waist at a respectful level, but Bucky took one look and halted.

   “Okay, this isn’t going to work,” Bucky snapped.  Everyone’s eyes were on him.

   Sincerity was written all over Zemo’s features as he responded.  “I assure you, it will.” Suddenly, his eyes flickered with realization, though you glanced between the two men in confusion.  “I know you don’t trust me, James, and I understand your discomfort.  However, you are playing the part of the Winter Soldier.  It is best if she remains inconspicuous as my date.”

   “Wait, that’s what this is about?” Sam asked in disbelief.  “Who ________ pretends to date?”  Your eyes fell to the pavement.  The situation was already unpleasant.  The last thing you wanted was to bring confusing feelings into the mix while in the middle of an important mission.

   Bucky began to protest.  “No, I-”

   “Relax,” Sam said, holding up his hands to show he meant no offense.  “________, you can stay by me.  Smiling Tiger can have a date, right?”  He looked to Zemo for confirmation.

   “Excellent idea.”  He nodded in approval.  “Just remember to stay in character.  All of you.”  

(Link to Part 2)

[haztory]

OK BUT THAT'S ME BEING AN IDIOT HAHAHHAHAHAHAHA drabble/sfw JAHAHHAHAHAHAH DAMN

““You better catch that fucking bouquet, babe. Our relationship is on the line!” + “You wanna go toe to toe with me, pretty boy?” with Bokuto for the loveliest Clara! from my writing event that is now closed!

warnings: adult langauge and that’s it!

a/n: i answered her previous ask for the quotes so i’m just posting the drabble here! thank you for your patience my love!!! i hope you like it <33333

bokuto koutarou x f!reader; (fluff, all the fluff and wedding shenanigans)

Bokuto loves weddings. They’re truly his weak spot. Ask him to attend and he’s there an hour early, regardless of whether you’re his best friend or his cousin twice removed. The man lives for a wedding.

He loves the sentimentality of the ceremony that never fails to make him teary-eyed and oppositely, he loves the liveliness of the reception, half tempted every time to push the DJ aside and take over the mixing of music with a drink in his hand and a sloppy yell. He’s a vivacious mess of mixed moods and energy, but truthfully, he’s the best date anyone could ever ask for.

The best attendee too, considering almost everyone wants him to be a groomsman. He usually can never say no, but this time, it wasn’t even a question; Especially not for Hinata.

But above all, he loves that every wedding he attends grants him ample opportunity to enter into the sanctity of his fantasies and imagine his own.

“Did ya see him up there?!” Atsumu barks with a hard laugh, one hand clutching his whiskey and another his suit-clad chest, “He was cryin’ more than the groom!”

Met with the boastful laughs of his fellow team members, all gathered in a scattered circle by the bar, Bokuto jokingly pushes the blond on his left with a loud scoff and a faux-defense tone.

“I held it in!”

 “I heard you sniffling when Sho finally entered the venue,” Sakusa says, pointing a finger at Bokuto with the same hand that held his own alcoholic drink, “Don’t lie.”

 The group erupts into even more scattered laughter, that of which Bokuto finally joins in. His suit jacket has long since been abandoned, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows as he holds his hands up in surrender, “What can I say? I love weddings!”

Throwing an arm around his shoulders, Meian joyfully says from beside him, “At least we’ll know now how you’ll be at your own.” His eyes waggle in accompaniment and Bokuto feels his cheeks start to ache from the intensity of his smile. 

“We’ll bring extra tissues!”

Flustered to the core, Bokuto dips his head in abnormal shyness— the likes of which have the entirety of his friend group leaning forward in curiosity, their own interested smiles painted on their faces.

Fascinating as it may be to see the loud and boisterous wing spiker reduced to flushed cheeks at the mention of marriage, it doesn’t take much to figure out why; Even if they didn’t know him as well as they did, it was more than clear as to the reason when Bokuto’s own gaze tries to covertly dart to the side. That of which they all notice and blatantly follow. 

Stood beside the table of the bride, there you stood in all of your sheer elegance laughing with a number of the bridesmaids, blissfully unaware of a loving gaze that was drawn much too heavily to your turned figure. Focused on the way your dress shimmers in the dim lighting and the way you speak amongst the other guests, Bokuto feels locked in the trace of your magnanimous presence. Shyness dissipating quickly and replaced with the overwhelming flutter in his stomach.

And, not for the first time this night, he wonders briefly what it would be like if it were you walking down the aisle; If instead of the sheer, shimmery dress that adorned you beautifully, you were wearing a white one.

As he watched with exuberant joy as one of his closest friends married the one he loved, he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if this were his wedding. If it were you walking down the aisle to the ethereal orchestra with your closest friends and family in attendance, all watching with eager rapture at your astounding beauty as he surely would be. But none of them, not a single one of them could ever compare to the intensity of his own stupefied gaze.

He’s imagined the scenario too often, felt tears prick the corner of his eyes every time, and he grows more excited each time he’s fantasized. But nothing gives him more butterflies than the thought of interlocking his hand with yours, placing his ring of eternal promise on your third finger, and avidly vow forever with you.

It’s not like he needs a wedding to promise that; He sees his future every time he looks at you—even if you have your back turned to him and are chatting away unsuspectingly with the fellow attendees.

 But a wedding would be nice, he thinks.

“That’s if he can get married,” Atsumu mutters into his glass cup and takes a long drink of his whiskey.

Bokuto, interrupted from his loving stare at the back of your head, snaps his own head to the blond with the speed to break necks. Eyebrows furrowed, fantasy ruined, and full offense coating his syllables, he exclaims, “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly, Atsumu leans one elbow on the surface of the bar counter and swirls his drink around, “Ya keep sayin’ yer gonna do it, but how long’s it been? Seven, eight months? If you haven’t done it yet, yer not ever gonna.”

A quick flash of sternness settles into the eyes of their captain, his arm still wrapped around the shoulders of the slowly deflating wing spiker. “He’ll do it when he’s ready, Atsumu. There’s no need to rush something like that.”

Rolling his eyes, Sakusa chimes in from across the three men. Pointing his stare at Koutarou, who resembles a kicked puppy at this point, he sighs. Not one to expel too much effort in emotional comfort, he decides this one is worthy of some kind of attempt. Albeit a minimal one. 

 “Don’t listen to this idiot, Koutarou.”

“‘m jus’ sayin’. She won’t wait for long, man,” Atsumu shrugs his shoulders again, eyes flitting to his right. Out of the corner, Koutarou deflates even more— shoulders slumped and the corners of his mouth downturned noticeably. He huffs out a quiet laugh through his nose.

Step one, complete.

“Since when were you such an expert in what women want?” Sakusa snorts.

“I have experience, thank you very much!” 

“That’s hard to believe.”

Sticking his tongue out at Sakusa, he pointedly ignores the insult to his knowledge of the feminine desires and turns his attention to the subject matter at hand.

Atsumu knows what women, having dated quite a few in his years. More specifically, he knew what you want, considering one drunk evening you had wondered aloud— quite heartachingly in your alcoholic daze, he might add— if the boisterous wing spiker even wanted to marry you. Bokuto, in your words verbatim—

“He just always gets fidgety when I bring it up and I jus’ dunno if he even likes me anymore cause yesterday, he said that my dinner was just ‘okay’ when he always says that he really loves it. Do you know how that made me feel? How could he even want to marry me when I make just ‘okay’ food? Do you know how much he eats? How can he survive!”

And as the ever so loyal friend that Atsumu considers himself to be, who is never one to ever meddle in the business of others, decided it was only right of him to solve this slight problem himself.

By taunting Bokuto, of course. 

If only to make him take matters into his own hands and finally do what everyone has been waiting for. What he knew the poor man has been dying to do forever, considering he never shuts up about you.

And also, to finally have you stop drunk texting him, no matter how endearing he may find them to be.

“So,” Atsumu sings once more, ignoring the look of exasperation on Meian’s face and instead, zoning in on the face of despair before him, “what are ya waiting for?”

In his stupefied stare at the blond beside him, Bokuto finds his gaze once more being drawn back to your turned figure that stands right in his line of sight. Wearing that pretty dress that you face timed him to get his opinion on, smelling of sweet lavender and jasmine— his favorite perfume of yours— and the lip gloss that you begged him not to mess up. He didn’t listen, and truthfully, you hardly minded all that much.

What is he waiting for? He knows what he wants, so why hasn’t he done it yet?

What if you’re growing tired of how long he’s been waiting? What if you’re unhappy that your relationship hasn’t progressed to the next stage? Oh god, what if--

His mouth opens then closes, then opens once again, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “I… I don’t know.”

“Do ya want to marry her?”

Bokuto nods eagerly, as though through the action alone he could dispel of any lingering doubt that ever had the audacity to pervade his thoughts, “Of course! I don’t want to be with anyone else.”

“Ya think she’s gonna say ‘no’?”

Looking at his two other teammates, who each have their own curiosities piqued at the line of questioning, he shakes his head with finality.

“No. At least, I don’t think so.”

“Then ya just need a push!” Placing his drink on the counter, Atsumu slaps his hand on the man’s shoulder, “How about this: If yer girl catches the bouquet, ya rip the band-aid and ya ask her—”

Stepping in once more, Meian chimes, “Don’t push him to do something he’s not ready for—”

“I ain’t pushin’! He’s got the ring already, right?”

“You do?” All eyes fall onto Bokuto, who stares with widened innocent stare at each of them. He quickly shoves his hand into his pocket, pulling out his fist to reveal a velvet box in his hand. 

“I’ve been carrying it with me every day for the past six months. I just didn’t know if I should do it.”

Three pairs of eyes stare blankly at the man before them. Sharing a quick look at one another, the message is translated seamlessly between each of them and voiced eloquently by Meian himself. Ever the efficient captain.

“Holy shit.”

“My friend,” Atsumu laughs, squeezing his hand on the broad shoulder of his closest friend. His smile, innocent enough to the passing gaze, holds that twinge of mischief that Bokuto has come to know rather intimately; A taunting smile that has been directed his way one too many times that usually never ends well.

“I dare ya to propose to yer girl if she catches that bouquet. If yer really a man, that is.”

Bokuto’s eye twitches, his features narrowed at the utterance of the dare, and that’s how Atsumu knows he’s got him in the bag. It has his own smile widening even further, as Bokuto’s face scrunches in suspicion, knowing full well that he could never resist a dare.

With the single word alone, long gone is the hesitancy and doubt that plagued the man just a moment before, and instead stands a man tall in his ushering of competition. A man who thrives off the challenge, especially wherever his teammate presented one. It’s almost startling how quickly he sheds his mopey behavior and embraces his natural presence, which overwhelms and overpowers everyone around them. 

Step two, done.

“And if she doesn’t?” Bokuto asks, smugness filtering his words as he entertains the notion— silently accepts the provocation laid before him and drastically alters himself in order to successfully combat it. 

In order to win.

Spotting the glint of devilry that grows in strength in the narrowing of Bokuto’s eyes, Atsumu smirks and meets it with one of his own. He’s got him, hook, line, and sinker.

“Ya break up.”

Bokuto reels backward physically, shaken from the competitive trance and staring at the man in grotesque shock. The kind that almost borders anger and offense. Huffing a breath through his nose, he takes a step forward, away from the present comfort of Meian and almost in accusation.

“Are you trying to ruin my life, blondie? You trying to go toe to toe with me, pretty boy?”

Atsumu laughs, holding his hands up in defense, “I’m tryna get ya married, big guy!” Shoving his hands into his pockets, hardly phased by the proximity in which the large man has entrenched onto his space, he shrugs once more, “That is… if yer man enough to take it.”

“Deal,” Bokuto says without hesitation, both incredibly and not at all to the surprise of the other two men who have been silently watching from the sidelines. Like a sudden reset, the tension that resided stiffly in the shoulders of Bokuto rescinds, and replaced is the confident, joyous man. 

A man who looks as though he’s won easy money and then some. 

Smiling widely, Bokuto turns in his place and begins a bold strut away from his friends. In the direction of his beloved, “Excuuuse me, gentlemen. I’m going to go teach my lady how to catch a bouquet.”

Meian and Kiyoomi step to the side, allowing enough space for Bokuto to walk through with the hint of laughter in their small smiles. 

Spinning on his heel and pointing his thumb at his chest, Bokuto exclaims proudly, “This time tomorrow, I will be a married man!”

“One wedding at a time, Kou.” Meian laughs at the retreating man, who is beaming from head to toe.

“Better train ‘er good, big guy! Or else I might be the next one to propose to her!” Atsumu calls out as Bokuto gets closer and closer towards your turned figure.

“I’ll kill you!” He calls back, hearing the echoing laughter diminish as he finally steps beside you.

Turning from the conversation with one of the bridesmaids to the new presence, you shine beautifully upon recognizing who it is, and Bokuto feels his resolve grow almost stronger.

“Hi baby,” You coo, instinctually placing your hand into his and leaning up to place a kiss on his cheek when he quickly presents it to you, “Did you have fun with the boys?”

Wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer, he places his own kiss on your cheek, humming against the surface of the skin yet making no move to part from you. “Mhmm. Just missed you.”

You laugh, rubbing your hand on his arm, “You were only gone for a couple minutes, Kou.”

Trailing his lips downward, he nuzzles himself into your neck, inhaling deeply. Lavender and jasmine. His favorite scent.

The one he wants to smell for the rest of his life.

“Ten minutes is too long.”

If possible, he manages to pull you even tighter against him. Two strong arms wrapping around you, pulling your chest into his and squeezing you tightly. Lovingly and entirely too comforting. Home.

You return the embrace eagerly, holding him to you equally as tight, “You’re right. It was starting to get boring without you.”

His hand, warm and large against the small of your back, rubs the surface up and down before he pulls back slightly, if only to look at your face in its entirety and the lip gloss you have unfortunately reapplied.

“You’re gonna do the bouquet toss, right?”

You raise an eyebrow, “I usually do. Why?”

He glances to the side, avoiding your inquiring stare. He raises a hand from your waist, rubbing the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile, “Maybe we should go outside, and I can throw a couple of rocks at you. Just to practice your catching skills.”

“Kou— “

“Can’t have anyone disrespecting you on the floor, can we? We gotta let everyone know you’re a winner! Cause you’re my girl, and whoever disrespects you, disrespects me! You know? So, you better catch that fucking bouquet. I mean, our relationship is on the line, here!”

“Koutarou—” From the tone in which you say his name, he knows he’s not making any sense. You’re confused, incredibly so, and he can’t blame you. Truthfully, he doesn’t even know what he’s saying, only that he has a goal, and he has to make you see it without revealing himself entirely.

 “I mean, only if you want to. It just… means a lot to me, and I want you to say yes, because I love you. And if you win, I win in a lot of ways. And I want to win with you, for the rest of our lives.”

Realizing almost entirely too late that he was talking with duplicity that you have most certainly caught on towards, he decides there is a good place to stop talking entirely. Oh god, he’s such an idiot. What was he thinking? He can never hide anything from you!

If you couldn’t tell from the way he was talking in metaphors, you could most definitely see it from the way in which sweat beads at the top of his forehead.

Your eyes flicker from each of his, your warm palms cupping the sides of his face as you watch him with concern.

“Baby,” You breathe out, voice steady and calm as you watch his resolve slowly crack under your watchful stare, “Did you want to talk to me about something?”

He tried desperately to remind himself that he has a mission to accomplish, that there was a dare that Atsumu had challenged him to that he must complete—but it’s you. You’re the trump card, the weakness in his defense, his priority above all else. He could never hide anything from you because you would catch him in a quick minute. And truthfully, he doesn’t want to hide anything from you.

It was easy to hide the ring under the guise of waiting for the perfect time, a mental barrier that he could excuse as a good cause behind his hesitancy, but now that he’s accepted a dare that is forcing him to put his desires to immediate use, he can hardly wait for the bouquet toss to arrive.

He’s got to do it now. The time is right, it will never be more perfect. You look beautiful, you’re held tightly in his arms, and he’s never been more convinced of the fact that he loves you. Why has he even waited this long?

He has to do it—Atsumu be damned.

“Marry me.” 

**

Extra:

“You really think she’s going to catch it?” Meian asks Atsumu, as they both watch from afar the way Bokuto wraps himself around your body, nuzzling unabashedly into you.

Atsumu scoffs, “Hell no. Girl can’t catch fer shit.”

Furrowing his brows, Meian stares at the blond with intense confusion, “Then why did you—”

“Just had to plant the idea in his head. He’ll do it soon, jus’ give it a minute.”

The two watch you both silently, noticing the way in which Bokuto pulls away from you and starts to speak rapidly. Neither of them can hear what he’s saying, but they can see his lips moving. More importantly, can see the way in which you stare in perplexion.

Then finally, his lips stop moving and your hands cup his face. The setter and captain feel their breaths hitch and they both lean forward if only to see if they can read the wing spiker’s lips from where they stand.

They can. And from the way you respond with a laugh and an eager kiss, they know it worked.

Looking to Meian, Atsumu raises his brow with a smile, “Told ya!”

end note: to everyone who sent a request, it is on it’s way! i just don’t know the definition of a drabble and instead make 3k long fics, so that’s fun.