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amiedala · 3 years

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SOMETHING DEEPER

CHAPTER 3: Without Armor

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, violence

SUMMARY: “You’re an excellent leader. Tell me what to do.”

“Nova—”

“Prove it,” she whispers, her voice barely air. Her blood is pumping so heavily in her ears that her own words sound distorted, like they’re under a waterfall. “Show me you’re a good leader. Because I believe you are, but I know you have to prove it to believe it.”

“This isn’t what this place was made for.”

Nova stops, her forehead pressed against his. Everything in this strange arena is quiet except for their breathing, an urgent pulsing in the cold, dark night. “So fighting is sacred to Mandalorians,” she breathes, feeling the airlocks that keep Din’s helmet secure around his face hiss. He doesn’t move, letting her lift off his helmet, to have him without his armor. “You’re sacred to me. Every inch of you.”

If you're a newcomer, my fic "Something More" is the first installment of this story! <3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: hello hello my friends!!! this is where i offer a deep, massive apology for Chapter 3 coming out a week later than it was supposed to. i was traveling to visit my best friend who lives states away, then my family had a slew of emergencies and crises, then i was too drained with a flareup of pain to write a single word. writing SD is literally my happy place, and being forced to take an unplanned break was painful and hard. this chapter isn't as long as i wanted it to be (i'm so sorry for that as well!!!) but i think it's as fleshed out as i can get it, because, as usual, Big Things Are Coming. thank you so so much for being patient with me in my hasty, largely unexplained absence, and i hope you LOVE this week's chapter!! <3

Hoth really shouldn’t feel warm and welcoming. The climate is horrible, temperatures that drop to dangerous lows, the ice that breaks and shifts and opens into the gaping maw of the planet’s icy interior. It’s a wasteland, white-blind and horrible, but the small Rebel base located in the heart of the planet is enough to keep Nova’s heart anchored here, even when she’s parsecs away.

Landing Kicker isn’t an issue. The second they descend onto the landing pad, a small crew of the mechanics Nova spent most of her brief stint here with racing towards the underbelly. Nova waves at them, pointing over the noise at the makeshift patch on the mainline of fuel, and they nod, enclosing on the issue in a matter of seconds.

Din’s tense. Nova’s eyes roam over the silhouette of his impressive, taut body, knowing that most of what’s underneath the beskar is in fighting mode, ready to expel energy like a hurricane whenever he faces the opposition. He tilts the visor over at her, and Nova offers a tiny smile, her heart kicking an arrhythmic beat against her chest. She’s trying her best to not look relieved that she’s here and not on Mandalore, but she knows she’s a horrible liar and that her body is full of betrayal. When the airlock doors hiss open and the two of them are beckoned into the insulated hollow of the Rebel base, Wedge is there waiting. Behind him, like a silent sentinel, stands Bo-Katan, her owl-painted blue helmet obscuring the expression on her face.

“Rebel girl,” Wedge calls, and something cold in Nova’s heart thaws. His arms are strong and purposeful, and he envelops Din’s hand with that same warmth and vigor, nodding at him. Bo-Katan doesn’t move an inch, her pristine hands folded behind her back, every muscle in her body the same kind of tight and purposeful as Din’s are, Mandalorian strong. “Welcome back.”

“It’s—” Nova inhales, eyes flicking, uncertain, over at Bo-Katan, “good…to be back. I wish it was under better circumstances, but—”

“You’re Andromeda Maluev,” Bo-Katan interrupts, and the mention of her old name sends a spike straight through Nova’s chest, puncturing on scar tissue that’s never fully healed. “Aren’t you?”

Nova swallows, running her tongue over her bottom lip. “I was,” she answers, finally, voice far away and small. “Why do you ask?”

Bo-Katan gestures with her head, a tiny movement, and then she’s turning on her beskar heel to move towards the war room. Silently, Nova and Din follow behind her and Wedge, Nova’s heart still hammering, erratic. The space is smaller than the giant one on Mandalore, but because it’s empty except for the four of them, it seems massive. Dangerous. Lonely.

Nova steps up to the holotable, twisting her tongue behind her teeth, trying to remain calm. The mention of her old name, twice in less than a week, feels like shrapnel. It reminds her of everything she’s been running from for a decade—her parents’ deaths, Jacterr Calican, the Empire, the resurrected evil in the First Order—and it sits sourly in her stomach as Bo-Katan presses buttons on the holotable. When the image of Nova comes up—so much younger than she feels now, dark hair long against her back, her features glitched and glittering in the hologram projected towards the ceiling—she winces at it. Beneath her portrait, her name is written in Basic: ANDROMEDA MALUEV. AGE: 26. CRIMES: EVADING CAPTURE, MURDER, AIDING AND ABETTING CRIMINALS. It’s bold and terrifying and Nova can’t look away. The word MURDER, screaming at her in capital letters, is too much to bear. She swallows, throat dry, blood rushing in her ears. It’s such a dangerous, horrible thing that it takes Nova a minute to read anything beneath the portrait of a girl she hasn’t been in years, but when she finally gets past the roadblock—MURDER, MURDER, MURDER—she sees a price on her head.

“Five million credits?” she asks, her voice rocketing through three octaves in her disbelief. The word credits cracks down the middle, incredulous. She presses a hand to her mouth, flattening her fingers flush against her face, trying to steady herself. “Why—why is the bounty so high?”

“That’s not from the First Order,” Wedge starts, gently, but he’s interrupted by Bo-Katan’s knife of an arm, cutting up between him and Nova. She jabs a long, gloved finger at the script underneath Nova’s image and her bounty, and Nova blinks hard, trying to get her brain to focus on what the words say.

“Novalise,” Bo-Katan says, her voice clipped, “you’re wanted alive or dead. Do you see that?” She enunciates her point with her finger again, stabbing it on the shimmering blue words reflected in front of them. “This is from the fucking Guild.”

“Easy,” Din cuts in, the word hard in the air. He steps forward, knocking Bo-Katan’s angry hand out of where it’s shaking in Nova’s face. “Take it the fuck down, Bo-Katan, or I will do it for you.”

“The—Guild?” Nova asks, trying to make all of the moving parts fit right in her brain. “I—I don’t understand. The Bounty Hunters’ Guild? The one that Greef Karga runs? I—I’m wanted? Why?”

“You’re not,” Din interrupts, his voice clipped and intense. Nova shuffles to the side as Din steps towards the holotable, magnifying the strange text. “It’s not Karga’s Guild. And you,” he adds, shoulders tossed back, facing Bo-Katan, “had no right to yell at her with those theatrics. Save that for the enemy.”

Nova can’t see Bo-Katan’s face, hidden under the blue beskar of her helmet, but she knows that Bo-Katan is glaring daggers at the both of them. Nova swallows again, trying to keep her heart rate steady, her racing mind calm, but she just keeps seeing the word MURDER flash before her eyes. Din’s saying something else, and she can’t concentrate, turning her body away from the three of them, staring off at the ice that makes up every corner of this room, clear and dangerous. She closes her eyes—MURDER, MURDER, MURDER—and opens them again, just as rapidly.

Inhaling shakily, Nova starts counting the deaths she’s been responsible for on her long, shaking fingers. Her skin, usually so warm and radiant, is fallow and pallid in the low light. Her thumb sticks up first, wearing Jacterr’s name. It wasn’t intentional, she tries to console herself, but her hands are still quivering. It was an accident. She didn’t mean for the lightsaber to ignite. She didn’t even know she had the power to do that, let alone use it as a weapon. It was self-defense, killing him before he had the chance to kill her. And then there were all of the faceless troopers in the TIE fighters she shot at when trying to get out alive. For years, hordes of them, shooting back at them before they had the chance to blow her to smithereens or capture her for something worse. You’ve never shot first, Nova tries to reason with herself, eyes focused on the outline of her boots, old and worn, warm against the icy floor of the room she’s standing in. It was all self-defense.

Except, that tiny little voice in the back of her mind whispers, insidious and awful, you killed Xi’an all on your own. Nova’s heart hangs heavy in her chest, like it’s on trial. She tries to inhale, but there’s no air in this ridiculous ice block of a room, and everything is purple and wounded, the imprint of Xi’an’s cold, dead body embedded on the back of her eyelids. That could be argued as self-defense, too, Nova tries to rationalize, but the reminder of the bullet that hit her wicked body head-on is still so horrible in her head. Logically, Nova knows that the only reason that she shot and killed Xi’an was because Din would have died if it weren’t for that bullet, and that Xi’an hurt her husband in ways she’d never felt fully comfortable asking about, but it’s still a dead body on her hands. Her gorgeous, terrible, radiant, shaking hands.

“I g—I gotta go,” Nova mumbles, and then her feet are carrying her out of the war room, into the hallway. They’ve put up more insulation since the time she lived here for a few weeks, when Din and Grogu left her and the world stopped turning, but the recognition of it barely registers in Nova’s mind as she sprints through the empty hallways, picking up her feet so that they don’t tangle in the loose generator wires curled across the floor. It only takes a few more turns, and then she’s through the airlock, back out into the frozen climate of Hoth’s exterior, her heart hammering something horrible, her pulse erratic, her blood pressure high and dangerous. Slowly, she sinks onto the frozen ground, right outside of the door, pressing her bare hands into the snow, trying to calm anything back to its usual resting place.

It’s freezing out here. Nova’s still in her outfit from Ahch-To, and even though her pants are lightweight and the cold cuts straight through, she’s not getting wet from the snow. Her upper body is slightly warmer, fabric of her shirt protective, the shawl wound tightly over her shoulders, flapping slightly in the wind.

“Nova,” a voice behind her cuts through the silence, and Nova turns at the sound of her name, breath stuck somewhere between her chest and her mouth. Din’s standing there, tall and stately. “Are you okay?” he asks, and the timbre of his voice makes it very clear that he knows full well that she’s not okay.

“Why?” she manages, and then she’s being hauled to her feet, Din’s gloved hands warm and steady around her waist. “Why is there a bounty on my head—alive or dead?” She blinks against a loose lock of hair blowing in her face, and before she can react to it, Din’s already tucking it gently behind her ear. “I thought the Order wanted me—”

“I don’t know,” Din interrupts gently. “I don’t know why you have any of these charges on your head, or why there’s a bounty at all. Gideon and everyone we’ve interacted with associated with the First Order always insisted that you would work for them, not that you were to be eliminated. I don’t know who put the charges out there, but we’re going to fix it. I’m never going to let anyone touch you.”

Nova looks straight up at the visor, swaying slightly in the frosty breeze. Her head hurts. Her scar aches. The pressure that’s constantly blossoming on her shoulder blades feels incredibly heavy, and even though the wind is frozen through, it makes her heart burn for Ahch-To—its gorgeous greenness, its holy ground—and Nova just stares at her own, unhinged reflection in Din’s helmet.

Her teeth press down onto her bottom lip before she can muster up the strength to speak. One of Din’s gloved hands is pressed protectively against the small of her back, and the other is holding her right cheek, a fortification, a promise. Nova looks desperately into the visor, trying to see straight through to Din’s brown eyes. Her voice is barely there when she’s able to talk. “How?”

Bo-Katan’s helmet is off by the time Nova feels stable enough to walk back inside. The airlock door hisses shut behind them, and Wedge is the one that Nova catches first. He’s outfitted in his regular orange jumpsuit, but the spark that usually burns behind his eyes is replaced by a sadness that Nova’s never seen before. He offers her a small smile, beckoning into the room, but she knows his mind is racing just as quickly as hers is, and when she looks at the holotable, the horrible image of her isn’t projected anymore. She inhales once, exhales, and tries to coax her heart back to a normal rhythm.

“Novalise—”

“It’s okay,” Nova whispers, nodding in Bo-Katan’s direction without looking at her. “You—you were right to call us here. I’m just…” she trails off, a small glint of light catching the stone on her ring finger, and she sighs. “I was taken by surprise. That was—I wasn’t expecting it. I know the First Order wants me. I know that my…powers, however mysterious as they are, make me valuable, and that makes me dangerous. But I don’t understand who wants me dead if it’s not the people we’ve been running from for the last year.”

Bo-Katan steps forward, uncrossing her lean, muscled arms. Silently, she pulls up the shimmering holograms again, but this time, Nova’s bounty doesn’t come up. It’s not anything recognizable until Bo-Katan points to a blue, rotating sphere. “I think,” she finally says, her tone unreadable, “that whoever put this bounty up on you wants your face out there in a bigger capacity than what it already is. You’re known in the Alliance, obviously, and now you’re known on Mandalore.” She stabs her finger at the hologram of the planet, rotating in silence. “And you’re wanted by the First Order, for whatever horrible plans they have next. But whoever this other force is—”

Nova holds up a hand, and, miraculously, Bo-Katan stops talking. “They want me to be a martyr,” she whispers, and all three of them look over at her with various expressions of disbelief. Din’s face is still hidden underneath his helmet, but Nova knows exactly what the contours of his features look like right now. Wedge’s worry lines deepen, dark and troubled. Bo-Katan raises one sculpted eyebrow, but her eyes focus on Nova’s like she knows it’s the truth.

“What did Luke say?” Wedge asks, finally.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant right now,” Bo-Katan interjects, but Wedge holds up a hand. It’s so sharp in contrast to his usual easygoing demeanor that her mouth snaps back shut.

“Nova’s a Jedi,” Wedge continues, eyes drifting to the lightsaber hanging off her belt. “Or at least she’s going to be,” he amends, “so she’s rare. One of three still existing that I know of, so that makes her incredibly important. Luke has been off on his own the last few years, trying to piece back the history of the Jedi that got lost or erased in the war. And that’s the Skywalker family lightsaber she has right there,” Wedge continues, nodding again at Nova’s belt loop, “so I know she went to go see him. What did he say, rebel girl?” he asks again, and Nova exhales lowly through the tiny gap of her open mouth.

“He knows something is coming,” Nova manages, finally. “He wanted—he wanted me to stay and train. He’s trying to locate all of the remaining Jedi in the galaxy, to try and rebuild what got destroyed. And,” she continues, exhaling, “he told me that what died may not stay dead.”

“Well,” Bo-Katan interjects, huffing, “that’s incredibly cryptic and entirely unhelpful.”

“Don’t start,” Wedge snaps, an edge to his voice. “Did he mean Gideon?”

Nova slowly shakes her head. It’s the truth, even though, to Bo-Katan’s point, Luke was being cryptic when he gave her that particularly sage warning. It’s not Gideon. Luke was talking about something deeper. “No,” she whispers, finally. “He meant someone—or something—much worse.”

Bo-Katan raises another eyebrow, a scorn so distasteful it makes waves on her face. “Yet another cryptic and unhelpful point, Novalise.”

Din steps forward before the expression on Nova’s face even changes. Bo-Katan Kryze doesn’t cower much, but she sure as hell shrinks underneath Din’s stance. He’s all anger, electric wires running currents throughout his entire tense body. Even the beskar pales in comparison to his rage. His hand slips to his own waistline, and Bo-Katan’s startled eyes glaze over the Darksaber before she backs down.

Nova has no idea how to diffuse this situation. Maybe Din’s right, maybe she is an expert at getting out of things, but the mountain crushing down on top of her shoulders just keeps growing bigger and bigger. Soon, it’ll be the size of Mandalore, and then she’ll have two planets to try and keep balanced on her already aching back. Nova rubs at the sore spot between her eyebrows, trying to worry out the knot that’s been growing in intensity there.

Bo-Katan’s talking again. Nova registers it, faintly, in the back of her mind. She’s long since grown tired of running, but right now, all her legs want to do is make a break for it. She’s exhausted and frozen in place and so unsteady on her feet. All Nova craves right now, this very second, is to lay back down in the piles of frigid snow outside and let it cool down her body right to the core. Din’s voice is angry, direct, curling in waves through the modulator, and when Nova whips back around to face the three of them, somehow, miraculously, they all grow silent.

“They want me to be a martyr,” Nova repeats, her voice barely anything in the chill of the chamber. Wedge’s thick eyebrow raises, his careful eyes searching over her face, trying to find her angle. “I’m not going to be. But I’m also not going to sit and wait on Mandalore for them to come find me, whoever they are. I’m not going to make it easy for them. Besides,” she finishes, eyes locking on Din’s, even under the obscurity of his helmet, “I’m a Rebel. Laying low isn’t in my blood.”

“Maybe,” Bo-Katan says, and there’s a razor’s edge to her already sharp voice. Something is wrong, Nova knows that, because underneath all of that icy venom, there’s a tremble that ricochets through her words. “But you’re forgetting something. You aren’t just a Rebel anymore. You’re the queen of a planet—”

“I’m a figurehead,” Nova spits back, exasperated. Maker above, her head is seriously killing her. Somewhere, distantly, she aches for the quiet crush of hyperspace, the dazzle, the glimmer, the flair of it all. Out there, running didn’t feel like running. And out there, home actually felt like home. “I’m nothing. I’m married to the Mand’alor, that’s it. I don’t rule. I don’t interact with anybody but the two of you. I wear Mandalore colored clothes, sometimes I’m in the war room, but most of the time, I’m staring up at the sky, and I can’t see the stars. I cannot see,” she continues, her voice unhinging into something desperate, “a single star from the planet’s surface. Bo-Katan, Mandalore is a ghost town. There’s only a handful of people left. Why did you battle Din for power in the first place,” she finishes, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, “if this was all that it was for?”

The room is silent. Nova can barely see straight, her eyes burning with the tears she’s trying to hold back. Bo-Katan looks like she’s been wounded—not pissed off, not royally wronged—wounded. Hurt. It’s written in the fracture lines of her face, and even though she’s been cold and hostile and a pain in everyone’s asses, Nova aches knowing she put them there. “Because,” Bo-Katan says, finally, and her voice isn’t icy anymore. It’s flat. Monotonous. “I love Mandalore. And I wanted something more.”

Nova inhales shakily, letting her shoulders round, clutching her arms around herself. The shawl wrapped around her upper body has fallen down to her shoulders, her loose hair flying in curls around her face. She’s exhausted. Behind her, she can feel Din stepping forward, his presence like a locus, an orbiting star. She staggers backward, mouth struck open, unable to conjure any words to fix this. “Bo-Katan—”

“Maybe I was wrong,” Bo-Katan interrupts, and her regular permafrost is back. “Maybe I was wrong about you. You’re right. You’re not a ruler. You’re a figurehead, Andromeda.” Nova recoils as if Bo-Katan slapped her. Slapping her would be better, actually, because the gut punch that comes with the stab of her old name is almost too much to bear. “And you’re sure as hell not a Mandalorian.”

Nova closes her eyes at the impact, but Din shoves his body forward, the whoosh of the Darksaber igniting in his hand before Nova can react. When she finally opens them, Din is standing like the warrior he is, like the bounty hunter he used to be. The horrible, flickering blade is up in front of Bo-Katan, an inch from her throat.

“I agreed to do this job because you insisted. I only promised to follow through if you were in my corner.” Din’s hand doesn’t waver once. Nova watches, horrified, as the terrible blade crackles and hisses in the low, cold light. “You intentionally disrespecting my wife is the opposite of being in my corner. If you ever,” he continues, and Nova can hear the grit of his teeth through the modulator, “use that name to refer to her again, those words will be your last. Do you understand me?”

Bo-Katan stares up at him, all malice. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Believe me,” Din spits, voice even and dangerous, “you haven’t been burned by me yet.”

Finally, she steps down, jutting her chin downward in a very reluctant nod. “Maybe you’re not a Mandalorian,” she concedes, staring back at Nova. Nova’s frozen to the spot, arms hugged tightly against her chest, knees shaking from the proverbial impact, “but Mandalore is still your home. For now, at least. And until we figure out who’s after you, that’s where you’ll stay. No Rebel missions. No alone time out in the stars.” She stares up at Din. “You wanted me in your corner? Fine. But your corner is on Mandalore, and Mandalore only.”

“I can’t do that,” Nova manages, quietly, her teeth aching in her mouth. “I need to train, Bo-Katan, I—I need to go see Grogu, I’m a commander in the Alliance, I cannot be grounded on a planet indefinitely, not with the entire galaxy on the brink of another war, not while there are two groups of people who want me dead or to be their slave—”

“Your home,” Bo-Katan interjects, her eyes dangerous behind her solid voice, “is on Mandalore now. What better place to protect you than a planet full of born and bred warriors?”

Nova’s heart is in her throat. It aches, pulsing and twisting and waning, like she has a knife lodged in her esophagus. “I can’t stay there indefinitely, I—I’m a Jedi—”

“No,” Bo-Katan interrupts again, “you are not. Not yet, and not until we figure out what danger the Order and these bounty hunters are to the rules of Mandalore. Besides,” she tacks on, leaning back on her heels, “Mandalorians and Jedi do not get along.” Her glance that flickers over to Din’s intimidating, awful silhouette, the Darksaber a ruthless weapon in his capable hands, is the only thing that gives away all the fear she’s tucked away under all that venom.

“Ahsoka Tano,” Nova manages, and something painful runs through the hard lines on Bo-Katan’s face. “You led us to Ahsoka. So no matter what you’re telling us right now, I know that you get along with at least one Jedi better than you think.”

Bo-Katan stares back at her. For a horrible beat, nobody breathes. Nova’s almost forgotten Wedge is still in the room until he lets out a quiet, exhausted sigh. “We’re going back to Mandalore. Wedge will run the Rebel operation from here, with people who aren’t responsible for a planet and the next collective fight of the galaxy. You leave Mandalore,” she says, and this time her gaze is trained expertly on Din’s visor, “you’re on your own.”

“Stop,” Wedge says, finally, and the singular word shatters through the tension, bringing everything down to the icy floor in one fell swoop. “Stop it. You,” he says, pointing at Bo-Katan, “were in here less than a month ago talking about unity, wanting to build something better, to protect the galaxy. I never thought we’d be close friends, Bo-Katan, but I at least thought you were on our side.” He lets the intention hang there, before turning to Din. “You are an incredible warrior, Din. I think Nova was right about you being a good leader. I think you have great potential. But I’ve seen power easily go sideways, and if you keep fighting against your own, you’re going to end up in another war. And you,” he enunciates heavily, turning on Nova, “you’re the best person I know. Kindest heart I’ve ever seen, except maybe for Luke. You’re an incredible pilot, a fantastic Rebel, and I don’t doubt for a second that you can save the galaxy from whatever evil it brings. But you’re not immortal, Nova. You’re not a saint, or a god, or anything bigger than a human being. Bo-Katan is right about one thing, and that’s you being in danger. They want you to be a martyr? Don’t let them make that a reality.” He pauses, and there’s something ancient in his eyes. “Go back to Mandalore. Work with each other, in whatever capacity that means. And when the three of you realize that we’re all in this together, no matter what threat we’re facing next, then you get to call the shots again.” He lets that hang in the air too, and it’s so heavy with genuine care, Nova’ heart breaks over itself again. “And I don’t make a habit of saying this, but may the Force be with us all.” His gaze roams over the three of them again, and Nova swallows, nodding against Wedge’s words. “We’re certainly going to need it.”

Mandalore is deadly and quiet.

It doesn’t welcome the three of them back in open arms. Bo-Katan’s ship is so much sleeker than Kicker, but Nova revels in the groan and tumble her starfighter makes when it touches down on cool, ashy earth. Her teeth are still shaking in her mouth. She has a headache, one she can feel in her jaw, right down to the bone. No one has spoken since Wedge gave his rebel rousing speech back on Hoth, and Nova knows that nothing she can manage can top that one. She’s silent in her flying, her disembarking. Slowly, she and Din trail Bo-Katan up the marble steps of the palace, and Nova can barely remember to offer her usual smile at the guards before the tall, impressive doors snap shut.

“I meant what I said,” Bo-Katan offers, finally, and there’s a wicked set in her jaw. “I can’t protect you out there. Mandalore is my home. I’m not abandoning this planet to run after the two of you and your masochistic need to save the galaxy. It’s been through enough, and I’m not going to let either of you ruin that. I meant it.”

Nova stares at her. She wants to snap back, to repeat what Wedge said, to shake some sense into Bo-Katan’s tense shoulders, but she doesn’t. She left all of her vitriol and fire back on Hoth, and she’s so incredibly tired. It’s nearly impossible to remember that DIn only took the throne a little over two weeks ago, that the ragtag group of their collected rebel fighters seemed so confident that they could stop the First Order, take down the evil lurking there, and restore peace to the galaxy. “So did I,” Nova whispers, finally, and Bo-Katan blinks uncharacteristically, a tiny slip in her usual armor before she opens her mouth again.

“We’ll talk more about this tomorrow,” Bo-Katan allows, and then she turns on her beskar heel and walks off somewhere in the dark haunt of the castle, her steps receding into nothing but dread.

Nova’s scar hurts. These days, it always seems to hurt, this horrible sucking wound that still aches, an aftershock of a trauma long gone. She sighs, long and heavy, wanting to sink into bed for a day or two and sleep all this responsibility off. She wants to be back up there in the stars, moving from planet to planet with purpose. She wants to use the lightsaber hanging from her belt. She wants to hug Grogu to her chest, to feel his tiny green body give off that special kind of warmth. She wants to lay with Din without armor, the rest of the world falling away.

When she finally manages to pull her heavy head up, Din is staring at Nova in the silence. There’s only a small strike of moonlight cutting across the strange, blue floor. He’s still wearing his helmet, but she can practically cut straight through the shield by the way she can feel his eyes piercing hers. This aches, too, such small hurts that accumulate across the map of her body.

“Come with me,” he says, finally, and when he reaches out his familiar, steady hand, she takes it.

It’s quiet in the palace, as per usual, but something about the moon striking through the windows as they move through the empty halls feels loud and haunting. Quietly, Din and Nova walk, hand in hand, past the throne room, past the staircase that leads to their massive bedroom, into the maze of corridors in the yawning belly of the beast. The amphitheatre is massive, something holy in its own right. Mandalorians treat battle like it’s divine, and the giant stadium built into their palace is made of marble and blue stone, the sky open and glittering above the arena.

“Why are we here?” Nova asks, finally, breaking the silence holding the both of them captive.

“Because,” Din answers, his voice level, leading her to the center of the ring, “this is where I won the Darksaber.”

Nova raises a dark eyebrow at him, and even though Din’s face is still obscured by the helmet, she can feel his face softening. “I know, mighty Mand’alor,” she deadpans, her own voice gentle, “I was there for the fight of the century, remember?”

“Stop it,” he interjects, but there’s no venom in his tone. She smiles, relaxing slightly, letting her aching shoulders drop. “I meant this is where it started. When we stood here, you said you thought I could be a good ruler. A fair one. Someone people would listen to.”

“I still think that,” she echoes, and Din’s fingers flutter over the makeshift hood of her shawl, dropping the blue fabric so that her hair falls loose. There shouldn’t be a breeze in here, but something rustles Nova’s long curls, letting them spiral over her right shoulder. “Actually, I know it—”

“I’m not,” Din interrupts, and Nova watches his movements, how calculated they are, how he’s pacing back and forth in the pit around her. It’s empty in here except for the two of them, but there’s some strange sense of exhibition, as if they’re being watched. “I’m not a good leader, Nova, because I’m not a leader. Bo-Katan told me Mandalore doesn’t take kindly to outsiders, but you were right earlier. This place is a ghost town. Besides the people who live and work in the palace, I’ve never seen anyone in the village. I’ve spent hours in the war room just looking at the maps, trying to figure out where all of the Mandalorians are.” He sighs, and Nova chances a half-step forward. “There aren’t any. They’ve either fled, been killed, or have left Mandalore to hide on other planets, like my covert.”

“Din,” Nova starts, but when he holds up a single gloved hand, the words die on her tongue.

“There’s nothing here left to rule,” he says, finally, like the words are both an incredible burden and the truth that sets him free. “Mandalore is gone. Whatever it used to be, whoever used to live here, what we see is all that’s left. Maybe I am meant to rule this planet full of nobody, I don’t know. Maybe this is some sort of strange...riddle that I can’t figure out. But I can’t understand why it’s so imperative for the two of us to step into these roles, to follow rules that make no sense, to try and be a leader for a planet that’s barely anything.”

Nova stares at him. A small smile winges across her lips before she even realizes why. “You don’t want to stay here,” she whispers, which is an echo of the same sentiment she’s been saying for weeks, but this time it feels like the truth laid bare. “You want to be where the fight is.”

Din’s quiet. His shoulders are still rigid. “I don’t run from things.”

“True.” Nova steps another foot towards him, her head cocked to the side, trying to puzzle out what’s happening in his head without seeing a glimpse of his face. “That’s usually my M.O.”

“Stop it,” Din whispers, but there’s no fire left in his voice. Nova studies him—his stature, his stance, the Darksaber hanging off his hip, the proverbial crown balanced over his helmet—but there’s nothing hardened there, nothing sharp, regardless of how regal he is, how his presence cuts through every room like a knife. When she’s finally close enough to touch him, her hands immediately go to his helmet, pressing her palms against the smooth, cold beskar, an invitation and a question all at once. “Novalise,” he tries, and her name sounds like something more, something deeper, something holy. Quietly, she presses her body against his, letting the coolness of the armor heat up against the soft curves of her skin. “We can’t do this in here—”

“You’re the one,” she breathes, hooking her fingers under the rim of the helmet, “who said this is our place to desecrate.”

Din’s breath comes out sharp and wicked, like he’s been impaled on her words. “And I meant it then,” he manages, as she starts to pull his helmet off, “but now all I want to do is be back out there in the stars. Not be this figurehead. Not being the leader of a dozen people who all hate my guts and want to slaughter me for the throne.”

“You are a leader,” Nova continues, pressing her body closer to his. Even through the armor, she can feel him harden against her touch, stiffening against her trousers, a sign that she’s pushing the both of them closer and closer to the edge. “You’re an excellent leader. Tell me what to do.”

“Nova—”

“This isn’t what this place was made for.”

The sound that erupts from Din’s mouth is even more wicked as the modulator cuts off in the middle of it. Nova pulls the rest of the helmet off of his face, her eyes roaming over every single pore, trying to memorize the way he’s staring at her, half-frenzied, his eyes fluttering somewhere between pleasure and pain.

“Novalise.” Her name still sounds like a prayer. Nova doesn’t break Din’s eye contact, just drops the helmet with a clatter against the floor. It’s loud, deafening almost, but he doesn’t flinch at the sound. “You can’t say things like that to me—”

“Then stop me,” Nova counters. Her heart is hammering. She’s being a brat, she knows she is, a whiny, wheedling baby that only wants one thing, but she can’t help herself. Din’s gloved hand closes around her wrist, squeezing lightly, and even though it makes her heart skip a beat, she’s unhinged and dangerous right now. Silently, she unhinges his hand from where it’s gripping her arm and places Din’s fingers against her throat, leaning into his touch, eyes wide, inviting. “I know you. I know what you want. I know that I made a Rebel out of you, Mand’alor, but I also know that when you give people orders, they’re helpless to do anything other than follow them. You can have whatever you want. You just have to prove it.”

His eyes glint for just a moment. It’s in a flash, over almost as soon as it starts, just a nanosecond, but something glittering and dangerous sparks up behind Din’s measured brown eyes, and Nova barely has time to inhale before his grips tightens around her throat, his other hand anchoring her hips in place. It’s an exact replica of the way he’s held her a million times, but his touch still feels brand new. “I want you.”

Everything stops existing. The war, the ghost town of a planet they’re supposed to rule, the First Order, the insidious war that’s gearing up in the underbelly of the galaxy. The pressure for Din to be a ruler, the urgency of Nova becoming a Jedi, every single piece of their lives fall away. It’s devastating and divine, vivid and vivacious. “Then take me,” Nova breathes, feeling Din harden against her leg, hot and heavy even through her pant leg and the beskar that’s protecting him. “Take me, but do it without armor.”

He stares at her, just for a second, and despite knowing that she has her husband wrapped around her pinky finger, Nova’s own eyes widen, heartbeat quickening, worried she took it a step too far. When Din’s hands disappear from her body, a panicked apology is already trying to hurtle its way out of her mouth, but Din doesn’t break eye contact. His hands pull the armor off of his body, letting each piece clatter at his feet like it’s nothing. Nova’s breath has barely been returned to her lungs by the time that Din’s finished undressing, standing in front of her with nothing but his underclothes, Mandalorian blue, and then he slams himself into her, knocking both of them back a few steps with the centrifugal force. Her knees buckle as she lets herself be swept away, wind knocked right back out through the hollow of her open mouth, Din’s hands purposeful and intentional.

Nova’s pretty sure she’s seen Din this vibrant before, this full of desire, but the way he devours her means something deeper. It’s desperate, and yearning, and haunting, leaving his mark all over her body to be worn as a prize later. His lips trail down her jaw, his teeth sinking into her skin, tongue licking out a symphony on the pulse points he’s expertly mapped over the last year. “Din,” she manages, before his name is sucked straight out of her mouth, and his hands twist and writhe underneath the clothes she’s wearing.

Almost as immediately as he started, his mouth disappears. Nova’s eyes flutter open, trying to find where Din retracted himself to, and his large hands, suddenly bare of the gloves he was wearing just a second ago, grasp onto her face. She inhales sharply as he grabs her, the force of his grip puckering her lips up. Nova feels like putty in his hands, like she’s buzzing. “You want me without armor, cyar’ika?” he asks. Din’s voice is so low, it rumbles straight through her, everything between her legs a hurricane. “You want me to be a ruler?”

Wordlessly Nova nods, trying to coax air back into her lungs. “Yes,” she manages.

There’s something torrential in the low blaze of Din’s eyes. Nova thinks she’s still standing, that he’s keeping her upright, but honestly, she can’t tell. The only thing she’s focused on is the darkened outline of his gorgeous face, the flash of his eyes. “Then I want you like that, too,” Din breathes, yanking the shawl right off of her shoulder. Nova’s hair springs out from underneath it, ricocheting against her face as Din grasps her cheeks, pulling her forehead against his. “No armor. Submissive to what I say.”

Nova gasps, nodding against Din’s touch, and when he tears her clothes off of her, she doesn’t even try to tell him she needs them intact. It’s just fabric. It doesn’t matter, not when his hands can burn against her. When they sink down to the floor of the amphitheatre, kissing so hard their teeth knock together, nothing else exists anymore. It’s just Nova and Din and the stars they’re under, just like always.

The ground is cold against her back, but the second Din pulls his pants down and gets on top of her, the chill is immediately forgotten. Nova stares up at Din, trying to map every single inch of his face, even though she’s already memorized it, even though he’s shown it to the rest of the planet, it still feels so incredibly divine. He’s inhaling sharply, and when she flutters his eyelashes up at him, she nods. Permission. It’s just a second, wordless, but he understands. Usually, Nova wants foreplay, to be kissed, to have every single inch of her body blessed by the man she loves, but that’s not necessary tonight. When he pushes inside of her, hard and warm and huge, she gasps against the pressure. It’s devastating. It’s perfect. It’s hot and heavy and loud, and the force of how Din’s fucking her makes her head slam back agaisnt the floor. Before she can mutter a single word, one of his hands comes up underneath her skull, creating a barrier against Nova and the marble. She lifts her hips, locking her ankles around Din, trying to keep herself in the place he needs her, eyes rolling back in her head.

Somewhere, something devious whispers to her that she’s being used, but right now, Nova doesn’t even care. Every inch of her body is screaming out for Din’s, and every place where he’s touching her feels sacred, complete.

“Nova,” he whispers, and she’s a hymn, a prayer, something deeper than herself in this strange, makeshift place of worship. She wants to talk, to reassure him that she’s here, but then Din’s mouth is back against her lips, ravenous, unyielding. It’s everything. It’s dark in here, and still eerily quiet, and for the first time, she’s unabashed about filling this space up with their noise. It feels like a rite of passage, something divine, especially when Din licks his vows into her mouth, murmuring in Mando’a, swearing in Basic, and his other hand finds the curve of Nova’s hips, lifting her up so he can fuck deeper into her. Suddenly, every single insidious thought evaporates, her hand fluttering down across her stomach to reach her clit.

“Din,” she manages, breathy and disconnected, and immediately, his expert hand knocks hers away, replacing her touch with vigor. Before Nova even has a chance to adjust to his pressure, he’s pushing her over the edge, her oragasm quick and loud, deafening and ecstatic.

“Wait for me,” he grunts, his mouth back on her neck, and Nova’s eyes are flooding with collapsing stars, her ears buzzing, and she wants to apologize that she’s beating him there but when he’s touching her like that, she doesn’t even care. But then Din breaks away from her, angling his hips to slam deeper and deeper into Nova, and his lips tear off her neck, knocking their foreheads together. “Now,” he orders, and his voice is low and commanding, and that alone sends Nova through the roof.

Din grunts as he’s about to cum, writhes into her like it’s the last time that he’ll ever get to touch her. Usually, he pulls out soon afterward, rolls over on his back beside her, but tonight, he just grabs onto Nova’s jaw and stays pulsing in her. Every time his cock twitches with the aftershock, it extends Nova’s own orgasm, and she lets herself be held there, not wanting to move.

“I could,” she starts, panting.

“Stay here forever,” Din finishes, his voice barely anything at all. “I know.”

For what feels like lightyears, they stay together, a tangle of limbs and warmth, trying to catch their collective breaths. Slowly, the rest of the world filters back in, and the quiet, starry darkness of the amphitheatre doesn’t feel desecrated. It feels used, for something better than it was designed for, at that, and Nova feels her heartbeat pound down to a regular rhythm before she lets Din lay down beside her, both of them exhausted, staring up at the ceiling.

“I meant it,” Nova finally says, closing her eyes to feel the hum of her own voice in her throat. One hand is tracing the outline of her scar, the other is tangled up in the discarded shawl that Din thankfully did not eviscerate. “When I said you were a good leader. I think you’re a great one, Din Djarin, and even though I want to be out there.” Nova trails off, gesturing at the ceiling painted with stars, “if staying put means you get to do that, I’ll stay right here. I’ll be a Mandalorian.”

Din’s quiet. Nova doesn’t dare to move, because she knows the significance of what she just said, the crushing weight of it. “I meant it, too,” he whispers, finally. “When I said I’d follow you anywhere.”

Nova inhales sharply, finally turning her head to search her husband’s eyes. “I know,” she murmurs, eyebrows furrowing down the middle. “And I believe you. But what do you want?”

Din’s face is entirely unreadable. Nova counts the beats of her heart as they sit there in the silence, trying to encourage him without saying a single thing.

“You.”

Nova inhales, wetting her mouth with her tongue. “What else do you want?”

Din stares at her, moving only to press the open palm of his bare hand against her cheek. “I want you without armor, too,” he whispers, and then pulls both of them to their feet. Nova knows there’s more to that sentence, but she’s fighting sleep, and she doesn’t want to put pressure on more points than either of them can take. Wordlessly, they redress, and Nova follows Din out of the eerie amphitheatre, out of the maze of tunnels, back to the first floor where the giant war room sits, beskar throne impenetrable at the highest point. She wraps her shawl tighter around ehr shoulders, all the warmth that sex gave them blown away by the startling reality of the situation. Without a word, Din presses the ignition to the holotable, and the strange, blue, fractured image of Nova ten years ago illuminates.

She inhales sharply, her old reflection a sucker punch. Din grabs her hand, and Nova squeezes it, trying to stare at herself head on, without flinching.

“I want to kill off Andromeda Maluev and everyone who’s after her,” Din breathes, his voice so much louder without the barrier of the helmet and the modulator. “I don’t want to rule this planet and ignore the war that’s coming while there are people out there who want you.”

“Din—”

“Listen to me,” Din whispers, grabbing Nova’s face in his hands, and she turns away from her painful reflection, letting him become the only thing she orbits, even if it’s only for a second, even if it’s only for now. “You are Novalise Djarin. I’m not going to let anyone take that away from you.”

Nova’s green eyes flood with tears. Above them, above the mist and fog and haze that hangs over Mandalore like an omen, her stars are sparkling and clear. She inhales, focusing her blurry gaze on her husband, something concrete, something real. “What does that mean?” she whispers, and Din’s right hand goes to her right hip, purposefully knocking into the Skywalker family lightsaber, and Nova’s sharp inhale comes out stuttered.

Din’s eyes are a promise, a prayer. His bare hand smoothes back over her cheek, and something dangerous and pulsing inside of Nova suddenly quiets. “It means,” he says, guiding her own hand down to the weapon hanging from her hip, “that we do what Mandalorians do best. We’ll take it one day at a time,” he continues, and Nova nods, “but we’re going do what we do best. All of us.”

“What are you—?”

“I’m saying,” Din sighs, pointing up through the domed ceiling, and Nova strains her eyes to look through the clouds to the stars above, pulsing and flickering with the promises they’ve made to each other, “that Bo-Katan is going to protect Mandalore, Luke is going to train our kid, Boba and Fennec are going to avenge, Cara’s going to forcefully keep the peace, Karga’s going to figure out who put the bounty on your head, Wedge is going to rally the troops, and you and I are going to save the galaxy.”

There’s a smile on Nova’s face before can register everything Din’s saying. “Din—”

“You’re the only one who gets me without armor,” Din whispers into her ear, and Nova feels the giant door sliding open behind them. She’s going to turn around to yell at Bo-Katan that it’s not the morning yet, and that she just wants one tiny minute of happiness before returning to the weight pressing down on all of their shoulders, but multiple voices filter into the throne room, and Nova lets Din pull her up the steps onto the dais, watching as the space fills up with the people who still make up Mandalore. Bo-Katan raises her chin at them, but something’s replaced the fear and vitriol in her eyes. Din lets his helmet clatter on the floor, the noise loud enough for the rest of the hushed noise in the room to fall quiet. Nova swallows, staring out to the scene of people gathered in front of them, trying to look like a leader, like someone trustworthy. “We’re going to fight,” Din promises, his voice full and honest, a vow, and then he turns to face the people he rules in the center of the room. “Let’s get started.”

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xoxo, amelie

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bratkook · 4 years

Text

clairvoyant. (m) part five.

masterlist.

word count: 6.4k

author’s note: wow i finally dug out my drafts and wrote another chapter for this even though its been two fucking years!!! im honestly writing this for myself because im bored and in a rut so if you read it tysm. also finally decided who it’ll be centered around so enjoy.

warnings: just good ole fashioned dry humping and kissing

Everyone around you was saying their goodbyes, thanking everyone for working so hard and you took that as your cue to start gathering the equipment up.

“Thanks Y/N, just take that to the storage room.” The photographer you and Yoongi were currently assisting pointed out to the far right. You nodded in understanding before unhooking all of the lights and tearing them down properly. A few people lingered behind, makeup artists gathering their supplies, wardrobe crew grabbing a few more snacks off the catering table, and Yoongi rolling up the white backdrop.

It was your first day on the job and it just so happened to land on a shoot day so you were trying your best to make a good first impression so they wouldn't fire you before you even really started.��

So far everyone had been very welcoming and kind, no one yelling at you if you messed up a little so that got rid of your jitters. It felt nice to be able to work where you knew you could network and learn, the only photography experience you had at your old job was taking shitty pictures of the drunken idiots lying around near closing.

“So how’d you like your first assisting job?”

You looked to the left and saw Yoongi standing at the door frame of the storage room, a smile on his face and his hands holding the folded backdrop.

“It was great, seems like kind of a tease though because tomorrow we’ll be doing basic retouching on photos.”

He just shrugged after setting what he was holding down, “True, we get quite a few of these shoots though so make a good impression and someone might take you under their wing.”

You sighed as you locked the lights securely into place. Being taken under someone's wing before you finished school would be a blessing because it almost guaranteed a decent job after school was over and you were tossed into the great unknown of an art degree holding college graduate.

“Thats what I’m hoping for.”

The both of you rechecked everything was in its place and secure before turning the light off and locking up the storage room. Due to the fact the shoot day extended longer than a typical shift you were being paid overtime and let off once everything wrapped so you and Yoongi were headed to the nearest restaurant to get actual food in your system.

Your scarf was wrapped around your neck snuggly to protect from the cold wind and Yoongi draped his arm around your shoulder as you both casually walked. In this split moment you felt content, a slight feeling of everything starting to fall into place and you let yourself bask in it.

“What's got you all smiley?”

Yoongi looked at you with a small grin, his eyes focusing on your wide smile before shifting back up to your own eyes.

You just shrugged before playfully tugging his black beanie down over his eyes, earning a grunt of annoyance as he shoved it back up. “I’m just happy.”

“Are you usually not?”

There was a beat of silence as you thought it through.

“It’s not that I’m not, I’m usually just...living through it?”

He nodded in understanding, “I get you. Kind of just going through routine motions without really feeling much.”

A white cloud left your mouth in a huff as you sighed in agreement, “Exactly, don’t get me wrong there’s little tidbits of happiness scattered throughout but they’re just moments of happiness that pass as quickly as they happen. It’s been a while since I’ve felt happiness for the future and its exciting.”

You looked back over at him, seeing him nod because he fully understood. He was on the same boat as you, his parents much like yours weren’t supportive of his choice to pursue an art degree so you guys were scraping by and holding on to any thread of hope that popped up. The pair of you were just hoping everything would work out.

“Anyways, enough with the semi depressive reality check. I’m hungry and there’s this new korean barbecue place that opened up a few blocks away. Wanna text everyone and meet up for a nice family dinner.” He chuckled at the end of that, and you joined in light heartedly before whipping your phone out and sending out a group text simply saying “Korean bbq, don't be a bitch and meet here in fifteen.”

Low and behold, your group of friends were indeed not bitches, they all showed up as punctual as you would expect of them and they even brought along a straggler. This straggler went by the name of Jeon Jungkook and you couldn’t help but look at him with a smile, just seeing him trail behind Taehyung with his head slightly dipped almost like he was unsure if him being there was okay. Taehyung on the other hand paid him no mind and just waltzed in, his denim clad arms outstretched and a boxy smile on display as he approached the table you all sat around.

Him and Jungkook were the last to arrive so Tae decided to slip into the seat beside you, but not before slotting his lips against yours in a chaste kiss that seemed too casual. Like usual no one said anything and you just rolled your eyes with a smile and shoved his shoulder before redirecting your attention to Yoongi who was the master meat cooker.

Jungkook saw the small exchange and his want for coaching, as you so put it, was back. He wanted that, whatever the fuck that was that you and Tae had. Fuck, did that make him a typical fuckboy? Did this go against his morals of being a gentleman?

You had reassured him that it was fine as long as he was straightforward with whoever it involved and he had already set his eyes on someone. Now it was just a waiting game on if Jisoo the cute barista would be for it or not.

“Jungkook sit down!”

The resemblance to a deer caught in headlights was uncanny as he stared at you, realizing he had just been standing behind the only available chair as everyone stared back at him with their own food set up in front of them already.

“Oh, sorry.” His hands came up and ruffled his own hair in embarrassment before he sat down, “Just a little distracted”

Taehyung slid over an empty plate and pointed his chopsticks at him, “He’s been like this for a couple of days, what’s your deal?”

Everyone’s attention was back on Jungkook, including your own. His cheeks reddened slightly from all the eyes on him so he took it upon himself to just scoop up some rice to occupy himself. What was he supposed to say? Yeah sorry I got a lot on my mind like finding out Taehyung and Y/N fuck on the regular but aren’t dating and Y/N is gonna teach me how to do that with the cute barista everyone sees at the campus coffee shop?

“Just a school project.”

“A very hands on school project right Jungkook?” You couldn’t help but tease him, knowing exactly what’s been on his mind since you’ve been texting each other to come up with some kind of game plan on approaching Jisoo.

His eyes flicked over to you for a split second, only giving you a nod before nervously chewing on his lip. You couldn’t understand him, you really couldn’t. How could a man who looked like him be this shy when it comes to literally anyone? He could probably crush someone with his thighs for crying out loud, but here he sat with an aura surrounding him that just showed how unsure he was with himself.

He was a sweet kid, super respectful as far as you could tell, he just needed to learn that wanting to fuck someone while not wanting a relationship was completely normal. Sex was human nature and you were determined to get him to enjoy it as long as he was consenting to your help.

You kept your eyes on him, seeing him reach his plate over to get the meat Yoongi was offering him and mumbling out a thanks before turning his attention to Jin who was on his left and starting a conversation.

A small jab to your cheek via a chopstick snapped you out of your curious gaze, your fingers coming up to rub at the skin and looking to your right where Jimin was sat. “You into him?”

He had mumbled it out to you so quietly you almost didn’t hear him, a couple seconds passed before it clicked and you shook your head, “No, why?”

“You’ve been staring at him like he’s your next victim.”

You rolled your eyes at him and smiled before picking up some kimchi and shoving it into his mouth with no resistance from his part as he happily munched on it. “I don’t have victims Park Jimin.” The way his eyes slightly narrowed at you made it clear he was questioning why you were staring at him as intently as you have been, “I was just looking at him because he’s interesting don’t you think?”

Jimin shook his head because he had no idea what you even meant by that, “Interesting? He’s not a caged animal for you to observe you weirdo.” He was just teasing you, giving you a smile when he heard you laugh.

“That’s not what I mean, forget it. How was your mom’s brunch?”

At the mention of that his expression went blank and he poured himself a glass of soju and took a nice swig of it, “As amazing as you would expect.”

Jimin’s parents always went all out for these brunches, renting out the biggest places and inviting the A class elites of Seoul who would donate to whatever charity they were advocating for. They hassled Jimin every single time to network and find a girl they deemed worthy enough of him marrying and he absolutely hated it. He was the literal definition of a rebellious son, getting a kick every time he would get under their skin. Whether that was by going out on a date with someone they thought suited him and getting absolutely trashed and scaring said girl away, to getting his body tattooed and pierced against their wishes.

Jimin knew how to play his cards right, he knew his parents would never fully cut him off as long as he was somewhat compliant with a few things here and there but he wasn’t going to be molded into whatever they wanted him to be. He was their only child so in his mind who else could they possibly hand off their money to?

“I told my mom you were my date for the thanksgiving event.”

You hummed as you chewed on your food, already knowing this probably didn’t end well. “How did she take that?”

His smirk just proved your suspicion, “Super well actually. Especially when I told her I think you’re the one and I’m thinking about proposing to you.”

What?!

You choked on your food, coughing like a mad man and pounding at your chest with a closed fist. Taehyung who was sat on your left immediately handed you a glass of water and patted your back to help you out. All the while Jimin continued to stare at you with that shit eating grin on his face, pressing the edge of his glass against his lips as he waited for you to speak again.

“Jimin what the fuck I never agreed to that.”

Taehyung was now intrigued by whatever conversation you two were having so he decided to eavesdrop while pretending to eat his food.

“Relax Y/N, obviously I’m not doing that. It was a small joke.”

“It’s not a joke if your parents don’t think it is!”

He pursed his lips at you, “Damn is marrying me really that repulsive?”

Taehyung laughed to himself at that, gaining Jungkook's attention who was now looking at the exchange between you and Jimin.

“No, shut up! That’s not what I’m saying Jimin. I’m just supposed to go to scare off all the girls that wanna latch onto you, I’m not there to piss your parents off, they probably hate me enough knowing you help me whenever you can.”

Taehyung decided to stop listening at that moment, striking up a conversation with Hoseok instead. He knew how sensitive you were when it came to talking about receiving help and admitting to needing it so he knew this wasn’t his business. Jungkook on the other hand didn’t have a clue so as he stared down at his rice his ears stayed hooked on the conversation.

Jimin pressed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “Y/N, I promise I was joking. I didn't tell my parents that, I wouldn’t put you in that position. They don’t hate you by the way.”

That was a little hard to believe, Jimin was a very giving person, especially when it came to his friends. The rest of your friends were a little more financially stable than you were so the amount of times he would take it upon himself to help you, because you had too much pride to really ask for help, surely it stood out to his parents.

“What I choose to do with my money is my business okay, my parents don't even notice where it goes half the time.”

You pushed the meat on your plate around with your chopsticks, your mood dropping down just a bit once you really remembered how much help Jimin gave you. You owed him a lot, and even though he says it's fine it doesn't make you feel any better about it.

“Hey,” Jimin slowly spoke, slouching down and looking up at you from your downcast gaze on the table, “Y/N.”

When you only pursed your lips at the sound of your name he sat back up and slung his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side and wrapping both arms around you. He had his chin resting on your head, seeing the rest of the guys now looking your way. Yoongi mouthing out what the fuck did you do while Jimin responded nothing mind your business.

“If I ever go overboard for whatever reason let me know and I’ll back off but if I can help you then I will and have no problems doing so okay?” He had mumbled all that next to your ear to not draw attention from everyone else.

With a deep sigh, you mumbled out an okay and tried your best to go back to the dinner you and your friends were having. Jungkook had heard the entire exchange and he wanted to say something to make you feel slightly better but there was no way he could do that without feeling like he crossed a line by eavesdropping in your conversation.

After a few moments the dinner had gone back to normal, all of you goofing around like you usually do, the guys including Jungkook in and making him feel like part of the group. When the time came to leave you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket so you slid it out to peek at the notification, momentarily confused when you saw Jungkook's name flashing on your screen when he was sat right across from you.

Regardless, you opened the thread of messages up and grinned when you read what he wrote.

Jungkook 8:45pm

Need help, Jisoo responded.

Jungkook 8:45pm

Can we go to your dorm?

Jungkook 8:45pm

Don’t want Tae to hear…

Right on cue, Taehyung slung his arm around your shoulders, not noticing how you locked your phone and slid it back into your pocket. All of you were now shuffling out of the restaurant, you and Taehyung in the middle of the swarm of your group that was now being reckless on the walk back to the dorms.

“Wanna go back to mine? I can try to get rid of Jungkook.” He whispered in your ear, kissing the side of your head swiftly as he waited for your response.

You slid your arm around his waist as you nuzzled further into his side when the wind picked up, “Can’t, Jungkook and I actually have some planning to do for his project tonight.”

At the mention of his name you could see Jungkook's back tense up from behind and you already knew he was listening in to your exchange while pretending to be invested in the ruckus Jimin was currently doing.

“Oh, planning? Is that code for fucking?” Your cheeks warmed up at his words, your palm instinctively smacking his side, “Cause, to be honest I don’t know how I would feel about you and my roommate banging.”

“Oh don’t be like that, sharing is caring right?” You teased, enjoying the suggestive look that took over his face, “But no, no fucking. I mean it when I say we’re planning for a project.”

He sighed and said alright before dropping the conversation altogether. The walk back to campus took a few minutes, your group huddled by the statue on the front corner of the campus as you said your goodbyes and dispersed. Jimin hopped into an Uber before heading to his apartment, Jin took off in his car to his own place while Namjoon, Hoseok, Yoongi and Taehyung hooked arms and stupidly walked across the quad towards the boys dorms.

You looked over at Jungkook, seeing him smile at the guys’ antics, his eyes moving back to you and seeing your hands motion for him to follow you to the girl’s dorms.

“Hey Y/N, who's this?” Joy asked with a smile from behind the front desk, hands already sliding over the notepad used for off campus guests.

“Oh, Jungkook. I’m a student here.” He slid out his wallet and handed her his student ID.

She hummed as she filled out his info in a separate notepad before handing it back with a smile. “Okay, well Jihyo’s doing her rounds for guests at 11:40 so if you’re planning on spending the night I’d recommend hiding around that time.”

Jungkooks face started to turn a light shade of red at the implication of him spending the night and now he was wondering how many times Taehyungs had to hide in your dorm on the nights he never came home and it also clicked when you’d make a swift exit out of his and Taehyungs shared room for a few moments when Namjoon made his rounds before sneaking back in when you thought no one would notice.

“Thanks Joy!” You winked at her, hooking your arm around Jungkooks and dragging him away while she fluttered her fingers in a goodbye wave.

When you entered the elevator you felt Jungkook finally exhale, “Wow, she’s pretty.” Was the first thing he said.

You could only laugh in response, “Oh, I know. All the girls here are Jungkook, and I’m pretty sure they’d all let you smash if you knew how to ask them.”

And now his blushed cheeks were spreading to his ears as well, he could see it in the warped reflection the elevator doors were giving him. Could he really just ask them? He felt like that would be the quickest way to get slapped to next week.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, you took the lead and walked out, turning left as your hands slid out the keycard that was in the small pocket in your bag. As you entered your room you noticed Wendy was gone, her side completely spotless as normal and a cute post it note resting on your desk.

Went out for dick and by dick I mean getting absolutely hammered and crying into my street tacos, won't be back until tomorrow so feel free to get your own dick down here all night xo

Jungkook read the note as well, quickly acting like he didn’t when he heard you giggling to yourself as you set your stuff down. His eyes roamed the room, seeing the cute touches you and your roommate have added, one of which was a giant polaroid wall on your side with plenty of photos of you and your friends.

“Okay,” you clapped your hands together as you walked in front of Jungkook and set your hands on his shoulders to force him to sit on your bed, “what’s going on with Jisoo?”

He slid his phone out silently, opening up their thread of messages and handing the device over to you. You grabbed it from him and flicked up to the top of the thread.

Jungkook 3:12pm

Hey, its Jungkook. Thanks for the free coffee

Jungkook 3:12pm

And your number.

Jisoo 4:30pm

Hi! Sorry I just got off work but you’re welcome anything for my favorite customer.

You continued to scroll, seeing Jungkook and Jisoo making nice, innocent conversation with each other. Jisoo kept implying wanting to see Jungkook outside of the regular visits to the cafe while Jungkook was either very oblivious or just didn’t know how to ask her out.

“Okay, she wants you to ask her out Jungkook. Why haven’t you?” You hand his phone back to him, seeing him fidgeting with his fingers at your question.

“I don’t know. I don’t even know how to properly ask her. What's a good date suggestion?” You slipped your shoes off and shuffled up on your bed beside him, choosing to get comfy.

“If you want something short and sweet, I suggest going out to lunch somewhere near campus. You guys can talk and get to know each other and you can get a feel for this before you decide if you like her enough to pursue something or if you’d be down for something casual with her.”

He sighs at that, laying back against your bed and using one of your throw pillows to cushion his head from hitting the wall. “Okay, and if I decide I want something casual how do I bring it up? And if she’s for it and tries to get physical how do I go about it?”

“Well for one, you’re not gonna bring it up on the first date. That kinda stuff shouldn’t be discussed on a first date, not unless theres an obvious connection. I do have to advise you though, if you just want something casual you can’t treat her like you want something more.”

His thick eyebrows furrow at this, “Wait, what do you mean?”

“I mean, if after this one date you decide you just wanna sleep with her or make it a friends with benefits kinda thing you can’t take her on dates or act like a boyfriend. Odds are she’s gonna be the one to ask you what you’re looking for and its very important for you to be honest. Thats how you avoid hurting someone.”

You’re gently patting his head at this, feeling him nod along to your words, “Also, in terms of how to act if she decides to get physical then you kinda act on instinct. I know you’ve only slept with one person before but what about kissing?”

He shakes his head at this, “Not much experience there either. I told you Y/N, I feel completely clueless and I know I shouldn’t care but I don’t wanna be dubbed as the guy that sucks at everything.”

A giggle leaves you at his statement, “Jungkook that’s not gonna happen. Kissing is like second nature.”

He slides the pillow out from behind him and covers his face to let out a groan into it, “Easy for you to say, you don’t understand how many times I have to listen to Taehyung brag about how great you are.”

“At kissing?”

“Yeah, and other things.” He trails off.

All you can do is sit there and think over his words, part of you wants to suggest he go to a party with Taehyung and make out with random girls before he asks Jisoo out if he’s so worried about being bad at kissing of all things but you know he wont be up for it. Another part of you wants to suggest helping him learn, one on one, but you’re also not sure how he’d take that. Even though kissing was entirely innocent in your eyes you really don’t want to make Jungkook uncomfortable.

“Look,” you start off, sliding the pillow off his face, “I can show you, if you want.”

The fingers that were strumming on his stomach freeze at your suggestion and you immediately think you fucked up. Until his head tilts to look at you, his eyes wide in curiosity, “Really?”

He sits back up to fully look at you, “Yeah, if you want to Jungkook.”

You don’t expect him to nod as quickly as he does but considering he’s eager to learn it shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise. “Please, as long as it’s not awkward for you.”

You shrug and say its not because it really isn’t, Jungkooks hot and kissing is your favorite pastime so you really dont mind. Plus considering you’re the one who suggested coaching him you kind of felt a tinge of responsibility to not let him go off with zero confidence with something as simple as kissing.

He could only sit there and you know he doesn’t know how to initiate it because of the position you’re in so you stand up and go to stand right in front of him. With the height of your bed and his height when you stand right in front of his sitting frame you’re only slightly taller than him.

“Okay, lets start slow yeah?” He nods, his tongue running across his lips in anticipation. You nudge his thighs apart so you can slot between them more comfortably and gently rest your palms on his jaw, getting closer to him.

“You can touch me, whatever feels natural okay?” He can only nod again, maintaining eye contact for a moment before looking down at your lips and seeing the smile on them. His eyes flutter closed when you finally press your lips together, his lips feel soft against yours and it only lasts a moment before you’re pulling away and his lips try to chase you back.

“How was that?” He immediately asks, not noticing that his hands had found their way onto your hips.

“Good, not too stiff. We’re gonna move on now, just try to follow what I’m doing.”

Your thumb traces his bottom lip before your hands go back to cupping his jaw gently. This time he closes the distance between you two, his lips slotting between yours easily with a little more pressure than last time.

You test the waters, letting him get used to the actions of open mouth kissing, feelings his lips relax after a while. He lets out a small gasp of surprise once he feels the tip of your tongue lick the seam of his lips. The grip he has on your hips tighten and you give him a few more seconds to adjust before you take it further.

One of the hands you have on his jaw slides down to grasp the hand on your hip and you drag it up so he could cup the back of your head. Your fingers dont leave his hand until he has a decent grip on your hair.

His mouth opens up a little wider, letting you slide your tongue inside and his eyes slip open for a second at the new feeling. Its wet, and a little ticklish but the sound of your lips smacking together and the small groans of pleasure you both slip out are making a small fire light up inside him.

The hand gripping your hair tightens up and he tugs gently, kissing you harder when he hears the small moan that leaves your mouth. Its pure instinct that has you swinging your legs over his thighs and straddling him on your bed, not noticing just how comfortable you’ve gotten until you find yourself grinding down onto him and thats when you stop.

You pull back, a small string of spit pulling apart between your lips and he doesn’t seem to even notice your new position. His eyes are half lidded and his breathing is harsh and the way his tongue comes out to catch the spit on his lips makes you want to dive back in but you snapped out of it.

“See, second nature right?”

He finally seems to realize you’re on his lap when he looks down and sees how flush you are to him, “Yeah, want more practice though.” He doesn't give you time to respond before he’s using the hand still in your hair to pull you towards him again and this time he’s leading the kiss.

He tilts his head and licks his way into your mouth, groaning when your tongues tangle together. He never realized how messy kissing could be but he thought it was hot. You can tell he wants to speed up but you keep your movements slow, knowing that the buildup is the best part, the feeling of your tongues playing tag or your tongue tickling the roof of his mouth before you pull back slightly to suck on his bottom lip. Those moments were always your favorite when it came to making out.

Jungkook starts to grow more comfortable, both his hands now coming to grip the back of your head and the other sliding up right beneath your jaw as the kiss grows deeper. And that's when your hips start grinding down again, this time Jungkook notices it right away and he pulls back to let out a moan.

“Sorry, is that too much?” Your lips are shiny and he can’t look away from them, “I know we said kissing but I didn’t really ask about this.”

His hands fall limp and just as you’re about to hop off they come back to life to rest on your hips, using them to slide you back across his lap, “No, I like it. Its uh, for the experience right?”

You nod at this, not giving it much thought because you just want to go back to kissing him. The logical side of you wanted to stop because you’re just supposed to be showing him the ropes on kissing on a first date and odds are Jisso’s not gonna hop on his lap in the middle of lunch in public and do this but the other side of you wants to see him fall apart underneath you and that part of you is winning.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” You let his hands control the motion of your hips while you go back to kissing him. The flavor of the chapstick he had on is all you can taste as the kiss grows more heated. Your hands wrap around his shoulders as you pull yourself even closer to him, speeding up the rocking of your hips and feeling Jungkook choose to place his palms on your back, wanting you just as close.

The shudder of his breath fans across your face when he pulls back to let out another groan but you don’t want to pull your lips away so you trail them down his jaw until you reach the spot just under it when his jaw meets his neck.

When he feels your tongue on his skin along with the gentle sucking he can’t help but rock his hips up into yours, “Oh fuck.” He keens, applying more pressure with his hands to encourage you to grind on him faster.

“Feel good Jungkook?” You ask, nibbling on his skin softly before trailing your way back up to his lips, not slowing down the motions of your hips.

“Yeah,” he gasps, his eyes are blown out and he knows hes about to cum in his pants like a teenager but he doesn’t care. “So good.”

“Good.” Is all you respond, your lips coming together again to resume the motion that seems familiar now.

Jungkooks moans of pleasure are becoming more frequent and the feeling of him blowing his load right underneath you is making you embarrassingly wet, but right now its all about Jungkook. You can deal with your problem later.

“Dont stop, please.” He breathes out between kisses, his eyebrows coming together when he feels his climax approaching.

“You gonna cum?” You ask him, keeping your face close enough to his where you can feel his breath tickle your cheek at the proximity.

“Fuck, yeah.”

You speed up your hips, grinding down a little harder and grabbing one of his hands again to grab your boob this time. He gives them an experimental squeeze, moaning again at the feeling of them.

“C’mon Jungkook, you can cum.” His eyes are open now, looking directly at you and when he sees the fascination in your eyes at watching him fall apart he loses it, letting out a small wine as his body tenses up, his hips coming up to rut against yours as he rides out his orgasm.

He drops his head forward to rest on your chest as you continue to grind against him to milk out the feeling, his body shuddering at every roll of your hips until he’s whimpering at the overstimulation.

You still your hips and let him bask in the feeling, his back rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath.

“Jesus christ.” Jungkook pulls back from you, a dopey smile on his face that can be attributed to post orgasm bliss. “Does kissing always lead to that?”

“No, not always, but its fun when it does.” You smile back at him. His body is definitely loosened up now and just as you’re about to speak again a hard knock comes from your door.

“Fuck, thats Jihyo making rounds.” Your arms are still around him but you know you need to answer the door before she uses her master key to unlock it for you.

Jungkook groans quietly when you get off of him, any movement on his sensitive dick being too much for him to handle right now. He’s happy he chose to wear black pants and a shirt that will definitely cover the wet spot of cum because when you stand up off of him it is glaringly obvious what it is.

The room door clicks as you slide it open and he sees you greet Jihyo with a smile, “Hey Y/N, he’s gotta be outta here in 5 minutes.”

Jungkook can only awkwardly sit on your bed as the exchange goes down, “Yeah, no problem. We were just working on a project.” He sees Jihyo look you up and down, noticing your swollen lips and disheveled hair before she looks at Jungkook who stupidly covers his lap with the pillow beside him.

“Right. I’ll be back in a few to make sure he’s gone.” You nod before stepping back and shutting the door behind you.

“Sorry about that, I forgot what time it was. Do you want me to walk you to your dorm?”

Jungkook stands up from his position, shaking his head at your offer. “No it’s fine. I really should get going now anyways, that essay for creative writing is due tomorrow and I need to finish editing it.”

“Oh shit, you’re right.” Your hands comes up to your face, your teeth going to chew on your fingernail as you think of having to edit the monstrosity of the essay you wrote while you were delirious with sleep.

“Uh thanks for–“

“For giving you the best orgasm of your life? Yeah, no problem.” You wink at him, enjoying the flustered look that immediately takes over his face.

He lets out a chuckle, happy that you’re not making this awkward, “Really though. Thank you.”

You can only shrug, “You should really text Jisoo though, she’s not gonna reject you and if you kiss her like that she’s definitely not gonna turn down any offer you give her.”

Jungkook doesn’t fully believe you but he knows he has to bite the bullet and do it. He gives you a hug and says goodnight before he shuffles out of your dorm and into the elevator.

Now that he’s in a brightly lit place he once again looks at the warped reflection in the elevator doors, using it to fix his hair the best way he can and adjust his shirt and jacket to cover the wet spot on his crotch before he exits it.

Joy spots him as hes about to leave and lets out a whistle, “Y/N take you for a wild ride huh?” She teases him and he blanks, not really knowing how to respond until the automatic excuse comes out, “We were working on a project.”

“Mhm, some project. Bye Jungkook.” She waves him off with a giggle, enjoying how flustered he gets.

Jungkook all but runs across the quad, wanting to get out of the cold as well as into his room to slide out of his sticky ass underwear and pants. He uses his key card to open the dorm buildings doors, waving at Baekhyun before hopping on the elevator and making his way up to his floor.

When he slides into his room he really wasn’t expecting to see Taehyung still awake, resting on his bed against the wall where the giant canvas of his ass was hung up.

“Oh, hello.” Taehyung spoke up first, his eyes raking over Jungkook entirely. “How was the progress on your project?”

He knew Taehyung was asking an innocent question but Jungkook couldn’t help the pang of guilt he felt at it. He knew you and Taehyung weren’t together but he still felt like he was crossing a line by letting you give him an orgasm without his roommate knowing. Especially since Taehyung always boasted about the amazing orgasms you gave him, it almost felt like those were reserved for Tae only and he had just snatched one off the shelf.

“Oh, it was good.” He spoke up quietly, walking over to his closet to grab his pajamas, “Got a lot done actually.”

Taehyung had his eyes glued to Jungkook’s back as he rummaged in his closet. There was something off about him and he just couldnt put his hands on it until Jungkook slid off his jacket and shirt for his pajama shirt and turned around without a second thought to slide his pants off.

“Dude!” Taehyund gasped in shock, his fingers pointing directly at Jungkook's cum stained pants.

Jungkook looked down with wide eyes when he realized Taehyung could clearly see. “Did you catch a glimpse of Y/N’s tits when you were studying and busted a nut in your pants or what?”

Mm well no actually just good ole fashioned dry humping is what he wanted to respond with but he chose to deny until he died. “No! I spilled something on my pants at her dorm.”

Taehyung didn’t believe his horrible excuse for a second but didn’t want to continue to tease him, “Whatever dude, go shower. I don’t blame you, she’s hot I bust a nut just looking at her too, now imagine what her pussy feels like.”

Jungkook didn’t even want to respond to his raunchy comment, simply gathering his shower cubby and towel before leaving to go shower. Except now thanks to Tae he really couldn’t stop wondering what your pussy would feel like around his dick.

#jungkook smut #bts smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bts #new

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bisexualbuck · 4 years

Text

That Which We Carry

Day Five of the Evan Buckley Week 2020! The prompt was “You're a good liar” + comfort

Summary: Bobby stops in his tracks.

Buck is sitting on the ground, next to his own car, his keys and phone forgotten next to him. His breathing is loud and short and he has his head in his hands so that his face is hidden.

He’s having a panic attack.

[Read on AO3]

(Full text under read more)

Their shift has been over for almost an hour, but Bobby has taken the time to finish up some paperwork before heading up home.

He says goodbye to the relief crew and jogs down the stairs. This is one of those rare occasions where he can go home at a normal hour, and even better, Athena has a day off today that she has spent with Harry and May.

Bobby finds himself humming an upbeat song he’s been hearing on the radio. The sun is shining and there’s just enough of a breeze to make the temperature bearable.

He notices that Buck has left his car in the parking lot, but thinks nothing of it. The kid does spend an awful lot of time with the Diaz boys, Eddie and Buck probably left together. Bobby smiles, he does not know who they think they’re fooling.

Everyone knows they are closer than friends. If they are not together yet, it won’t be long before they are. He is thrilled for them, they truly deserve that happiness.

Bobby stops in his tracks.

Buck is sitting on the ground, next to his own car, his keys and phone forgotten next to him. His breathing is loud and short and he has his head in his hands so that his face is hidden.

He’s having a panic attack.

“Hey, Buckaroo,” he calls, softly so as not to startle him.

Buck flinches anyway. His breathing, already worrying, only gets more erratic. He jumps up and almost stumbles in his precipitation to get away, to try to hide his panic.

“Bobby,” he breathes out, a harsh and broken sound. “This – I’m – ”

Bobby puts his hands up and, slowly, gets closer to him, though he makes sure that he lets enough space not to make him feel crowded.

“It’s all okay, Buck. You just need to breathe, okay? Focus on my breathing.”

Buck nods, his eyes are wide and scared and fixed on his captain. Bobby takes one long deep breath in, and one long breath out, in, out, in out, until Buck’s breathing calms down, returns to normal. Neither move, the echos of Buck's breathing still resonating in Bobby's ears.

He watches in morbid fascination as Buck puts the pieces of his mask together. Before him, Buck smooths his face into a neutral expression, leaving no trace of his earlier panic. Soon enough, he flashes his captain a beaming smile that does not quite reach his eyes.

“I’m okay, Bobby. Thank you.”

“You’re a good liar,” Bobby realizes with a terrible pang.

And it’s true. Bobby would not have been able to guess Buck was having a full-fleshed panic attack just minutes prior if he hadn’t witnessed it in the first place.

That is a worrying thought because Buck is always wearing his heart on his sleeve, of that they have all been so sure. How many times did he hide how much he’d been suffering? Did Buck ever have a panic attack at the station and no one had any idea?

Shame and concern rise up Bobby’s throat, almost chocking him.

“I’m good. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I am worried though. Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing, okay. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if if caused you to have a panic attack in the station’s parking lot." His voice is too sharp and Buck takes a step back. Bobby takes a deep breath and, gentler, asks, "Is is because of a call?”

Bobby tries to think of anything that could have triggered Buck, but he can’t think of anything. They did not have any wild calls at all today and Buck hadn’t looked put out at all. Though he has just learned that maybe it doesn’t mean much. Buck has just shown he is quite apt at hiding his pain.

“Bobby,” Buck says, and the facade crumbles, just a little. “I don’t think I can. Not yet anyway.”

With a soft smile, Bobby simply puts his hand on Buck’s shoulder. Their eyes meet and Bobby hopes that the younger man can read what he can’t say out loud – the love, respect and admiration he caries for this kid. That having a panic attack does not change that, nothing ever could.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll be there when you’re ready.”

The mask shatters.

Buck’s face falls. A sob bursts out of him, and he crumbles onto himself like a puppet whose strings have been snapped.

Bobby does not dare to hold him, afraid he is still reeling from his panic attack and the touch will only send him again. Instead, he keeps his hand on Buck’s shoulder, his grip firm, and Buck puts his own hand on Bobby’s, holding onto it like a lost man at sea holding onto a raft.

The parking lot is still empty when Buck calms down. He avoids his gaze but Bobby wishes he would look at him, he wants him to see that he is no judging him, that he is not disappointed or anything that must be going through Buck’s mind.

They sit down on the ground, only then letting go of each other.

They don’t speak for a moment. Bobby is lost – should he say something? If so, what could he even say?

Buck makes the decision for him.

“My mom called me,” he says.

He’s playing with his hands, a nervous habit that Bobby has noticed him doing from time to time.

“We’re not close – my parents and I. Maddie isn’t close to them either, but it’s always been different.”

He pauses, Bobby does not press. Buck has never been so open about his past and Bobby isn’t about to rush him and risk him closing off again.

“Our parents, they’re the type of people who had kids, not because they wanted to, but because it was the next logical step. They met, they got married, so they had to have kids, right. That’s how the story goes. It’s what’s expected.”

The way he stresses on the word “expected” has Bobby frowning.

“So they had Maddie, and they were done. One kid was more than enough. They were never affectionate with her, but they never loved me. You know there’s an age difference between me and Maddie, it’s because I wasn’t planned. I wasn’t wanted. They told me that many times growing up.”

He sounds so bitter, yet so resigned, and Bobby feels hot red anger burn through his whole body and he struggles to quiet it down.

“They were never cruel or violent. They were just absent.”

He laughs – sharp, no trace of humor in it.

“So today my mom calls me – ‘cause what if people ask about us right? She has to know what we’re doing. So she calls sometimes, and we fight as always. In her head, she has this idea of the perfect family that we ought to be but we just aren’t.”

He stops, bites his bottom lip down so hard Bobby is afraid it’s going to draw blood.

“Buck,” he says, softly, but Buck only shuts his eyes close, a sorrow so deep etched on his face that Bobby is overwhelmed with the need to smooth it down, any way that he can.

“She said that she didn’t know why she couldn’t ever love me but, in moments like those, where we fight, she’s glad she never tried harder.”

Bobby has never been a violent man but if he had Buck’s parents in front of him, he is not sure he would be able to restrain himself. Two emotions battle in Bobby’s heart – anger, at Buck’s mom for being so cruel, and compassion for Buck who never deserved to be treated like that.

Compassion wins out.

That’s what Buck needs right now, support and love.

“I’m sorry. You don’t deserve that.”

Buck does not seem to hear him, too deep he is in his own heartache.

“What does that say about who I am if my own parents couldn’t even give a damn about me? How can I expect anyone else to?”

“This doesn’t say anything about you,” Bobby says, firm but gentle. “It’s on them. I can’t tell you why they treated you the way they did, but it was never your fault. And you have people who care about you. You have the 118, you have Maddie, and Eddie and Christopher. Lots of people love you, Buckaroo.”

Buck wipes at his eyes, “Right. Yeah, I know.”

He looks unconvinced still.

“You don’t need them,” Bobby continues, hoping to reach, to convince him of his own worth. “It’s their loss that they’re not in your life. You and Maddie have become great people, and if they can’t see that, it’s on them.”

Bobby hates seeing Buck so small, so broken. Buck takes so much space with his big heart and his big smile. It’s so unlike him to hold himself like he is trying to disappear, and Bobby’s heart breaks at the sight.

“It’s dumb,” Buck says, shameful. “I’m used to it, I’m over it. Sometimes it still creeps up on me, but don’t worry. I’ll be good as rain in no time.”

“It’s okay to not be okay.” He pause but Bobby forces himself to continue, Buck needs to hear it even if it’s hard for him to say. “You’re not alone, you’ve got us. You’ve got me. Son.”

Buck finally turns to him again. His eyes search Bobby’s, and he must find what he is looking for because he smiles, small but moved.

“Thank you, Bobby.”

“Athena and I have the kids tonight. I was going to make some Cajun chicken. You want to come with?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to intrude in on a family night.”

“Buck, I am asking for a family night.”

Tears threaten to spill again from Buck’s eyes but he manages to hold them back.

“Okay,” he says, voice heavy with emotion. “I’ll be there.”

Neither of them are quite saying the words but both are hearing them anyway. Bobby loves Buck like a son, and he thinks Buck might just love him like a dad. Whatever it is, they don’t need to voice it, to put a word on it. They can be their own definition of family.

“Athena will be glad to see you, the kids too. They look up to you.”

“Not sure that’s such a good idea,” Buck jokes but Bobby reads an underlying sense of doubt.

“Buck, come on. We both know that’s not true.”

“Please, no more heartfelt comment. I think I’ve cried enough for today.”

Bobby shakes his head, amused. He gets up, offering his hand to Buck who takes it with a grin.

“I won’t say anything about this to Athena if you don’t want me to.”

“No, I – ” Buck sighs. “I don’t want you to keep secret from her. As I said, it’s fine. I don’t talk about it because it’s not very riveting but I don’t care. I’m used to it. It’s been like that my whole life.”

Once again, Bobby wishes he could have some words with Buck’s parents, but he buries the thought down to, instead, give a quick hug to the man he sees as a son.

As soon as Buck arrives at the Grant household, Athena draws him into her arms without even saying a word.

Although he is much taller than her, he feels protected and small in her embrace.

She catches his face when they let go. He isn’t even sure she notices that her thumb is caressing his cheek in a soothing maternal gesture. Her gaze is solemn but kind.

“They do not deserve you, Buckaroo.”

For what feels like the millionth time today, Buck feels overwhelmed and on the verge of crying. She must see it because she gives his cheeks a little squeeze.

“You are a good man with a good heart and you are always welcome here.”

“Athena,” he stars but his voice breaks.

She brings him down to press a soft kiss against his forehead. He wonders if that’s what a mother is supposed to do but, for once, the thought does not bring him pain, only curiosity – as if, maybe, now, he will get a chance to find out too.

“Go on, now,” she shoos him away, gently. “I know Henry’s been wanting to show you his latest game.”

“Thank you, Athena,” he says. “For everything.”

“Anytime.”

He catches Bobby smiling at him too, and Buck finally feels the anguish he has been carrying out all day gets lighter, less suffocating.

It’s not gone yet and maybe it never will be, not fully. But it’s getting better.

He is getting better.

#evanweek2020 #evan buckley #911 fic #firefam #bobby nash #athena grant #911 #my writing #so i love making buck cry #but i also love him getting the love he deserves

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trulymadlysydney · 7 years

Text

Good Luck Kiss (submission)

HOly shit okay so I intended to write a little blurb about some *thoughts* I’ve been having all day today… and then this happened instead. This is my 2nd writing and my first smut ever so I’m sooooo sorry in advance if it is cringey or bad or if there are grammar problems i did my best okay?!?! kjlkajsgkjsal okay here it is.

***************************

You couldn’t be more excited about your show tonight. Los Angeles is always an amazing crowd, but you know it’s going to be an extra special performance because Harry is in the audience. You always get butterflies before any performance, and tonight is no different. Usually to calm your nerves you blast loud music in your dressing room, drink your hot tea, and have some laughs with your crew as a distraction. But tonight your usually remedies just won’t do the trick. And it’s all because you know he’s in the audience. He’s out there, waiting to watch you on stage and it has you restless; that it’s now your turn to perform for him instead of the other way around.

All of this anticipation has got you in a naughty mood.

You were excited that he and some friends had come to see your concert so you were already buzzing about that, but part of you was so ready to show off for Harry a bit. You’ve seen him in concert countless times and watching him on stage was one of your favorite things. The way he gets the crowd screaming, how he moves so effortlessly on stage, how he comes off as a literal God among men, how he owns the crowd and has everyone (especially you) ready to drop to their knees for him. You wonder (well, hope) if you have the same effects on him.

So as you’re getting ready to go on, he’s out in the crowd with Jeff, Glenne, Mitch and a few others watching the opening act and you’ve been texting him; begging him to come back stage for one last good luck kiss, but he’s ignoring your texts. He knows what it is you really want; you were in a mood all afternoon, and he gently denying your advances a few times, not because he didn’t want to, but because he was trying to have some self-control in front of his friends. But you’re making it awfully hard for him when you keep texting flirty things, about how one kiss from him would insure a perfect show, how you promise all you want it just one little baby kiss to the lips. You even send a pouty selfie with your hair and make up done but still in your robe, not yet dressed yet. (Of course it’s pulled down a bit to show off your shoulder and a little cleavage.)

Y/N: Wanna do good for you tonight and can’t if I don’t have a good luck kiss.

But he’s being firm with you.

H: I know what you’re trying to do love, s'not happening. Keep getting ready, your opener’s almost done.

You’re pissed. Livid that he’s denying you of what you want when this is your day. Your concert. How many times have you come back to his dressing room for him when he’s asked? Now the roles are reversed and it’s his turn to give you what you want. Right?

You sit in your chair sulking, and then an idea pops in your head. You’ll have one of your security guards go get him. A big, burly man finds him in the friends and family section and asks, no tells, him to come with him. His friends don’t think much of it, other than Jeff, who has done this very same thing before, going and grabbing you at last minute, and he knows exactly what is going on, giving Harry a knowing smirk. Harry’s cheek flush to a soft shade of pink, not because he’s embarrassing of Jeff knowing his business, but because he knows he’ll lose all self control if he goes back there. Because the second he sees you, he’ll give into you.

The big man in front of him isn’t giving him any other choice but to follow him backstage. Your security guard leads him to your dressing room where you are still in your robe, sitting in your make up chair, fussing with your hair in your mirror. The man shuts the door once Harry is inside, and you look up very innocently, immediately smiling when you see your beautiful boyfriend in his signature black ripped skinny jeans and perfectly tousled hair. He opted for a softer patterned shirt tonight in a lame attempt to stay somewhat discreet, but let’s face it, it’s still Harry; it’s still a loud, expensive, Gucci print that screams rock star, and dare you think it, daddy.

His expression is hard to read though, when you get up and move towards him.

“Hi baby,” you say softly, your eyes and smile showing you are so happy to see him again.

He clears his throat, rubbing at his nose, a telltale sign he is frustrated. “C’mon pet, why aren’t you dressed yet? You go on soon.”

You just giggle, immediately grabbing his big, ringed hands.

“I just wanted a little kiss, why’d you have to go and make everything so difficult?” You roll your eyes playfully, giving off a dramatic breath and batting your eyelashes at him. You place his hands on your hips, and you push yourself closer to him.

“Cause I know you want a lot more than a kiss and I can’t give that to you right now.”

“And why not?” You give him puppy eyes as you stroke his cheek.

You’re breaking him down slowly; you can feel him relaxing at your touch. Usually he’s in charge, you rarely get to call the shots and you’re hoping that just maybe he’s finally going to give into you. You have to step up on your tip toes to reach, but you start to press lingering kisses to his jaw line, slowly moving down to his neck, up to the other side of his jaw, his cheek, and then right before you come to his lips you pause, wanting him to be the one to lean in first, to break. You’re testing him, he knows this, and as much as he’s tried to remain unaffected, he’s struggling to stay composed. If his staggered breath doesn’t shine light on his internal struggle, the growing tent in his pants gives him away. You’re everywhere; your hands in his hair at the nape of his neck, your perfume invading his nostrils, and the feeling of your faint soft lips remain on his skin.

“C’mon pet, be good for me.” He closes his eyes, thinking if he can’t see you maybe he’ll be able to maintain control.

“’M always good for you, Harry” you murmur against his cheek, pressing your lips softly to it.

“Ha, no you’re not. A menace you are,” he all but barks, his voice thick.

“Only when you don’t give me what I want…” you pout, your voice trailing off as you try to decide your next move. He’s holding strong, stronger than you though he could, and although you’re impressed, you are running out of patience and time. You need him, and the tingling in your core is screaming at you, but you need him to be the one to break first. Your fingers are still in his hair, and you stroke the curly strands gently.

“How about this, hmm? You give me what I want nowwww, and I’ll promise to be an extra good girl for you later.” Your voice is at a soft whisper now, your lips grazing right to his ear. You think you have him right where you want him. His body’s gone frigid at your proposition, and he’s continuing to breath through his nose with his eyes closed. You assume this means he needs a little more convincing, so you gently take your tongue across his earlobe, and then give it an even so slight bite, letting his lobe slowly move through your teeth.

And then he’s alive.

The groan that leaves his throat is sound you will never forget, and is a noise that you will forever try to make his repeat. His hands move from your hips where you early placed them, to your wrists. In one swift movement he has your back to the dress room door with your arms above your head. He’s got a firm hold on your wrists, so firm it almost hurts a bit, but you don’t mind. This is exactly what you wanted (and you’re secretly hoping it’ll leave a mark).

“Think you’re funny pet? Havin’ your security pluck me from the crowd like I’m some fuckin’ groupie?” His accent is coming through thick, his words dripping with authority and need. His hot breath is hitting your face, he’s so close if you moved slightly forward your lips would touch. But you don’t make a move. You wait. He needs to break. He needs to crumple just like you’ve crumpled for him time and time again.

You smirk at his comment, looking at him challengingly.

“Didn’t expect it to come to that. Thought you’d wanna give your only angel a kiss before her big performance.” Your baiting him, you know. And you’re enjoying this now but you know that when you go back to the hotel tonight, there will be hell to pay. But maybe that’s why you keep pushing him. Maybe that’s why you press your core to his, hoping to find that he’s in need just as much as you are.

He’s hard against your stomach, and you moan, needing him inside you. Your noses are touching and he’s so close to you, you’re breathing in his cologne, your favorite scent, the one that makes you feel at home. Your mind is fuzzy with him, of what you want and need from him, and the teasing act that you have put up is starting to falter as you realize just how needy you are for him. Your core is tight, you can feel yourself dripping for him, and although you’ve been teasing him, it’s been agonizing for you too.

“Please baby,” you whisper, rubbing your nose to his, “I need it.” Your voice cracks at the end, it’s so quiet you wonder if he even heard you.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he growls, and with that his lips hit yours, hard. You want to celebrate your victory, but there’s no time. He’s everywhere; his lips kissing you so passionately and roughly it almost hurts. He drops your wrists in order to grab your face, cupping it gruffly and his continues his attack down your neck. In the back of your mind you are worried about your make up being messed up, but how can you care for too long when he’s kissing, sucking, biting his way down your exposed throat.

“N-no marks!” You choke out, trying to catch your breath.

“I know, I know,” and he’s fumbling with the tie on your robe, pulling it down to reveal your naked body.

“Christ, pet! Really had this planned out, didn’t yeh?” He instinctually grabs your braless boobs, looking up at you in wonder, but you’re breathless.

“N-no, no time to underdress, ahhh,” and you hiss as he attached his lips to one of your nipples, his tongue lapping at the now hardened bud.

“Harry, have to be quick, ahh, ahhh!” You yelp as he bites down gently. “Harry, c’mon please.” You whine.

You reach between the two of you to undo his zipper and you yank down his pants, only to reveal that he too didn’t have any underwear on. He’s already hard in your hands and he’s practically leaking even though you’ve barely touched him, hissing as you gently pump him.

He reaches down to your core to find his fingers glide through your folds, and you yelp when he grazes over your very sensitive bud.

“Jump,” he demands, and you oblige as he forcefully picks you up, his large hands grabbing your ass and lifting you up so you are able to wrap your legs around his waist. His strong hands remained firmly gripped one your ass, and it’s then that he finally enters you, your head falling back against the wall as he does so. You both moan in unison, both swimming in the relief you both feel of finally being joined at last. His lips are on your neck, his breath heavy as he tries to keep you both up right. You struggle to keep your noises quiet, knowing that your entire crew is on the other side of this door.

“Harry,” you whimper in his ear, one hand pulling at his thick curls, the other clawing at his back through is shirt.

“I’ve got yeh, angel. ‘ve got yeh.,” he breathes. “Feels so-fuck- feels so good.”

You moan, agreeing with him. “Gotta, ahhh, gotta be quick baby,” you remind him as he grazes that spot inside you.

“Mmhmm,” he grunts, continuing to thrust up into you, fucking you into the door. “Hey- be- uhh, be nice pet,” he chokes out as you squeeze around him.

“”m’sorry,” you gasp, “Feels so good. Needed this. Needed you. Can you please- Harry, need you to-” and of course he knows exactly what you need, as his hand travels between you two, his thumb rubbing circles at your slick bud.

“C’mon angel. Give me a good one. Know you can. Be a good girl. My good girl, hmmm? My only angel.”

He’s watching you now, watching as you come undone on top of him. He watches as your head throws back, and he doesn’t mind the stinging on his scalp when you grip his hair even tighter. You are trying so hard to keep your cries to yourself, not wanting to completely give yourselves away, but it’s so hard when he’s fucking you so good and everything feels just right.

If you pulsating around him isn’t what does him in, then it must be the fucked out look you give him when you’ve finally come down from your high. Your eyes are glossy, your lips a berry red, and a hint of red to your cheeks that your make up artist didn’t put there. He’s overwhelmed by you; he’s heaving on top of you, choking in his curses as he shoots his hot load into you. It takes a minute for him to come back to you, you gently rub his back as you both try to regulate your breathing. You press soft kisses to his cheek, his forehead, his eyes and nose, and lastly his lips, lingering there for a few seconds.

“Yeh okay?” he grasps, kissing you back.

“Mmmhmm,” you hum, a smile radiating from you that only he could inspire.

“Gonna pull out now,” he speaks to you softly, slowly unwrapping your legs from his waist. You hiss for a few reasons; your legs feeling stiff from being wrapped around his waist so tightly, your back feeling as though there might be a bruise from being pounded into the door, and lastly your cunt, now feeling empty, both of him and his seed, that is now making its way down your leg. He grabs a towel to clean you up, rubbing his hands down your legs. You are stood almost frozen, but only for a second longer, only until you remember where you are.

“Holy shit,” you laugh. “We just fucked in my dressing room.” You wrap your robe around yourself as he tosses the towel to the trash, pulling up his pants in one motion. Tucking himself in, you can’t help but stare at him, at this beautiful man in front of you, this man that you love very much.

He laughs as he looks up at you, adjusting himself as he moves towards you. His hand comes up to tuck strands of hair behind your ear, his infamous smirk spreading across his face.

“Your makeup artist is gonna have my head,” he laughs, running his thumb over your now plump lips.

“Maybe so,” you giggle, kissing his thumb. “But it was worth it.”

------

OH MY GOODNESSSSSSSSSSSS IM OBSESSED WITH YHIS

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tea-and-cardigans · 7 years

Text

What Fools These Mortals Be - Chapter 4

Credit for the amazing aesthetic above goes to @itstenafterfour you are a legend!

Thankyou to the amazing fangirl and the very generous @jandjsalmon who has beta’d this chapter and also helped me with the overall planning of this story.

Also @zombiekittez who has provided information on the inner workings of theatre which I am still using and hope I am doing justice to. I may need to hit you up again soon though.

Chap 1 / Chap 2 / Chap 3 / Chap 4 / Chap 5 / Chap 6 / Chap 7 / Ao3 / FF.net

Chapter 4: Whither Wander You

“So what do you want to know?” Betty posed the question to the dark haired woman opposite her.

Veronica clapped her hands together in delight and Betty was taken aback slightly at Veronica’s eagerness to know more about the company. She could see the thoughts racing through the brunette’s head as she formulated her first question.

“The red headed girl over there with Kevin.” Betty followed Veronica’s gaze, seeing where Kevin was currently talking with Cheryl. Well, where Cheryl was currently talking at Kevin and he seemed to just be nodding along and trying to get a word in when he could. “How much drama is she, exactly?”

“Cheryl Blossom. My sister-in-law is quite the handful.” Betty responded, waiting for the look of shock to leave Veronica’s face which was the usual response when she told someone that she was related by marriage to Cheryl Blossom. Poor sweet Betty Cooper.

“Sister-in-Law?” Veronica repeated.

“Yep.” Betty took a sip of her drink before explaining. “My older sister Polly married Cheryl’s twin brother, Jason. It was quite the scandal when they ran away together after Senior year.”

“Wait, back up a second, there are two of them and your sister married one of them.” Her incredulity had Betty laughing out loud.

“Yeah, but Jason and Cheryl are nothing alike, not really. Jason is actually quite nice and he loves my sister and that’s enough for me. Also twins run in their family.” Betty got her phone out of her pocket, scanning through the pictures looking for the most recent photo Polly had sent her of the twins. “This is my niece and nephew,” she said proudly as she turned the phone around so that Veronica could see the photo of the two red haired 3 year olds, both smiling big for the camera.

“They are very cute.” Veronica smiled at Betty who felt a twinge of sadness that they weren’t still living in Riverdale and she did not get to see them nearly as much as she would like.

“They are, and they know it. Polly has her hands full with those two.” Veronica handed Betty back her phone, which she placed back in her pocket. “But to answer your original question, Cheryl is drama personified.”

“I kinda guessed. She has that air about her.”

“Just a word of advice don’t get on her bad side. I find it’s just best to stay out of her way. She always gets what she wants.”

“We’ll see. I’m not one to back down from something.” Betty envied that kind of confidence that Veronica clearly had in spades. She could tell that she was someone who knew who she was and what she wanted. She wouldn’t be the kind of woman who would pine after a boy the majority of her adult life without doing anything about it.

“Oh, here is my Helena and my Hermia.” Kevin must have extricated himself from Cheryl’s grasp. He leaned over the back of Betty’s side of the booth to drape his arm over her shoulder and gave her a goofy grin. Kevin was a lightweight and already well on his way to an early night. “So how excited are we?” His tone was light and joyful, obviously someone was having a good time.

“Very excited Kev,” Betty said, her face and tone of voice conveying the exact opposite.

“Betty was just being kind enough to give me the goss on the rest of the company.”

“She is, is she?” Kevin eyed Betty curiously. “So, what has she told you so far?” Kevin took a seat in the booth next to Betty who slid over to let him to sit. He seemed particularly interested in what Betty had shared with their new troupe member.

“She told me about our resident Drama Queen.”

“Yeah, Cheryl is a little highly strung. She just tried to convince me to recast Dilton.”

“You have to admit Kevin it is an odd choice.” Betty added, still trying to work out if Kevin was serious in his casting or it was some elaborate rouse to mess with Cheryl.

“I don’t think it is Betty.” Kevin took a sip of his drink, musing over his thoughts. “You didn’t see his audition. He sold it completely. He is our perfect Bottom.” He held out his glass waiting for one of the two girls to cheers him, Veronica clinked her glass against his.

“Well, just as long as we don’t have the whole backstage crew on the stage we should be all right,” Betty answered, her eyes unconsciously flicking towards the bar where Jughead was wiping a glass but obviously still watching them. Her hands below the table flexed as her fingers came in contact with the bandage covering her fresh wounds, as she was reminded of their conversation earlier. How he had tried to reach for her.

“Don’t worry, Betty. I’m sure Jughead will have everything under control behind the scenes. You don’t need to worry about him.” Kevin replied smugly. Betty’s eyes darted back to him at the table as she tried to hide whatever expression it was that he had read from her face. He couldn’t know what she was thinking surely.

“Jughead? Mr. Dark and Broody behind the bar?” Veronica asked for confirmation indicating to where Jughead was serving drinks and talking to some of the regulars. Betty forced herself not to glance again in his direction, her eyes trained on the glass in front of her. She took a long sip from her drink, revelling in the feeling of the alcohol slipping down her throat. As she set her glass down again she noticed that both Kevin and now, Veronica were watching her with interest.

She tried her best to wipe any expression from her face, to blankly stare as to not give anything away.

“Yeah, he’s a little moody. Always has been. But he mainly keeps to himself, doesn’t he, Betty?” Kevin turned to Betty who looked up at him, searching his eyes carefully, trying to work out what, if anything, he knew, before deciding that it didn’t matter anyway it was all in the past.

“Well, then,” Veronica’s tone indicating that she was ready to change onto a new subject. “I would like to know more about the other red head in our little group. I am very much looking forward to some late night rehearsals with that one,” she said suggestively. Betty felt her skin prickle at Veronica’s words as what she had feared the brunette’s intentions towards her crush had come to light.

“Archie,” Betty let out. “His name is Archie Andrews.” Veronica surveyed the look on Betty’s face.

“You two aren’t…? Are you? ‘Cause I don’t want to be that girl.” Betty imagined that Veronica had definitely been that girl before. Betty knew that men were attracted to women like Veronica and she was definitely the type to enjoy that kind of attention.

“No, they’re not.” Kevin chimed in and Betty shot him a look to keep quiet. Veronica held up her hands in surrender.

“If you’ve got something going on with him I’ll back off.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, he’s not my anything.” Betty dismissed her feelings. In truth she knew that she was no competition for Veronica, why would Archie ever choose her?

“But you want him to be?” Veronica narrowed her eyes at Betty, looking for her confirmation.

“Well yeah, but...” She did didn’t she? He was Archie Andrews, the perfect man, the one for her. She hadn’t spent all these years chasing him for nothing. She didn’t know how she felt about sharing that with Veronica… but she had never had an ally before. Kevin had always been against the idea of her and Archie. Maybe it wouldn’t be so horrible to tell someone else.

“Well, Betty, consider me your fairy godmother sent from Manhattan. You want that boy over there, I will make it happen, if my name isn’t Veronica Lodge.” Betty noticed the grimace on Kevin’s face, but she couldn’t help pulling herself up to sit a little straighter in the booth. Maybe with Veronica’s help this might be her year after all. “So, we need a plan.” Veronica suggested, lacing her fingers together.

***

Betty took a deep breath as she got ready to enter the small theatre, the scene of the crime. Where a week previous she had completely lost herself on the stage before running out in a panic. She could already start to feel the anxiety building.

She had spent the previous night rehearsing her part while also sending a slew of text messages to Kevin, confirming her character’s motivations and asking him multiple questions on her intended performance. Kevin’s last message had informed her that he was now turning his phone off and any further messages would go unanswered. Betty was determined not to lose herself on that stage again.

She pushed through the doors and was greeted with the usual busyness that occupied the theatre during the production. The familiarity of it all calmed her nerves slightly. She pulled her ponytail tighter and continued to walk across the room towards the stage.

“Betty!” She turned in the direction of her name and spotted Veronica over by the front row of seats, waving at her emphatically and motioning for her to come and sit beside her. She waved back and started to make her way over when she noticed that Archie was sitting on the other side of her new friend. Hesitating for a second, Betty’s heart started to race and Veronica nodded at her to encouragingly seeing the obvious panic in her eyes.

“Hey, Veronica,” she greeted in an attempt to sound casual. “Archie.” Her voice was squeeky when she looked towards him and she mentally kicked herself for being so awkward around him.

“Hey, Betty. Are you all prepared?” Archie asked her.

“Yeah, I am. Stayed up most of the night.” Awkward.

“That’s dedication,” he replied with a good-natured smile. “I’m still learning my lines.” He gave a short laugh, and Betty found herself giggling along with him like a school girl almost as a reflex. A practised response.

“Well, I thought maybe after rehearsals we could all come over to my place, it’s not far, to practice some more.” Veronica spoke sending a quick wink in Betty’s direction. It seemed that Veronica was serious in her commitment that night at the Whyte Wyrm to help Betty.

“I would love to,” Archie eagerly responded, and Betty just nodded her head in agreement. She assumed that Moose would be there as well as part of the pair of ‘stage lovers’. She hadn’t noticed him when she had walked in and quickly glanced around the room but couldn’t see him. She guessed that he could be meeting with Kevin in the theatre office.

“Is Moose here yet? I didn’t see him on the way in.”

“He isn’t here yet. He texted me this morning,” Archie replied, pulling out his phone looking through to see whether there were any further messages. Before pulling up the most recent one. “Yeah, he said he was going to be here.”

“Kevin won’t be impressed if he’s late,” Betty knew that there was no room for slacking off with Kevin in charge. He ran a tight production and if you took that for granted it didn’t matter if you had dated the director before or not, you would be cut.

At that moment Kevin entered the main room from the door to his office. He took a quick look around surveying who was present. Not all the company was in attendance today, he had requested just the 4 lovers and a small handful of stage crew in case anything was needed. Betty had seen Jughead seated at the back of the audience seats when she had entered, but she was determined not to let him affect her. She was here to rehearse and nothing else, at least where he was concerned. She wasn’t even going to look at him if she could help it.

“Where’s Moose?” Kevin asked almost immediately, turning towards Archie waiting for an explanation.

“I was just telling the girls here that I got a text from him this morning telling me he was coming, but I’ve heard nothing since.” Kevin let out a frustrated groan, he swore that actors were the bane of his existence sometimes. He pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in deep breaths, before speaking again.

“Okay, it’s fine” He raked his hand through his hair. “Veronica and Archie if we can get you rehearsing first, give him some time to show up along with finding a damn good excuse for why he is late.” Betty took a seat in the front row as Archie and Veronica approached the stage.

Betty hated to admit that Veronica was a perfect Hermia, the way she delivered her lines and matched so well with Archie, even though he had to keep looking down to read his lines before saying them. She could see Kevin shifting in his chair, displeased not only with his absent lead but also the one who was still reading almost completely from the script, seemingly without even trying to learn them. Archie always delivered on the night, a flawless performance, but it was a trial throughout most of rehearsal.

Kevin made them repeat their scene a few more times. Betty wasn’t sure whether this was the perfectionist in Kevin or the fact that he was buying more time for Moose to show up. When he didn’t, Kevin motioned to them to take a seat, while commending Veronica on her performance and urging Archie to learn his lines, or at least make an attempt learning them. Archie flashed a smile at him, which Kevin dismissed, Betty wished she was as immune to his charms as he was. If he flashed the same smile at her she would be putty in his hands.

“Okay, Betty, your turn.” Kevin turned towards her and she noticed the gentleness that his tone had taken on when he addressed her. His look one of support as she approached the stage, she brushed her hands over her sweater pulling it down over her hips, straightening her appearance as she made her way up the short set of steps which all of a sudden seemed like an entire staircase. She cleared her throat before she delivered her monologue.

“How happy some o'er other some can be! Through Athens I am thought as fair as she.”

She looked towards Kevin who was nodding his encouragement and she continued, feeling that familiar rhythm and confidence wash over her as she continued.

“But what of that? Demetrius thinks not so; He will not know what all but he do know: And as he errs, doting on Hermia's eyes,”

The words were flowing from her lips in a way that she could remember, the words came easily to her mind, her arms and hands moving to convey her emotion.

“So I, admiring of his qualities: Things base and vile, folding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity: Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind: Nor hath Love's mind of any judgement taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste: And therefore is Love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.”

She took in the rest of the room as she spoke, making eye contact with each member who was present her confidence growing and growing as she did so. Her eyes drifted to the back row, where Jughead was sitting. She swore she saw a smile on his face in place of the usual scowl. She wrote it off as a trick of the lights.

“Pursue her; and for this intelligence If I have thanks, it is a dear expense: But herein mean I to enrich my pain, To have his sight thither and back again.”

She finished her speech and shifted her attention back to Kevin who was smiling back at her.

“Great Betty, just great, you did seem a bit lost in the middle there but, there is a lot to like there. Let’s go another time.”

She completed her speech again and again the words flowed through her, she felt that she had her strength and confidence back, her previous panic attack becoming more and more a distant memory. She breathed a sigh of relief, feeling that she had once again cemented herself as a valuable member of the company.

“Okay, let’s have you try the confrontation with Demetrius.”

“Um, Moose still isn’t here?” Archie spoke up from the front row, still seated next to Veronica. Betty noticed Kevin pinching the bridge of his nose again, he seemed to do that a lot whenever Archie opened his mouth.

“I am aware of that Archie, thank you.” There was a clear frustration in his tone. A missing lead was a serious matter and Betty knew the pressure that Kevin placed upon himself for the production to do well. “Jughead get up here, you’re reading against Betty.”

There was a sharp bark of laughter from the back of the room, and Kevin spun around to face Jughead who was still casually reclined in the back row his feet up on the seat in front of him.

“Hurry up.” Kevin spoke authoritatively in what Betty affectionately referred to as his ‘director’s voice.’ Jughead gave a loud sigh which spread through the acoustics of the room, before pulling himself up from his seat and making his way to the stage.

“I’m tech crew, Kevin,” he said indignantly as he stood across from Kevin, who was still staring him down.

“Trust me, Jughead. I am well aware of that, but you see I’m the director and I need you to go stand up there and read from this book.” Kevin spoke as if explaining something to a naughty child, and Betty covered the smile on her face with her hand as she watched the exchange. Kevin thrust a worn book into Jughead’s hands with force, his frustration starting to show. “Do you think you can handle that?”

“Well, Archie here seems to manage without too much trouble so…” He sighed once more and then slowly made his way up onto the stage and stood opposite Betty, who was attempting to look at everyone else in the room except the one in front of her. Just when she felt everything was snapping into place.

He stood across the stage in front of her, a copy of the script in his hands as he looked up towards her. He was clearly unhappy to be brought up on stage, to be opposite her anyway. She had just gotten her confidence up and now she had to deal with this. She swore that Jughead Jones had returned to this production just to torture her. She was going to kill Moose when she saw him next.

“Jughead if you can start from “I love thee not.”

“I love thee not, therefore pursue me not. Where is Lysander and fair Hermia? The one I'll slay, the other slayeth me. Thou told'st me they were stolen unto this wood; And here am I, and wode within this wood, Because I cannot meet my Hermia. Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.”

Betty watched as his lips formed the words of the prose of Shakespeare, this wasn’t the first time she had been captivated by the sound of words leaving his lips. The way his low tone read through the lines of the play, created a low stirring in her, which she tried to push down, not letting it creep to the surface. She was jolted back to the room by a loud cough.

“It’s your line, Betty,” Kevin told her, from his chair.

“Right.” She berated herself for her distraction. She took a deep breath to clear her head, making the words easier to find.

“You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant; But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel: leave you your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you.”

She spoke her words emoting her feelings into them, pouring them in. She had felt them before. Feelings of longing for a love lost came easily to Betty. She paused then allowing him to fill the space.

“Do I entice you? do I speak you fair? Or, rather, do I not in plainest truth Tell you, I do not, nor I cannot love you?”

They weren’t his words, but still they cut her deep and her heart twisted painfully. Her fingers were pressing into her palm, not hard enough to mark her skin but she could feel the scars under the very tips of her fingers. It was enough of a reminder to bring her back to the present. Blinking back what she refused to accept was wetness from her eyes, she prepared to make her next line when the sound of Kevin’s phone ringing broke the tension that had developed on the stage. Betty watched as he put the phone to his ear and took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart..

“This better be good, Moose.” He paused before speaking again. “No, okay, I’m on my way.” Betty watched as Kevin’s face moved from frustration and anger to one of concern. He was already putting on his jacket as he continued the phone call. “Thank you.” He turned his attention to the rest of the company who were present who were waiting anxiously.

“Kevin, is everything okay?” Betty spoke up first, already making her way towards her friend.

“Moose has been in an accident, two broken legs, he’s still in surgery.” His face was pale and he couldn’t keep the worry from his voice. “I’m heading over to the hospital. Apparently he still has me as his first contact on his phone. We will resume tomorrow. I’ll email details to everyone.” With that, Kevin walked out the door.

Tag list: @quaintnessandqueerness

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #bughead AU #WFTMB #riverdale fanfiction #multichapter #my work

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dasha-nova · 6 years

Text

David Wong ‘This Book Is Full Of Spiders’ Quotes – P. I

Amy and I had “met” in high school, in a special ed classroom for kids with “behavior” disorders. Neither of us really belonged there, she was there because she had a bad reaction to pain medication and bit a teacher, I was there due to a misunderstanding (a bully kept fucking with me until I snapped and gouged out his eyes—you know how kids are).

I don’t know how they catch the birds. I know the Goliath Fucking Bird-Eating Spider can’t fly because if it could, it would have a different name entirely. We would call it “sir” because it would be the dominant species on the planet. None of us would leave the house unless a Goliath Fucking Flying Bird-Eating Spider said it was okay.

I flinched and spun, then realized it was my phone. John had set my phone’s text message ringtone to a sound clip of him screaming, “TEEEXXTT!! SSSSHHHIIIIITTTTT!” I never figured out how to change it back.

My hair looked like I had combed it with an angry cat.

The English language needs a word for that feeling you get when you badly need help, but there is no one who you can call because you’re not popular enough to have friends, not rich enough to have employees, and not powerful enough to have lackeys. It’s a very distinct cocktail of impotence, loneliness and a sudden stark assessment of your non-worth to society. Enturdment?

John, possessing a genetic defect that makes him walk toward danger, strode down toward where it looked like some cops were trying to set up a perimeter around the chaos. Somewhere, Charles Darwin nodded and smiled a knowing smile.

You might have sensed something, just as in your everyday life you might sit in a dark house and feel like you’re not alone, or have a nagging suspicion that something slipped around a corner just a moment before you looked. The feeling can usually be expressed by the phrase, “Of course there’s nothing there. Now.” To be clear, if you’ve actually seen a ghost, that doesn’t make you like us. A ghost sighting is usually nothing more than your brain trying to put a familiar face on something that does not have a face at all.

He nodded. “So you feel like you have to hide a part of yourself, and she doesn’t.”

“I’m saying it’s like that with everybody. There are two kinds of people on planet Earth, Batman and Iron Man. Batman has a secret identity, right? So Bruce Wayne has to walk around every second of every day knowing that if somebody finds out his secret, his family is dead, his friends are dead, everyone he loves gets tortured to death by costumed supervillains. And he has to live with the weight of that secret every day, that tension gnawing in his guts. But not Tony Stark, he’s open about who he is. He tells the world he’s Iron Man, he doesn’t give a shit. He doesn’t have that shadow hanging over him, he doesn’t have to spend energy building up those walls of lies around himself. You’re one or the other—either you’re one of those people who has to hide your real self because it would ruin you if it came out, because of your secret fetishes or addictions or crimes, or you’re not one of those people. And the two groups aren’t even living in the same universe.”

“So does anything scare you, doctor? Anything irrational?” “Of course. <...> Are you a fan of science fiction?” “I don’t know. My girlfriend is.” “All right, but you know Star Trek, and ‘Beam me up, Scotty’? How they can teleport people around?” “Yeah. The transporters.” “Do you know how they work?” “Just… special effects. CGI or whatever they used.” “No, I mean within the universe of the show. They work by breaking down your molecules, zapping you over a beam, and putting you back together on the other end.” “Sure.” “That is what scares me. I can’t watch it. I find it too disturbing.” I shrugged. “I don’t get it."

“Well, think about it. Your body is just made of a few different types of atoms. Carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, and so on. So this transporter machine, there is no reason in the world to break down all of those atoms and then send those specific atoms thousands of miles away. One oxygen atom is the same as another, so what it does is send the blueprint for your body across the beam. Then it reassembles you at the destination, out of whatever atoms it has nearby. So if there is carbon and hydrogen at the planet you’re beaming down to, it’ll just put you together out of what it has on hand, because you get the exact same result.” “Sure. “So it’s more like sending a fax than mailing a letter. Only the transporter is a fax machine that shreds the original. Your original body, along with your brain, gets vaporized. Which means what comes out the other end isn’t you. It’s an exact copy that the machine made, of a man who is now dead, his atoms floating freely around the interior of the ship. Only within the universe of the show, nobody knows this. “Meanwhile, you are dead. Dead for eternity. All of your memories and emotions and personality end, right there, on that platform, forever. Your wife and children and friends will never see you again. What they will see is this unnatural photocopy of you that emerged from the other end. And in fact, since transporter technology is used routinely, all of the people you see on that ship are copies of copies of copies of long-dead, vaporized crew members. And no one ever figures it out. They all continue to blithely step into this machine that kills one hundred percent of the people who use it, but nobody realizes it because each time, it spits out a perfect replacement for the victim at the other end.” I stared at him. “Why did you tell me that?” He shrugged. “You asked".

#david wong #this book is full of spiders #dave wong #dave and john #quotes #amazing book #favorite writer #humor

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fayecallasdatingblog · 6 years

Text

What’s Your Attachment Style (+ How It Affects Finding The One)?

Have you ever wondered why you act the way you do in a relationship, and where that behavior comes from? That jealous monster that pops up when your significant other is late after work doesn’t come out of thin air, nor does your Bambi-like trust of everyone you date.

It’s a scientific fact: your past relationships and how you attached to people you cared about previously in your life has a huge impact on how you’ll be in romantic relationships. Your past, in fact, defines your attachment style.

How you attach to your mate tells a lot about you.

As a child, maybe you were alone a lot and felt anxious when your parents left you home by yourself. Or maybe you had a loving and safe relationship with your family. Perhaps you were abused in some way, and now have trouble trusting people.

Whatever your history, it’s important to understand that it affects your present, and your ability (or inability) to love.

In fact…if you’ve had trouble finding love, it might be because of your attachment style. If you’re not aware of what your attachment style is, then you can’t know how to look for someone whose own style complements your own.

Consider this as your guide to understanding what your attachment style is, as well as how to be in a relationship with a guy who has a particular style that works well with your own.

Whoa. Back Up. What is an Attachment Style?

Two paper hearts become one.

Scientists are always coming up with something useful, aren’t they? In the 1960s, several psychologists, including John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth conducted research on babies that showed that humans express one of three primary types of attachment, and that their upbringing greatly affects how they form relationships with others throughout life.

There are three attachment styles that define how people love and respond to others, and we’re going to explore each in this article.

Understanding your attachment style can give you insight into why certain things always bug you with a partner, or why you seem to attract a certain kind of man over and over (for better or worse).

Knowing the characteristics of each attachment style can help you quickly identify which one the object of your desire is, and you can decide whether you’re up for dating, say, someone with an avoidant attachment before things get serious.

I know, I know. You’re chomping at the bit to find out more about attachment styles. What are we waiting for?

The Secure Attachment Style: Based on Trust

Couples who are secure trust one another.

Bethany’s childhood was very “Leave it to Beaver.” Her parents have been happily married for 45 years, and she’s close to her brothers. Her parents supported her as she explored the world around her, and she grew up with a good sense of self.

Bethany made friends easily and has stayed friends with her junior high crew. She’s got solid self-esteem.

Trust is not an issue for her.

When Bethany is in a healthy relationship, she gives her love easily and respects her partner. She’s willing to compromise when needed, and is okay with having boundaries with her guy. Her relationship is about being give-and-take: sometimes she’s in the driver’s seat, and sometimes he is.

Are you like Bethany?

If so, congrats. The secure attachment style is the gold standard when it comes to attachment styles. We all aspire to have this style, and half of us do. You may operate with the secure attachment style until something traumatic happens…or you might evolve from one of the following styles once you’re in a better place in your life.

If you don’t identify with Bethany, don’t worry. It’s absolutely possible to change your attachment style with a little introspection and hard work.

What to know about dating guys if this is your style:

You’re trusting, and generally that’s a good thing, but do go slow. Not every guy deserves your trust right away, and he definitely should earn it. You may be guilty of trusting everyone, which may get you hurt. Just protect your heart.

What if you keep attracting guys with this style?

Then celebrate. This is a well-rounded guy who isn’t afraid to express himself with you. Not every man with the secure attachment is a knight in shining armor, but you can be relatively sure he doesn’t come with a ton of emotional baggage that will interfere with your relationship.

What if you’re secure and he’s anxious or avoidant?

When you start dating across attachment types, you can be sure that you’ll need to have conversations to ensure that you and your partner are on the same page. If you’re dating someone who has the anxious attachment style, he may need constant reassurance that you care about him. He may get jealous easily. Make sure you text or call him frequently and let him know that you only have eyes for him.

If his anxiety gets out of hand, that’s when an imbalance in the relationship can occur. Consider whether you’re willing to put in the work to reassure him. It can take a lot of energy to do so.

If you’re dating someone with the avoidance attachment style, realize that while you feel secure in professing your feelings — or even frustration from time to time — he may pull into his shell to avoid any sort of emotional discussions.

If you’re just starting to date an avoidant, he may make it clear that he’s not looking for anything serious. If you’re okay with casually dating him and never being in a committed relationship, proceed. Otherwise, move on.

Anxious Attachment: Insecurity and Jealousy May Arise

Not everyone had a magical childhood like Bethany. Lizzie felt insecure and unsteady as a child after her parents divorced. She became a latchkey kid when her mom went to work full time. She hated the smelly old lady who babysat her, and would hide from her in her room.

These days, Lizzie worries a ton about her relationships. She overthinks what could go wrong, which puts her at a disadvantage, because she can’t focus on the wonderful opportunity to get to know any guy she’s dating. She’s even jeopardized several great relationships because of her insecurities.

Lizzie often feels possessive or even jealous if her man, for example, goes out with his friends (female buddies included). She sometimes flies off the handle at imagined offenses, always assuming the worst.

Lizzie doesn’t like being alone, which has led her to end up in several Good Enough relationships. She finds it hard to trust, or even open up to anyone, and she constantly worries about being abandoned, so she stays, even when she shouldn’t.

Lizzie is far from alone in terms of women (and men) who let this anxious attachment style get in the way of love. Think of all the Fatal Attraction-type stories you’ve heard of people threatening to kill themselves if their lovers left. Or calling and hanging up over and over. Cooking a kid’s pet rabbit.

All signs of the insecurity that comes with the anxious relationship attachment style.

youtube

Maybe it even describes you. Without reassurance that your boyfriend is happy with you, it can be all too easy to go off the rails, texting a dozen times a day, in an effort to get him to respond.

What do you think his response will be after all those texts? Not good, you can bet.

What to know about dating guys if this is your style:

Realize that some of your insecurities will be unfounded. In fact, most will be, I’m willing to bet.

Before you start accusing your guy of cheating because you saw him with another girl (who, ahem, turned out to be his cousin), take a breath and figure out how to approach the conversation without being accusatory.

Try to put the worry on the back burner so you can actually enjoy your relationship in the moment.

Realize that manipulating your man will not get the results you want. It will, in fact, send him running for the hills.

What if you keep attracting guys with this style?

If you find yourself dating someone with the anxious attachment style, you have two choices:

If you date a guy who is unjustifiably jealous of you, you can avoid doing things that set him off, but that’s like walking through a minefield.

Every time you go play basketball with your boys or have dinner with a male friend, know that you’ll likely tip the balance and cause him to be anxious. Should you stop hanging out with your guy friends just to keep this man? Is he worth it?

Or…

You can ditch him. Because you want a guy who trusts you. And you will never change this one.

Now, this isn’t to say you can’t have a happy and healthy relationship with someone with the anxious attachment style. But it depends on how well he has his insecurities under control, and how willing he is to work on his issues. While you shouldn’t expect to change a man, you can hope that he will want to let go of his anxiety and jealousy in order to be a good partner to you, you fabulous, sexy woman.

What if you’re anxious and he’s secure or avoidant?

In this case, you’re the one who needs to work on letting go of your worries and insecurities for the greater good of your relationship. See your behavior from his perspective: if he hasn’t called all day and your inclination is to assume he’s with another woman, is stalking him at work going to show that you trust him?

Realize that his world can’t — and shouldn’t — revolve around you.

He didn’t call all day because he was stuck in a meeting at work. But as soon as he got out, he texted you to let you know he was thinking of you.

Be clear about what you need. If you want to hear from your man every day, let him know how good it feels to get a text from him. That’s a better approach than crying when you don’t hear from him.

If you’re dating an avoidant, realize this combination is often called a toxic relationship because it’s so challenging to find common ground between these polar opposite attachment styles. You seek affirmation while he distances himself from you. The more he pulls away, the harder you squeeze.

Again, communication is going to be your ally. Make your needs known, and do your best to understand and accommodate what he needs from you.

Avoidant Attachment: Both Dismissive and Fearful

Being in a relationship with someone who is avoidant can be challenging.

As a child, Veronica’s family never expressed love. She was sexually abused by a family member, and ever since, has never learned a healthy way to attach in relationships.

Not everyone who follows the avoidant attachment style has been abused, so don’t discount it if your childhood wasn’t so heartbreaking. You simply may have never formed close attachments in your past, and may still have trouble doing so.

With the avoidant attachment style, there are two sub-attachment types:

Dismissive-Avoidant

Fearful-Avoidant

If you’re the dismissive-avoidant attachment style, you might feel like you don’t need anyone, that you’re fine alone.

You might avoid intimacy because it makes you vulnerable. Maybe people say you’re afraid of commitment, though you scoff at that. You might prioritize everything else — friends, work, school, travel — above having a romantic partner.

You may hate being touched, which can be a relationship-killer in the bedroom.

When you’re in a relationship, you may quickly find fault with your partner, à la Seinfeld (“she’s got man hands!”) so that you avoid the stress of intimacy. Few men stand a chance of making it through your filters, since they’re set so high.

With the fearful-avoidant attachment style, you may crave intimacy…but also fear it.

I love you!

No, get away!

You may find it hard to be close to people and let them in, both friends and lovers, though deep down you want to connect. You want a relationship, but it’s your past — whatever trauma or detached upbringing you experienced — that’s telling you if you get close, you will get hurt.

You may find yourself in dramatic relationships where you argue or even break up and get back together often. IFTTT

#IFTTT #Meet Positives SM Feed

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travisandersondatingblog · 6 years

Text

What’s Your Attachment Style (+ How It Affects Finding The One)?

How you attach to your mate tells a lot about you.

Whatever your history, it’s important to understand that it affects your present, and your ability (or inability) to love.

Consider this as your guide to understanding what your attachment style is, as well as how to be in a relationship with a guy who has a particular style that works well with your own.

Whoa. Back Up. What is an Attachment Style?

Two paper hearts become one.

There are three attachment styles that define how people love and respond to others, and we’re going to explore each in this article.

Understanding your attachment style can give you insight into why certain things always bug you with a partner, or why you seem to attract a certain kind of man over and over (for better or worse).

I know, I know. You’re chomping at the bit to find out more about attachment styles. What are we waiting for?

The Secure Attachment Style: Based on Trust

Couples who are secure trust one another.

Bethany made friends easily and has stayed friends with her junior high crew. She’s got solid self-esteem.

Trust is not an issue for her.

Are you like Bethany?

If you don’t identify with Bethany, don’t worry. It’s absolutely possible to change your attachment style with a little introspection and hard work.

What to know about dating guys if this is your style:

What if you keep attracting guys with this style?

What if you’re secure and he’s anxious or avoidant?

If his anxiety gets out of hand, that’s when an imbalance in the relationship can occur. Consider whether you’re willing to put in the work to reassure him. It can take a lot of energy to do so.

Anxious Attachment: Insecurity and Jealousy May Arise

All signs of the insecurity that comes with the anxious relationship attachment style.

youtube

Maybe it even describes you. Without reassurance that your boyfriend is happy with you, it can be all too easy to go off the rails, texting a dozen times a day, in an effort to get him to respond.

What do you think his response will be after all those texts? Not good, you can bet.

What to know about dating guys if this is your style:

Realize that some of your insecurities will be unfounded. In fact, most will be, I’m willing to bet.

Try to put the worry on the back burner so you can actually enjoy your relationship in the moment.

Realize that manipulating your man will not get the results you want. It will, in fact, send him running for the hills.

What if you keep attracting guys with this style?

If you find yourself dating someone with the anxious attachment style, you have two choices:

If you date a guy who is unjustifiably jealous of you, you can avoid doing things that set him off, but that’s like walking through a minefield.

Or…

You can ditch him. Because you want a guy who trusts you. And you will never change this one.

What if you’re anxious and he’s secure or avoidant?

Realize that his world can’t — and shouldn’t — revolve around you.

He didn’t call all day because he was stuck in a meeting at work. But as soon as he got out, he texted you to let you know he was thinking of you.

Again, communication is going to be your ally. Make your needs known, and do your best to understand and accommodate what he needs from you.

Avoidant Attachment: Both Dismissive and Fearful

Being in a relationship with someone who is avoidant can be challenging.

As a child, Veronica’s family never expressed love. She was sexually abused by a family member, and ever since, has never learned a healthy way to attach in relationships.

With the avoidant attachment style, there are two sub-attachment types:

Dismissive-Avoidant

Fearful-Avoidant

If you’re the dismissive-avoidant attachment style, you might feel like you don’t need anyone, that you’re fine alone.

You may hate being touched, which can be a relationship-killer in the bedroom.

With the fearful-avoidant attachment style, you may crave intimacy…but also fear it.

I love you!

No, get away!

You may find yourself in dramatic relationships where you argue or even break up and get back together often. IFTTT

#IFTTT #Meet Positives SM Feed 3

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