#he was always meant to be leather Mo

[edgeofthegibbuniverse]

This was a PHENOMENAL look. The Sgt Peppers costume designer was a genius.

[neon-junkie]

In the Heat of the Moment - Chpt.6

Summary: “Less than ten percent of domesticated species go into heats,” accord to Tech and his research, and (un)fortunately, you’re one of that ten percent. What else are you meant to do? Trapped during a heat cycle with five men - five willing men who are happy to help relieve you, but not all have the confidence to say so.

Relationship: The Bad Batch x fem!Reader (she/her)

Tags: Heats, Mating, Sex pollen, Friends with benefits, Friends to lovers, Slow burn, Sex, Jealousy, Pining, Cuddling, Huddling for warmth, Tags to be added.

Word count: 2.8k

[Chapter 1]  [Chapter 7]

Chapter 6 - Hot ‘n’ Cold

Two suns.

Why does Tatooine need two suns?

It's not like you can do repairs during the night, either, as the temperature plummets so deep that your goosebumps have goosebumps. Plus, it's dark... Duh!

So, all you and the others can do is work away during the blazing heat. Bunks have been stripped, the sheets being used as make-shift shade whilst you work, only to be pulled down and wrapped up in when the temperature drops every night. Your heat cycle has taken pity on you, as it's relaxed these last few days. Bless Echo for giving you a good run for your money, as he's kept you fully stocked.

Well, there have been odd moments where you can feel your hormones playing up, only for the sweltering blaze from the suns to knock them down a peg.

Speaking of the heat, it's provided you with a new threat - shirtless men.

It's understandable that the Batch want to work on repairs in as minimal clothing as possible, seeing as their armour isn't designed to keep the heat out - not when it's painted black, a colour that attracts heat. To combat their little problem, they've decided to work shirtless, with their lower half sporting sweatpants or sleep shorts.

You've been working in the bare minimum, too. And as curious as your eyes are, the Batch are just as guilty. Some of them haven't even bothered looking away when you've caught them eyeing you up, such as when Echo merely shrugged and replied, "what? These glances keep me motivated."

Charming.

There is, surprisingly, no signal out in the Dune Sea. Whilst you and Tech remain on the Marauder to focus on repairs, the others have taken on the task of trekking to Mos Espa, desperate for supplies, and hopefully, a call for help. That is, if the Republic answers - their lines are almost always busy.

The Batch set out at the crack of dawn, and now that the suns are shining overhead, you assume that they must be there by now. The midday heat is unbearable, and wanting to avoid the blaze, you enter the Marauder. It's durasteel structure traps some heat, but thankfully, the air-conditioning is up and running, and despite its funny smell, you enjoy the decline in temperature.

Not wanting to lie on the leather seats, only to peel yourself off them later, you decide to settle on the floor. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you lie back against the wall, followed up by you taking a well-needed drink from your water bottle.

"Having another break, are we?" Tech's voice chimes out as he also enters the cockpit. His brows are furrowed as he gazes over your form, and you know that he's silently cursing himself for being the mechanic of the Batch, meaning he has the most responsibility when it comes to repairs. Not everybody can lounge around like you, (apparently.)

You don't fancy putting up with Tech's petty remarks, and as luck would have it, you have a reasonable explanation for your 'break.' "Yeah, I just need a moment... something is playing up," you gesture to your lower abdomen, which causes Tech's brows to soften out, and his lips to tilt into a slant.

"Ah, I understand," he says with a nod, and decides to sit beside you, also sipping on his own bottle of water.

Silence swarms the air, however, it's not unsettling. Whilst your and Tech's relationship has become tense, there is still respect. You both know this is merely a storm that will pass, but constant wedges have formed, making it unable to rest.

Until now.

Tech, whilst moving his goggles up to rest on his forehead, comments, "whilst I would offer you assistance, I am not in a suitable state to do so." He gestures to his grimy and sweaty form, and to be fair, your state is no better. "My mind is also far too occupied with repairs, and I am sure you would not enjoy intercourse with me, seeing as my hygiene has become poor. If our resources were not limited, I would happily use the refresher, but we-"

"-It's okay, Tech," you cut his words short with a soft wave of your hand. "I'm too sweaty to fuck, too."

Tech lets out a chuckle. "Well, that is one way of putting it."

Your eyes meet for a moment, and for the first time in days, neither of you feel tense. Tech has always been such a sweetheart to you, even if he was a little awkward and unsure of you, at first. The Batch weren't used to having a Jedi around - they've never had a General before - so can you blame him for having his guard up?

Although Tech doesn't mean his next words with malice, they come out that way, regardless. "Perhaps Echo could assist you when he returns?"

"Oh," you murmur, your eyes locking onto Tech's. Within an instant, he realises his mistake, and rubs the back of his neck in worry.

"That was not a dig," he winces. "I... ahem, overheard you two the other night."

Either the heat from outside is seeping in to the cockpit, or you're burning up from embarrassment. A knot forms in your stomach, travelling up your body, and soon settling in your throat. You attempt to clear it, once, twice, and fail regardless. All you can do is own up to your shenanigans, despite them being consensual all around. "That loud, huh?" you joke.

Tech's lips purse in annoyance, "it was tolerable."

You grimace, and Tech's silent expression reads, 'keep it down next time, would you?'

"...I'm sorry," you sigh, and to your surprise, Tech swats your apology away with a wave of his hand.

"Like I stated before, I am happy with you finding relief in multiple partners," Tech says with a shrug, and whilst you're glad he's not annoyed over that, you mentally note to tone the noise down in the future. Tech continues speaking, although his words have fallen quiet, "and maybe when this storm has passed, we might be able to resume where we left off?"

Your ears perk up at the suggestion - not just because you'll be receiving relief from your body's natural cycle, but because Tech is still interested in you. Dare you think about it, but you're also questioning your chances of having both Tech and Echo at the same time, although you really shouldn't get ahead of yourself!

Resting your cheek on your palm, you sweetly coo, "awh! You miss me?" with a flirty bat of your lashes.

Tech rolls his eyes in amusement, although he can't hide the upwards turn to his lips. "I would be lying if I said that I haven't had you on my mind."

"Awhh!!" you smile, and give Tech a playful nudge. "I knew you couldn't stay mad at me!"

Tech rolls his eyes once more, a common trait of his. He tenderly places his bare hand on your forearm, and whilst keeping eye contact, he speaks. "Mesh'la, I could never stay mad at you. I was in the wrong for becoming overbearing and somewhat possessive, but I now understand that it is entirely natural, especially in your state, for your hormones to somewhat take over your emotions."

"No, no," you say with a wave of your hand. "I was in the wrong for snapping at you. You were only trying to make sure that I was eating, and taking care of myself, and I let my heat get the better of me."

Tech blinks in bewilderment before letting out a laugh, "perhaps we could agree that we were both in the wrong?"

"Perhaps," you repeat his words, imitating his accent. Tech sends you a look before moving his hand from your forearm, his palm meeting the back of your hand. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, and to your surprise, Tech leans over to place a kiss on your forehead, unfazed by your light layer of sweat.

"I'm going to return to the repairs," Tech informs you. He stands, letting out a soft grumble as he does so, his joints cracking from exhaustion. "Join me when you're ready, and please, call out for me if you require anything."

With that, Tech is exiting the cockpit after sending you a soft smile. He disappears from your line of sight, moving down to the hull's exterior to continue his work. The back of your head meets the wall, and you let out a deep sigh, feeling relieved that you two have finally talked things out.

It was all a misunderstanding. Tech cares, and that's not something that you're used to. You shouldn't have snapped, and Tech shouldn't have pushed. Whatever. It's settled now.

You give yourself a few minutes alone before forcing yourself up to your feet, and decide to join Tech outside, eager to help him out as your way of saying thank you.

The depths of space are silent, and to your surprise, the depths of the Dune Sea are just as silent. All you can hear is the distant snoring of your squad, bound to their own rooms. It's almost unsettling, to not have the hum of the Marauder in the distance, a soft buzz as she drifts in space.

You roll onto your back, and with that, a frustrated sigh escapes your lips. You can't sleep, and surprisingly, your heat is not to blame. The desert is cold at night, so cold that it's seeped into the Marauder, and wandered into your room. No amount of blankets seem to be warming you up; you need a distraction, and hopefully, a bit of movement will warm your body up in no time.

Exiting your bunk, you pull the blankets up and over your form, and whilst grasping them tightly across your chest, you begin to make your way out of your room, ready to bug whoever is on the night shift.

"Can't sleep, huh?" Wrecker questions as he notices you in the corner of his eye. He spins the co-pilot chair around, and after setting his holopad down on the dashboard, he meets your eyes.

"Yeah," you say with a soft laugh. You nestle down in the pilots chair, tucking the blanket over your entire form as you bring your knees up to your chest. Somehow, the cockpit is even colder than your room, and you question how Wrecker can sit here in only his civvies, unfazed by the cold. "It's too cold, you know?"

"Yeah, hah!" Wrecker chuckles. "Too cold during the night, but too hot during the day..."

"Exactly," you agree with a frustrated sigh.

As you rest your head back against the chair, silence settles peacefully around both of you. Wrecker is one of those few people who you can sit in a comfortable silence with, only right now, Wrecker isn't comfortable - he's concerned, and you can sense why.

"Are you... uh..." Wrecker murmurs, and brings a palm up to meet the back of his neck. "Are you alright?" he settles on the question, short and simple, and open for any and every answer.

You trail your eyes to meet his, and there is nothing but tenderness within them. "For once, I'm just cold," you say with a shrug, causing Wrecker's expression to soften out.

"Oh," he hums. Wrecker twiddles his fingertips together as he speaks up again, "I've pieced together what is going on from your... uh, stuff. And with a bit of help from Crosshair, but if you..." his words fall flat, and Wrecker begins to stutter. "...I... uh... I guess I'm trying to say that I'm here for you? Kriff, I don't know what to say, really."

"I understand," you reply with a sweet smile. "Thank you, Wrecker. I think the worst of it has passed, but I still have my moments, you know?"

"Yeah," Wrecker says with a nod. "Crosshair went into... uh, a lot of detail when he explained it to me. Maybe too much detail, hah!"

You roll your eyes, "do I dare ask what he said?" knowing that Crosshair was bound to go down the raunchy side of things, and in some cases, exaggerate it for fun.

"It's probably best that you don't," Wrecker responds with a chuckle. The smile on his lips shifts to concern, and Wrecker raises his brows as he points out the obvious. "Kriff, you're shivering!"

You send him a numbing smile, "yeah, I'm really cold," you say with a nervous laugh.

Wrecker grumbles as he rubs the back of his neck. "Do you want to...?" he points to his lap, and makes a grabbing motion with his hands. "Maybe a cuddle will warm you up?" he suggests.

This isn't the first time that you've cuddled with Wrecker. His love language is physical touch, both in romantic and platonic relationships. Wrecker also wears his heart on his sleeve, and the comfort and security of his squad comes before his needs. Always.

"Please," is all you mutter before rising to your feet, and taking a step over to where Wrecker is sitting. Wrecker is both gentle and forward as he bundles you up in his lap, large arms wrapping around your form, practically holding you like a baby. You feel like one, too, given the size difference.

Wrecker shifts in his seat, and after checking over your body to ensure that you're fully covered with your blankets, he relaxes back against the chair. "You know, you can always borrow my hoodie," he says with a light shrug, putting another offer on the table.

"I think I'll be alright like this," you smile, already beginning to feel the warmth growing in your chest, shifting across your body. "Besides, your hoodie would probably go past my knees!"

Wrecker lets out a laugh as he holds you tighter, envisioning you wearing his hoodie. You curl up tighter against his chest, and finally, weight begins to form beneath your eyes. Body warmth is making you tired, and you know that falling asleep in Wrecker's arms is bound to happen.

Until you drift off, you decide to keep the conversation going, knowing that Wrecker won't feel insulted when you do doze off on him. Literally.

"What were you watching?" you nod your head in the direction of his datapad, sitting forgotten on the Marauder's dashboard.

"Oh, well..." Wrecker begins as he picks his datapad up, unlocking it with a swish of his finger. "We haven't got service out here, so I was going through my photos and videos," Wrecker explains, pulling up the app. The last video that he was watching comes on the screen, and automatically begins to play.

It's old, before you were stationed with them. The Batch is in their barracks back on Kamino, and each of them is dotted around the room. Most are stationed at the table, shiny clone armour scattered everywhere, minus Crosshair, who is keeping to his bunk.

"We had just graduated," Wrecker states as the video continues to play. Wrecker is the one filming, that much is obvious given how much the camera shakes, an excited Trooper running around to his squad to film them decorating their first set of armour. "We hadn't even gone on a mission yet, but we wanted to make sure that our armour was ours, you know?"

The audio is quiet, but you can make out their voices. "Let's see yours, Sarge!" Wrecker says as he shoves the camera in Hunter's face. He's so young, baby faced, and tattoo-less. His hair is barely past his ears, and to nobody's surprise, Hunter has already begun wearing a red bandana.

Hunter holds up his armour like a proud child showing off their drawing. The standard white armour has a few red details on it, but the main thing that stands out is the black '99' across the left side of his chest.

"Your symbol," you murmur, taking in how proud your boys looked back when they were shiny and new.

"Yeah," Wrecker says with a grin. "We wanted to make sure that everybody knew how defective we are, so we all decided to put '99' on our chests," he grins, and with that, the video comes to an end.

A light sigh escapes you, and as you shut your eyes, you press your head deeper against Wrecker's chest. "You're my defective boys," you coo, knowing that the word has become a symbol of power to them.

"Yeah, we are!" Wrecker says with a cheer - a light cheer, as to not startle your sleepy state.

Your eyes flutter open again, with a smile on your lips. "Show me more videos?" you question, and Wrecker is eager to take you up on that offer.

There are hours, days, possibly weeks of footage on this datapad that Wrecker is more than happy to show you. He lets you pick something out at random, and with every video that plays, Wrecker has several stories behind it.

You're content like this - cooped up in Wrecker's arms whilst he goes on about tales from the Batch's early days - so content that you might drift off to sleep.

Probably.

[alltheirdamn]

A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!reader)

CHAPTER 3

Summary: You're getting comfortable around Mando. He... doesn't know what to feel. Warnings: so much fucking angst... Word Count: 4.5k A/N: I think y'all know where this is heading 👀

Nevarro was still as lawless and chaotic as Mando had remembered. The town ahead was littered with other Guild members strolling around and lingering outside the cantina. He couldn’t focus on anything around him, his thoughts swimming with the images of the girl on the ship. He didn’t understand this churning of emotions inside of him nor why he was willing to go to such great lengths for her. He had led a life so focused on his Creed, so sheltered and alone, but knowing she was waiting for him back on the ship… he didn’t mind it. He didn’t hate the silence, knowing she was nearby. Her bounty was still out in the galaxy and undoubtedly in the hands of someone far more ruthless. It wasn’t his job to keep her safe, but that’s all he wanted to do now. He wanted to keep her for himself. And he didn’t understand why.

Mando kept to himself as he entered the cantina, acutely aware of the other Guild members who stared as he made his way to the usual booth in the corner. He was already waiting for the moment the meeting ended if only that meant he could go back to her. There were layers to her that he wanted to unravel; he wanted to know more. 

“Mando!” Karga’s voice boomed from across the cantina.

Greef Karga waved him over; his body relaxed against the worn leather booth. He already had a drink in his hand, babbling to other guild members as they passed by. Mando stalked over to the booth, sliding into it and leveling Karga with a long stare. 

“So, Mando,” Karga started, lifting his drink to his lips, “What brings you back? Surely you’re not looking for another job, seeing as the last isn't done yet.”

Mando tilted his head, the tint of his visor dimming the sunlight that poured into the cantina through the entrance. Other guild members scattered the bar area, their heads turning occasionally to get a look at Mando. No matter how subtle he attempted to remain, his presence would always garner attention.

“There were some complications,” Mando explained. “I need more information on the client.”

Karga scrutinized Mando, his eyes lowering with suspicion, “Now, you know I can’t do that, Mando.”

“I turned her in, and things got…messy,” Mando hesitated. “I’m willing to split the reward with you as long as you help me.”

Karga and Mando were both acutely aware of the bystanders around them, eyes and ears trained on them as they lowered their voices to a hush. Whatever information Karga had, it interested those around him. Karga leaned forward, elbows braced on the table and his drink between his hands. He studied Mando momentarily as if he could see through the white lies. But he continued anyway. 

“Seems you’re a bit invested in this bounty,” Karga shrugged. “A job is a job, Mando. Whatever your interest is in this, let it go.” He let out a huffed laugh.

“All I need is information, Karga. You’re wasting my time,” Mando snapped, leaning forward until he was inches from Karga’s face. “Kesi Jissard. Where. Is. He?”

Karga lifted his hands in defeat, settling himself into the cushion of the booth. His demeanor was cool and collected, but Mando could tell there was a hesitation in his willingness. 

“All I’ve heard about Kesi is that he’s fled to another planet in the outer rim. Someone’s scared him into hiding.” Karga raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Mando didn’t flinch at Karga’s insinuation. Of course, word had spread of his killing spree in Mos Eisley, and Karga knew every secret that traveled through the galaxy. When Mando remained silent, Karga sighed and lowered his voice.

“He’s got a few spice runners lingering in Canto Bight, and I suggest you hunt them down. You find them, you’ll find Kesi.”

“That’s all you have?” Mando questioned. 

“You don’t trust me?” Karga smirked, reaching out for his drink again.

“When have I trusted anyone?” 

Mando had nothing to say and slid out of the booth without so much as a breath of a curse. The crowd in the cantina parted for Mando as he pushed through, his eyes heavily trained on the door. Mando would find Kesi.

And he would kill him. 

**

“You’re staying on the Crest. I have business in town,” he had said before disappearing down the ramp and into the misty morning.

He was fickle, that Mandalorian. You couldn’t tell if he had good intentions with you or not. Was he leaving to sell you out? Did someone else want you? Maybe there was a higher reward now, and he would collect it just like he had on Tatooine. Your mind spun endless cycles of what-ifs, and none had a good outcome. 

It must have been hours since he had left when you finally heard the hiss of the ramp lowering. The midday sun seeped through the ramp, and you could see the silhouette of Mando’s body as it covered the sunlight. The carbonite chamber sputtered momentarily, the control panel lights flashing. The wiring was wrong; you could tell how the valves hissed in short intervals. Mando seemed to have basic knowledge of the contraption, but without proper repair, the system could fail and leave him without a way to store bounties. 

“I was a mechanic,” you started. “Back on Tatooine when I was growing up. I know it’s not much to offer, but I can help around the Crest…If you need it.”

“Know how to fix this?” He huffed, his focus still on the panel as it flashed red. 

You walked over to him, pointing to the valve connecting the blocks along the wall. 

“There’s a misfire in the system causing the valve to hiss,” you explained. “You’ll have to reattach the freezing component to the panel, so it’ll set properly. You risk losing its integrity if you don’t fix it.”

Mando tilted his head towards you, clearly taken aback by your willingness to help. Honestly, you weren’t sure why you were even offering to help, but it beat wasting away in the hold doing absolutely nothing. You hadn’t worked hands-on with anything since Kesi took you; he much rather you used your body for other purposes. You missed getting grease on your hands and fixing broken systems. Your father had raised you to understand every piece of equipment under the binary suns. You may still be a bounty to Mando, but at least you could try to be useful.

“How long till the freezing process stops working?” He asked.

You shrugged, a foreign grin stretching across your face. It had been ages since you smiled. 

“Without fixing it or replacing it, maybe a week at most. I can try and work on it, but I can’t make any promises.”

“There are some tools lying around here,” he said. “You can work on it till we reach the next quarry.”

He trusted you with his ship, and you were learning to trust him with your life. Maybe you’d prove yourself useful enough to keep around, at least until your freedom was ensured.

“Where’s the next quarry?” You asked.

You tried to show little interest as you fidgeted with the valve, but internally, you were trying to store away any info he could give you. Maybe the next planet would be a good escape plan—somewhere that could lead you back home. Calling Coruscant ‘home’ was comical, but you had fought for that sliver of freedom. You’d find your way back one way or another.

“Canto Bight.”

Shit. You had run your course through Canto Bight months ago, finding yourself in some dicey situations with different businessmen and spice traders. You’d stolen a lot of credits throughout the casino to add to your savings. Maybe even made some enemies. 

“I’ll stay on the ship,” you offered.

“I wasn’t inviting you to come,” he grumbled.

Asshole. 

You rolled your eyes, smearing away the grease from the valve on your pants. Mando gave up on the panel and returned to his usual hideout in the cockpit. You found the pile of tools he had told you about, rummaging through till you found what you needed to get to work. Keeping your hands busy was better than letting your mind run rampant. Kesi was still on the loose somewhere, which meant you weren’t safe. No doubt he wanted you more now that you found yourself free of him… again. But this time, you had the protection of a bounty hunter—a Mandalorian—and while you were still unsure of him, at least you could sleep at night knowing you weren’t dead. 

After some time, you gave up on the valve and retired to a corner of the hold to fall asleep. The bite of the cold from flying through hyper-speed made your joints ache, and your body shiver, but exhaustion took over soon enough, and you passed out. 

Familiar nightmares flooded your mind as you slept on the metal floor of the Crest. Waves of your mother and father's face drifted in and out as you waded through the waters of that terrible day at the junkyard. Kesi had stripped you of your family, your life, your freedom. You clawed at the memories, trying to dig deeper towards a better one. Maybe one from your youth when your father would take you into town for junk parts to fix or the idle days you spent fixing up speeders alongside him. Maybe you could pull memories of your mother from the deepest corner of your mind. But all that was left was the image of their lifeless bodies, blood running into the hot sand. You cried out for them. You had fought against Kesi. But nothing could bring them back. 

A rough shake of your body pulled you from those memories, and your teary eyes slammed open to see Mando’s shiny helmet inches from your face. 

“Get off me!” You yelled, your voice hoarse from crying in your sleep. 

You shoved against his breastplate, forcing yourself back and out of his hold. He dropped his hands to his side, his gloved fists clenched as he crouched before you. 

“You were screaming,” he said plainly. 

Swatting at your tears, you shook your head. “I’m fine. Just leave me alone.”

“Are you hurt?” He asked. His voice sounded groggy, and you realized you must have woken him from his sleep, too.

“No,” you sighed. “Just—just leave me alone, okay?”

“There’s a bunk next to the refresher,” he offered, tilting his head towards the wall against the back of the hold. “Got a bed if you’d rather sleep there.”

You bit back a yawn, slumping against the wall behind you. 

“Floor’s just fine for me, thanks though.”

You tried to play it off lightly as if your dreams hadn’t jarred you. But you still felt on edge, and the brooding Mandalorian in front of you didn’t ease your mind. 

“You’re stubborn,” he grumbled. He reached to grab your bicep as if to drag you up and you involuntarily shrunk away. He retracted his hand cautiously, noticing your visible flinch at his action. You were still unused to being touched, especially since every touch on your body the last few years had been rough and unwarranted. Mando was no different.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged. “Nothing I’m not used to.”

Mando hesitated a moment before turning back to the cockpit. You watched silently as he molded into the darkness, and you curled back into yourself on the floor.

**

Nothing I’m not used to.

Something about the weakness in her voice made Mando irrationally angry. He didn’t know a thing about her, but her response to his touch was enough evidence that she had gone through hell in her lifetime. Even how Kesi and his men handled her proved that she had been nothing but an object to them. 

Maker, he needed to kill someone soon. 

He had set the coordinates to Canto Bight in hopes he’d find a lead on Kesi. The planet was covered in slimy aristocrats who enjoyed their spices. Someone would have information on him, and if Karga were true to his word, he could find his next lead. 

Mando still had three other pucks that needed to be found, yet this girl took up all his time and focus. Thankfully, one was on Canto Bight, so he could at least be semi-productive while trying to help her. 

And he was trying to help her, truthfully. Why? He had no fucking clue. 

But she was stubborn, hot-headed, and all too willing to throw her safety out the window for a fraction of freedom if he could grant it. Dropping her on some random planet would take a lot off his plate—maybe even clear his head—but something about that felt wrong. He felt obligated to finish what he started.

Because Kesi was still alive.

And Maker, Mando wanted to fucking kill him. 

Canto Bight was just as awful as Mando remembered. Descending into the docking port was a hassle, full of other larger and better ships that crowded the space. Dock workers clothed in white pilot suits walked the perimeter of the docking port as he touched down. With uninterested expressions, it was clear that the Razor Crest was the least of their worries tonight. Though it was well into the evening, the lights from the casino were bright enough to be seen above the cliff side of the city. Another reminder that he hated crowds. 

Really fucking hated them.

The cargo hold was quiet as he left the cockpit, and part of him was disappointed to find her sleeping on the floor again. But with the sound of his boots walking along the metal, he noticed her eyes crack open and stare at him expressionless. 

He had hurt her—not physically—but it was enough to twist his heart in a way he couldn’t explain. Maker, what was it about this fucking girl that had him so confused? She had offered to help around the ship, and part of him was grateful she wasn’t putting up a fight. But he knew she wanted freedom more than anything. He wasn’t willing to let her go yet and fought with those emotions silently each time he saw her. 

She sat up slowly, the sleep shirt rising just a fraction to show a touch of skin between her waist and ribs. Mando’s eyes caught onto that piece of skin, and wondered how soft she’d feel. He had held her in his arms when she was nearly dying from that fucking spice. But holding her in his arms in a different way… 

He mentally shook away that thought.

He was distracted.

She was a distraction.

“I’ll be gone for a few hours,” he said, walking to the armory wall. 

Punching in a few codes, it opened to reveal his slew of guns and blades. Hidden between them was her own blade. 

Her eyes glanced into the chamber, most likely taking note of different ways to kill him if she had the off chance. Though the thought of her trying to kill him was laughable, he also didn’t underestimate her. 

“I’ll try working on the chamber again,” she offered, cracking her neck. 

It was clear the floor was doing her no good, and despite Mando wanting to urge her to sleep on his bed, he knew she’d be persistent against it. But thinking about her body stretched out on his bed, wrapped in his scent… something feral awoke inside him. He was starting to develop some deep sense of need for her, something primal and inescapable. 

Maybe he needed to rid himself of her sooner… before he completely lost his mind. 

He grabbed his rifle on the armory wall, slinging it behind his back, and said his goodbyes to her. She eyed the weapons again before he closed it up and then slid her gaze to him. He felt paralyzed by her wide eyes and soft pouty lips. He had to shake himself of this trance she put him in and focus on the hunt. The closer he could get to Kesi, the sooner she’d be gone. 

And that’s what he needed. 

Maker, he hated this fucking city. Citygoers eyed him cautiously, scurrying out of the way as he stalked through the casino. Karga had given Mando the name of the spice trader connected to Kesi: Porro Shif. Mando knew Kesi wouldn’t return to his junkyard without a larger group of men who could protect him. Mando had killed enough of his crew to scare him into hiding, and now he needed to pull him back out.

The casino tables were crowded with heavily jeweled aristocrats, their credits overflowing on various games. Smoke clouded the tables as they leaned over in anticipation, hoping for a winning hand. Mando was decent at Sabbac, and if he had to gamble his way through the casino to find Porro, he would. He had been given enough credits from her bounty to last him a few trips through the next bounties. 

Which also reminded him he had a puck to find.

But first, Porro Shif.

Mando made a few rounds walking through the casino, visor trained on each person he passed. Porro was human, like Mando, and he was sure he’d be in shabby clothes like all traders were. They cared very little about their appearance and much more about what they sold. Surely, plenty of aristocrats were looking for spice to get high off of as they enjoyed their gambling and drinks. 

On his third round wandering the casino, Mando finally zeroed in on him talking quietly in the corner with a wealthy-looking couple. Their heads were bent in earnest conversation—one he didn’t mind interrupting.

Porro eyed Mando wearily as he waltzed up, his eyes bloodshot, no doubt from his own drugs.

“Porro Shif,” Mando greeted, dipping his helm in a brief nod.

Porro swallowed thickly and nodded back.

“Word gets around about a Mandalorian in the guild,” he commented. 

Mando had forced him back against the wall, and he watched as Porro shrunk into the corner. He had little room to escape, which was exactly Mando’s goal.

“I’m looking for information,” Mando explained. “Kesi Jissard.”

“Jissard?” Porror asked, his eyes widening. Glancing around, he lowered his voice into a hush and leaned closer to Mando’s looming body. “What do you want with him?”

“Guild business,” he said flatly. 

Porro nodded slowly, eyes tracking the passersby behind Mando. He glanced back up at the visor of his helmet, eyes unfocused and glazed.

“Last I heard, his junkyard got raided, and he fled,” Porro explained.

“I’m aware. I only need coordinates on where he is now.”

“You lookin’ to buy? ‘Cause I got some spice I can get you,” he laughed nervously.

“I need coordinates,” Mando repeated, hand flexing against the blaster on his hip.

Porro’s eyes flickered at the movement, and he helped up his hands in defense.

“Whoa, I’m not looking for trouble.”

“I’m not either,” Mando shrugged. “Give me the coordinates, and you can go back to selling to your friends.”

“All I know is that he’s with the Pykes somewhere on Oba Diah. Syndicate’s got a location there for spice mining.” He spoke so fast that the words jumbled together. 

“Heavily armed?” Mando pressed.

Porro nodded vigorously, his throat bobbing. “It’s like a fortress. You wouldn’t be able to get through alone.”

Mando smirked under his helm—bad odds never bothered him. Stepping to the side, he gestured out towards the casino floor. Porro’s gaze followed, and his brows furrowed, confused.

“Enjoy your night,” Mando said.

Porro scurried away, glancing back a few times at Mando as he melted back into the crowd.

Oba Diah. 

Mando could get there.

**

It had been a lot longer than a few hours when the ramp finally opened. Daybreak sunlight seeped through the ship, illuminating Mando’s armor as he walked up into it. He had a bounty in his grasp, which was now becoming a usual thing to see. Mando punched in the code to the chamber without a word or even a glance and shoved the man in. He didn’t even put up a fight against Mando, and you mentally commended him for it. There was no winning against the Mandalorian.

The chamber sputtered momentarily, the gas stopping and resuming its usual flow. Once the chamber rolled to a silent hiss, Mando finally turned towards you, his helmet dragging slowly over your standing body. Just the idea of him looking at your body made you shiver. You were scared of him, sure, but some flicker inside you wondered what he thought when he looked at you. You quickly shoved that thought away and stiffened your spine as he walked towards you.

“Kept busy?”

You nodded, eyes drifting back to the floor. You hated that his visor was always trained on you, always scrutinized you, always watching you. 

“Good.” His voice was rough.

You scoffed at him and his lack of words. Maker he was infuriatingly vague when he spoke, as if speaking more than one sentence would kill him. 

“I have bounties to return to Nevarro,” he explained, voice softer. “Get some sleep.”

You had enough of sleeping, growing bored of this fucking ship. You wanted off. Maybe the next stop, you could find a way out—escape. 

Mando was clearly done with you as he headed towards the refresher, the door hissing closed and leaving you again in the empty ship. You gave up on laying on the floor and decided to tuck yourself away in the small bunk beside the refresher. You curled up in the bed, a faint smell of smoke and gunpowder invading your senses as you inhaled a shaky breath. You could hear the sound of running water in the distance, and you closed your eyes, wondering if the man under all that armor was softer. Or was that heavily guarded exterior a reflection of what was inside? Your mind wandered to the memories of the junkyard and how you were ready to face death. You had been helpless at Kesi’s hand, yet Mando had returned. Someone cared; it was the first time since your parents were alive. Maybe there was a softer side to Mando, something worth finding. 

But for now, you’d wonder about the taste of freedom and… less about the man naked in the room beside you. 

**

Mando had spent far too long under the hiss of the refresher water. The water pelted his skin in a steady rhythm, running cold after a while. He didn’t mind the cold. Scars marred his skin from several battles over the years, each one a reminder of the man he was. The Creed was his life, devotion, and reason for each breath. Isolation was all he knew, but knowing she was with him and safe was oddly comforting.

Reattaching each piece of his armor, Mando emerged from the refresher to an empty hold. His visor scanned his surroundings, looking for her small body in every corner until he noticed something in his peripheral. She was curled up in his bed, her body somehow squeezed together tighter than before. There was a small crease between her brows, and it worried him that even in sleep, she was restless. His hand twitched to reach out and smooth that line, to coax her from her nightmares, but he refrained. 

Something about her was making him lose his restraint.

And his fucking mind.

As if she could sense his presence, she stirred awake. Her body stretched out against the blanket-covered bed, the sight of her bare legs forcing all his muscles to tense. He focused on steadying his pulse; his cock threatened to harden under his flight suit. Maker, this fucking girl would kill him. 

She yawned, sitting in the bed, watching him just as intently as he watched her. Her eyes were heavy from sleep, her lips pouty and maker, so fuckable. Mando was losing his restraint, his cock hardening at the thought of what he could do to her. What she could do to him. There was no denying he wanted her, despite everything inside him that screamed no. He was willing to throw out all common sense just to flip her over and fuck her into the bed. 

“Mando,” she whispered, pulling him from his vile thoughts. 

His fists clenched at his sides, swallowing thickly before he spoke again.

“Yeah?”

“Do you get lonely? Out here all alone?” She was so fucking innocent when she asked the question.

“No,” he bit out. His jaw was clenched so tight, afraid he’d say the wrong thing. 

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I feel like I’m an inconvenience.”

“You’re not,” he said. His voice had softened, a pang of guilt flooding through his body. “Just trying to keep you safe.”

Her eyes roamed over his body, catching on the apparent bulge in his pants. Fuck, he was embarrassed. She wet her lips, eyes trailing back up to the visor of his helmet. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I—You didn’t have to come back.”

“I know.”

She chuckled softly, pulling her legs to her chest. Mando tracked her movements, his eyes roaming over her legs again. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but after what happened before, he knew better.

“You don’t talk a lot,” she commented. 

He hummed low, shifting his stance a bit so it was less apparent how fucking turned on he was. She was a complete nobody to him, a nuisance if he really let her be, but there was something so inviting and mysterious that he found he couldn’t turn away. He wanted to know more. He wanted to do more. But she barely wanted to be touched, and he’d respect that even if it snapped him in half. 

“I can, um, move so you can have the bed,” she offered as she started to slip off the cot. 

She took a few unsure steps towards Mando, the tension swelling between their bodies. The air around them thickened, and Mando felt himself forcing air into his lungs the longer she stared up at him. What did she see when she looked at him? A hunter? A killer? A savior?

Why should it matter to him?

He never cared what others thought of him, yet he was aching to reach inside her and grasp every thought that swam through her brain. She was silently watching him, mouth partially opened and eyes wide. Mando realized he still hadn’t answered her, and the abandoned bed behind her caught his attention. It didn’t look inviting unless she was curled up in it. He’d rather stay in his pilot chair alone than sleep in that bed without her body wrapped around him.

Maker, what in the fucking galaxy was wrong with him?

“S’fine,” he muttered. “You enjoy it.”

“You sure?” 

She batted her eyes, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. Was she…? No. He shook his head slowly—wait, he meant to nod. He nodded, and he watched a smile tease on her face. Without another word, she crawled back into the bed, tucking her legs up until she curled into a ball. She gazed at him for a few moments before her eyes fluttered shut.

He was so fucked.

[saradika]

— WASTELAND, BABY

vi. like the bonfire that burns, that all words in the fight fell to

[masterlist] | [part v]

boba fett x f!reader

rated E - 3k

tags: fallout au, post-apocalyptic, canon-typical themes, mentions of violence & wounds, some reconning of mando s3, flirting, (f) masturbation and lewd daydreams

You never thought you’d want to go outside the city walls, but you find a trip into wasteland isn’t quite so scary the second time.

If you thought you understood busy in this new world - you were wrong.

The last few days had been a blur - setting aside rations, helping pack up supplies. Getting things ready for a long trip, trying to anticipate anything that would be needed.

The settlement just to the east had finally reached out for help, using the last of their caps to pay off the Gunners. Who had promptly disappeared, leaving room for the Raiders to descend like vultures.

The locals had kept them at bay for now, but it was only a matter of time until they grouped in larger numbers, and wiped out their food and supplies.

There had been hours of discussion, something you had not been privy to, but you'd soaked up details from all your running around.

That Boba had agreed to help them, in exchange for absorbing some of their assets into Mos Espa.

The settlement was rich with farmland, pockets of rich earth where the radiation was not as strong. Much better suited than the fields of sand that the Palace looked over.

To not have to travel and trade for crates of mutfruit and tatos would benefit many. And so, you helped prepare.

You had volunteered, even, to help with getting the settlement fixed up. You'd gotten good at that lately - at fixing things.

Carefully watching Din tinker, enough to where he'd been asking you questions more often than not. Armed with your books from the Vault and your Pip-Boy, there were all kinds of schematics to pull up and adjust.

And - and this was something you kept to yourself - the thought of being left alone in the city for a few weeks seemed too much to bear. You'd gotten too used to seeing your few friends, afraid you'd want to stay in your room without them.

That it would feel like being in the Vault, again. Just left to wait.

Funny that being left in a bustling city would make you feel so alone, but for some reason - it did.

Even funnier was the thought of you wanting to leave the city for the Wasteland - something that would have seemed absolutely impossible, all those weeks ago.

And so, you packed your own things. The tools and some clothes, and one of your books. An old quilt, something you had traded for - a prized possession.

Figuring if they didn't allow you to come with, you'd hang back - sneak in with some of the group in the back.

Something you had been right to anticipate - a shadow passing over you, so much like that first meeting. As you had sat on the bottom set at the base of the Palace, adjusting the leather bag, the pouches at your waist.

Boba - always seeming to find you. Thick arms crossed over his chest as his boot tapped against yours, grabbing your attention, "And what do you think you're doing?"

You hand shielded your eyes against the sun as you peered up at him, "Just doing a last check for this afternoon."

"You should stay here with Djarin." His voice was flat, one that he uses in the Palace.

Leaving little room for dispute.

Din - who was also not happy at being left behind.

You hadn't understood the meaning when Boba had told him "it would be good practice for you to look out for Mos Espa", but you had caught the crinkle of amusement around his eyes.

"I want to go. To help." You had insisted, anways. "I've been training with Din for weeks now. I can handle myself."

Unable to help but smiling, "Besides, you'll be there, right? I'll be safe with you."

There had been something in his eyes when you said that. You had meant it light-heartedly, an attempt to ease his worries. A call back to the beginning, how you had clung to his shadow.

It was true - it was something that you trusted. That whereever he went, you wanted to go, too.

Sharp words had cut into your thoughts, "I'll be too busy to keep an eye out for you, sen’ika."

Old you might have backed off. Old you might have just agreed - but taking the first offer isn't something you did anymore.

In the Wasteland, that led to you getting dicked over by traders, those looking to make as many caps as you can.

You had pushed yourself up, the bag slinging over your shoulder. His eyes followed you, that mark still carved between his eyebrows.

"If Din isn't going, you'll need another set of hands that can fix things." You pointed out.

His head had tilted, "I can fix things just fine."

Your lips quirked then, catching him.

"Even if you're too busy?"

It's had been a stalemate, a low creak of his gloves as his fingers curled into fists.

Reluctantly, he agreed.

Not so much in words - still frowning as his gaze had swept across your face, and then down to your bag. Before he gave a curt nod, and you were off and following behind him again.

Joining the group of now five, heading off into the Wasteland. Fennec shooting you a smirk when you pulled up next to her side.

Knowing you’d try to come, not bothering to dissuade you. Knowing that in this traveling party, you’d be fine.

In the rear of your group had been more muscle, two more newcomers to Mos Espa. Returning with Boba some weeks ago, soon after you first arrived.

Rescued from the Combat Zone. An arena of dread, of fighting to the death for caps. Working towards a freedom that was always just out of grasp.

Though you’re not sure if that term recused is accurate. Liberated might be more accurate.

From your quiet eavesdropping while shadowing Fennec, they seemed loyal enough. Given it willingly to the man who had broken those heavy doors down, had rid the room of the Raiders and filth boxing them in.

Bringing three survivors back with him, when it was all over.

Another Ghoul - tall and proud. Charon, with thatch of red hair that matched the visible muscles and tendons at his cheeks. Dressed in dark leathers and who spoke in a rasping growl when he must.

Standing even taller was Black Krrsantan, covered head-to-toe with black fur. It was hard to resist peeking at him in the Palace - you had never met a Wookie before - but the angry scar across his eye and the growling dialect in a language you didn’t quite understand had you nervous to get caught.

The third gladiator had stayed in Mos Espa. A red-haired women you hadn’t officially met - complaining for a moment about missing the fun before moving on. Already forgetting her disappointment, by the time she reached the bar.

That had been over a week ago. After almost a full afternoon of walking to get to the settlement. Less than 15 miles - another thing that had thrown you off about this new world.

No more gas-powered vehicles. Almost everyone travelled on foot - going a little bit slower that that, even, with Boba's power armor.

Something that was needed, if the Gunners or Raiders decided to stop by again.

The trip would have taken 30 minutes, in your old life. Now, it took 6 hours to reach Pika Oasis.

Another name you hadn't remembered from before. Another place that had changed and become its own, in the last 200 years.

A name that you felt was a little exaggerated, when you had finally arrived. Not an oasis, not at all. Barely 20 people, in a place that might be considered a village at best.

It grew on you, though. After the sprawling Mos Espa, the open landscape of Pika Oasis feels like a breath of fresh air. Spanning no more than a mile or two, from end-to-end.

A single, wide dirt road running through it, a splitting off here and there and leading to a nest of houses. Everything building out from an old main street - the remaining storefront set up to sell the local produce and necessities. An old, chrome diner bumping up against it.

If you followed the path out of town, the northern edge met a natural border against a river, emptying out into a lake.

The water was clean there, for the most part.

Generators purifying it further. A tidy field of mutfruit trees tucked off to the side. A much larger field of tatos and carrots that took up an acre of the town, each.

It reminded you of the Farmhouse, on your first week. The thriving farm it had been in your old life. Good people just trying to survive.

And you adapt to the days spent there, just like you had in Mos Espa. Welcoming the change of pace from the busy city.

Enjoying that the help you gave actually made a tangible difference. Seeing the green sprouts poke up the days following your afternoon in one of the tilled fields.

Homes patched up and walls repaired. People feeling safer, with door that shut and floors that are sturdy.

And at night - you're stuffed like sardines among the few structurally-sound houses. Sharing the space with the families that already live there. Bed rolls tucked wherever you could - in a kitchen, or if you were lucky - on a couch.

Splitting watches that run from morning to evening, keeping an eye on the edges of town that are unprotected by the river or the long chain-link fence that follows the far field. Shared with either members of the town, or with those you travelled with.

Morning were spent stopping by the cantina, trading a few caps for a warm meal. Deeply discounted - with how much you're all doing to help - but you always try to give a little extra from what you have saved up. It's your second-favorite part of the day.

Your first-favorite is the evenings.

When the sun dips below the range of hills, when it gets too dark to work. When everyone meets up again, grouping in small pockets, huddling around fires. The warmth from the day turning into a chill that reminds you of autumn, though you aren't even sure what month it is, anymore.

Sharing both food and stories. News from across the Wasteland, whispers traded from travelers passing by.

Descriptions of things seen that feel unbelievable. Some sort of armored crustacean - two stories tall and spitting deadly acid. Mutated bears with razor sharp claws.

And sometimes - in the evening light of the fire, you have your own stories to tell.

Not from before. You don't have the heart to voice those. Preferring to keep the wrapped closed, tucked away in your chest.

But you have the ones that brought you comfort. The ones you know by heart.

Curious eyes peeking over your shoulder as you read one night. Unable to read the words themselves, so the few children had asked. Enamored by the embossed gilded cover, the carefully and colorfully illustrated frontispiece.

Fingers running over the letters and hands pressing into your shoulders to get a better look. A little girl seating herself in your lap with the confidence that only a child has, waiting expectantly for you to share.

And so, you do.

With a wavery voice that slowly but surely grows strong.

Spending more time explaining things than actually reading. Drawing crude outlines in the dust of pumpkins, castles, dragons. Weaving stories of love and revenge and heartbreak, and soon - they aren't the only ones.

There's more faces around the fire. Ones you've been working with, during the day. Your cheek burning as the kids insist on voices - which you do your best on. Deepening your voice for the handsome knight, small squeaks for the mice that come to help the maiden.

A small moment of peace and solace, after a long and hard day.

It’s the beginning of a slow routine. The children gathering around for the next fairy tale as you crack the long volume open. Carefully shooed away by grateful parents as the story winds down.

Night after night, until your spot becomes a fixture.

But he lingers, tonight. With dark, watching eyes as you laughed and smiled - still feeling a bit foolish under his gaze.

Waiting until you're alone until he comes to slip into the rickety chair next to where you sit. Sun-bleached wood with uneven legs. Your head tips up and you smile, as he tilts forward - elbows resting on armored knees.

"It's good of you to do this." Boba tells you, as you shift.

Uncurling your legs to stretch them out on the stone, your back resting against a crate. Preening from his compliment, as you shrug, "It's nothing. It's fun to see them so excited."

"Did you bring that with you from Mos Espa?"

"I did." You tell him, your nose wrinkling with embarrassment, as you rest the book on your thighs, "I couldn't resist bringing it. Especially to somewhere new."

He doesn't say anything, his thumb rubbing thoughtfully over his lip as he hums in acknowledgment. Your eyes drop down to watch the small sweep, before they dart away.

"I'm sure it sounds silly, but these stories are comforting." The flicker of the fire draws your gaze, as you turn to face it. Drawn back into remembering, "My mother used to read similar ones to me when I was younger."

You smile then, a burning ache in your chest, a half-laugh.

"I used to get so sucked in. She'd wind up so upset with me because she'd be talking, and I wouldn't even be listening." The memories of then meld with the ones you have now. A fuzzy figure with hands on her hips. Lying still in her sleep, years of waiting ahead.

Your voice softens, "I was already gone, and in whatever world I was reading about. Used to want a life like that so badly. Like in the stories."

His smile is small, thoughtful. No more than a curve of lips beneath softened eyes. The expression is tender, one you're not used to seeing. One that sends your stomach into somersaults. Your breath catches as he leans closer.

"So, you wanted to be a princess?" He husks, that small smile growing wider as your head snaps back.

"Oh, nothing like that. I’m not-" Your hands come to cover your face, shielding yourself with them as you lean against his chair.

He interrupts you with a soft rumble of his laugh, thick fingers finding your own, and then peeling them back. His hand is so much bigger than your own as he grasps it, for just a second.

“Mmm. Aren’t you?” Boba asks, as his fingers linger - so close to you face.

You don’t have an answer. Well maybe you do - but it catches in your chest, where your heart seems to flutter. A flex of your fingertips where they press down into his skin.

He’s close from the way he curls down towards you - a twist of broad shoulders dipping towards his spread thighs. You face still tipped up, unable to look away.

That moment hovers for just a second, before he's letting go. Hands folding in his lap, but you can still feel the warmth. Lingering, like the way your eyes still are.

A question in his - a moment, before he asks it.

"Are you on watch tonight?"

That tension persists, as your head still rests against the edge of the chair. The light from the fire warms his eyes, and for a moment, you forget what he asked you.

There's the quirk of his lips and a small tilt of his head. A stretch of his legs bumps his thigh against your shoulder, as you blink.

"Uhm, no." You manage. "Not until tomorrow. I was on the morning shift today with Charon.”

Up long before the crack of dawn - the sky still a worn, weathered grey. Time passing quickly even with a near-silent companion - still running through the rest of your duties when you had finished.

"Ah," Boba's eyes flick up to the dimming sun - dipping over the hills. Sounding almost disappointed, as he estimates the time, "You should get some sleep then."

You fight off a yawn at the mention of rest.

Aware again of the bone-tiredness that these full days of work had brought. Not thinking as you use his leg as a support to haul yourself up, until you feel the muscles flexing beneath your fingers - his hand resting on the small of your back to steady you.

"Thank you," Your smile is shy, "I will."

Starting to head back to the old house where your bedroll is - before you're turning. Seeing how his eyes still linger, as he watches you.

"Are you on watch then, too?" You ask. Wondering, hoping that maybe, you might see him.

He regards you for a moment, as if he wishes his answer was different, "No, just tonight. Need to check the full perimeter, there's a spot I've been keeping my eye on."

You wilt a little at that - before wishing him luck.

"Be careful out there."

One that he returns with a smile - a white flash of teeth in the dark.

"Always am, Princess."

Your cheeks burn with the nickname, as you set off towards your room again.

Unable the fight back your smile, once you’re alone.

———

Sleep doesn’t come so easily tonight.

Even with the long morning and longer day, you find yourself tossing and turning.

Moments flick like pictures in your mind. Eyes closed as memories of Mos Espa morph into just memories of him.

That day when Boba first found you.

The Power Armor, when he had stepped from it.

The way he sits on the throne, thighs spread wide.

Eventually idling, on the conversation you just had. On his smile, the way he called you Princess, with that pretty accent of his.

More than aware of how your heart kicks up a beat at just the memory. A twist in your belly that drifts lower, pooling between your thighs.

The name repeating in your mind, the look in his eyes as he had said it. Your hand drifts unconsciously to the place where you throb, the press of the heel of your hand against your clit.

Your hips flex into the touch. A quick glance around to make sure you’re still alone, before your fingers dip beneath.

Muffling a whimper when you slip between your folds, finding yourself already so wet. Dragging it up to circle the sensitive bud, over and over.

There had been no real time for this since you’ve arrived, and now the images from before turn filthy in your aching desperation. Unable to deny the desire any longer.

Kneeling between his thighs on the dias, your mouth open and waiting.

Grinding yourself against the thigh of his Power Armor. His praise low and modulated through the helmet.

The way he filled your doorway that night, wishing that he had just come right back and filled you instead.

Your teeth grit, as you whine. Turning on your side to press your face against the pillow. So worked up, so deprived that your release hits you more quickly than ever before.

Stealing your breath as you tremble, a soft gasp breaking free into the night. Eyes sliding shut as the pleasure pulses, fingers pressing and circling greedily until it becomes too much.

This time - your brain is clear, as you settle down into your bedroll. Those images softening, turning into dreams instead.

Sleep comes quickly, then.

thank you for reading 💚 part vii will be out thursday, the 13th! and if you’d like to get tagged, please fill out the series taglist here!

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[musicarenagh]

Diving into Innovation: Sage Suede's "Dirty Blonde" Reviewed Guys wait, wait, have you heard Sage Suede's latest album, "Dirty Blonde"? If not, you're in for a treat. This album isn't your average playlist filler – it's a whole vibe, a sonic journey that'll have you hooked from the get-go. Sage Suede's music is like a blend of several genres right from electronic psychedelic to hip-hop, all in one place. Yet, round it up, it's not just the beats but the feels. It's more than just music that you hear in "Dirty Blonde", it is a feeling. Along each track, a different story is told for instance, the groovy beats of "High" and the fine tunes of "Palm Trees and Scotch" with Dazmin D'leon. Also, there's "Itty Bitty," an oldie that will literally force you to tap your feet and move your head in no time. However, "Dirty Blonde" manages to ooze out a feeling all its own. It brings you just straight into a completely different world where music is better than just the soundtrack – it’s like an adventure. Hence, if you're up for an unexpected turn of events, a new trip, then "Dirty Blonde" shall be the album you're looking for. SAGE SUADE isn't merely rapping; he's creating moments, and 'DIRTY BLONDE' is one you'd not wish to miss. Listen to Dirty Blonde on https://soundcloud.com/sagesuede/sets/dirty-blonde-clean?utm_source=clipboard&utm_campaign=wtshare&utm_medium=widget&utm_content=https%253A%252F%252Fsoundcloud.com%252Fsagesuede%252Fsets%252Fdirty-blonde-clean Follow Sage Suede on Facebook Twitter Spotify Soundcloud Youtube Instagram What is your stage name SAGE SUEDE Is there a story behind your stage name? I’m a musician & model that is into magic. The name is meant to describe my vocal delivery in an abstracted manner through the tactile / textures. I see a sage green aura a lot while meditating and I have smoked sage for the thujone, but usually absinthe is easier. Where do you find inspiration? I write from the heart, so my writing is usually based on real experiences. Recently, I have had a lot of stalkers, so I wrote the single Saiko Choto, which is in Japanese and English about the crazy chick that follows me around shopping. She’s not Japanese, but I like the psycho fashion in harajuku. I’m a polyglot, so I write the way that I think and sometimes make stuff like that or in Spanglish. What was the role of music in the early years of your life? I was in musicals growing up and often got cast as the prince. Even in shows that I wasn’t part of like at Esther’s Follies they would just pull me on stage and do an entire number. When I got older, I started to party more and wear leather, so people saw me more as the bad boy and I was also in a musical as Flynn Rider so that’s where I got a lot of free vocal training, even though it wasn’t totally my vibe. Are you from a musical or artistic family? Music was always a part of my life and I used to play often for memorial services and Alzheimer's centers with my family. When I got older, I started to book my own shows since I was the most into music. Who inspired you to be a part of the music industry? I always wanted to travel and experience the world, so I chose to be a musician and also a polyglot. My first albums were Music by Madonna and Deee-Lite’s Greatest Hits. I think the electropop of producer Mirwais and dance house like Towa Tei impacted the style of music that I produce today. How did you learn to sing/write/to play? Most of the electropop that I create is in Ableton with sampling. I’m also a multi-instrumentalist but usually I sing & dance on stage. I do my vocal arrangements and most of my beats before post-mastering, which are layered to sound otherworldly lately. What was the first concert that you ever went to and who did you see perform? I saw Crystal Castles live at Stubbs in high school and almost passed out. Alice Glass has a great stage presence and it felt spiritual for me. How could you describe your music? I’d say electropop with some punk, hip hop and reggaeton vibes.

The style varies a lot with the way I’m thinking and feeling, as well as the styles that I’m enjoying in my free time. I create culture based on what I’m experiencing. [caption id="attachment_54342" align="alignnone" width="2000"] Diving into Innovation: Sage Suede's "Dirty Blonde" Reviewed[/caption] Describe your creative process. I usually write the lyrics before I make the track. Sometimes I structure the track around the poem. Other times, I’ll arrange the beat before I write the lyrics and tailor the lyrics for the beat, like I do on some collabs. What is your main inspiration? I’m inspired by everything that I’m going through in life, as well as by other art that I experience. For example, my psychothrillers on Amazon… a lot of the inspiration comes from being stalked for the past 3 years and my next door neighbor’s divorce. What musician do you admire most and why? Probably someone like Shygirl or on her label because I dig the London sound. I guess I’m spearheading that electro scene in Austin, which is the London of the southwestern US. Another artist would be Uffie and I’d like to have a fashion bender too. Did your style evolve since the beginning of your career? Yeah, I’ve made a ton of different styles and languages. After playing The Viper Room, I feel this rockstar energy that I want to share more of. I’m not sure how I would like it to manifest most in my music yet, but I wrote Psychotic Bulgogi on the way to the venue and published a few other psychothriller novelettes later, so I might just be a little more goth. Who do you see as your main competitor? My only competitor is myself, because I’m only benchmarked on my own success. What are your interests outside of music? I like fashion and the new Robert Wu show is a favorite. I also like Versace. If it wasn't a music career, what would you be doing? I like to model too and that’s a big part of my online presence. I have a photoshoot on Friday and thousands of pictures. I like to work with brands and share the influencer deals with fans on instagram. What is the biggest problem you have encountered in the journey of music? Stalkers. They are very annoying and they deliberately lie about everything in my life, including my name to random people offline. Online, they’ll go down my follower list and lie to people. It is bogus and they don’t make anything, but if they spent the time on themselves then maybe they could. The stalkers in my apartment complex attacked me with a weapon and they caught a case with the municipal court, but they are still yelling lies out the window. If you could change one thing in the music industry, what would it be? I don’t think there is any equality at all with the corporate monopoly and federal funding is a disproportionately serving corporate slush fund for award show circle jerks, so it has never served indie artists at all that do our songwriting and arrangement. There doesn’t seem to be a pipeline from artistry to corporate wasteland anymore and most of them are buying the entire track, so it’s often a disappointment to listen to. Why did you choose this as the title of this project? Dirty Blonde is partially about the experience of being a carefree blonde, which also includes being stalked like on the song “Itty Bitty” which alludes to the risk of being stalked at home or a relationship gone wrong because of a possessive ex. Crime stats show the prevalence of blondes being stalked is higher and I didn’t realize this growing up but I learned later from crime shows. I wrote Itty Bitty before moving to a new apartment complex, where I was stalked again and it was much worse with people trying to sneak inside my place at 3am on multiple occasions, so I must have foreseen this while writing the lyrics. Being blonde is fun but it can also come with additional risk of violence so you have to be careful and lock the doors. https://open.spotify.com/album/2QeXXxuhIH7KGjsLQ5v8jv?si=nH8qwlllQRKI93Z1-eqlxQ What are your plans for the coming months?

After being stalked again, I am planning to move. I have a performance at Package Menswear on March 14th which is an underwear store so it will be sexy. Do you have any artistic collaboration plans Yeah, I’m still working out details and making demos. Dazmin D’leon is working with me on a few tracks. I’ve also gotten in touch with Tying Tiffany and C+C Music Factory through instagram so we will likely collab too. I listened to both of them growing up and am stoked about the possibility of us making collabs together now that they have expressed interest. What message would you like to give to your fans? You can make a lot of content on the cheap and do it on your own. The corporate scene has little integrity and that’s why I don’t feel like any of them are real competition in songwriting, because most can’t write. I’m dropping new books on Amazon and you can check out the channel for my latest show in Hollywood at The Viper Room and dope music vids: YouTube.com/c/SageSuede

[abbatoirablaze]

The Understudies, Season 1, Chapter 5

Word Count:  1.7k

Warnings:  angst, mentions of death

“Don’t you get it, you big ape?” Five growled, glaring at Luthor, “that’s what I’ve been trying to do.  I’ve been trying to make sure it doesn’t end!  But you guy-”

“YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” Both brothers looked at Diego, who was charging into the room at Five.  But Luthor grabbed him and lifted him off the ground before he could reach him, “HEY.  Put me down!  GET YOUR APE HANDS OFF ME!”

“I can do this as long as it takes you to calm down!” Luthor pointed out as his brother tried to fight against him. 

Diego went limp, his rage quickly melting him into a puddle of self-loathing covered in leather, “fine!”

“No!” Luthor said quickly as he put Diego down and looked him in the eye, “you’re going to tell us what you’re talking about!  What’s going on, Diego?”

“Our brother’s been pretty busy since he got back!” Diego pointed out, “he was in the middle of that shootout at Griddy’s.  Then at Gimble Brothers after the guys in the masks attacked the academy…looking for him!”

“None of which is any of your concern!”

“It is now!” Diego hissed, pointing at number five, “they just killed my friend!”

Bri looked at him for a moment, her head popping up at the mention of Eudora.  Worry coursed through her veins as Diego nodded to confirm what he’d just said, “sh-she’s gone?”

“Looking for him!” Diego seethed, his dagger pointing at five.  Bri held her son a little bit closer to her chest and turned his head away from the arguing men.  Diego’s heart lurched in his own chest at the reminder of the first woman he’d loved and how she’d shared her love with his brother, “she went chasing after a lead I told her about and she’s gone now!”

“Who are they, five?” Luthor asked slowly.

“They work for my former employer,” five sighed, “A woman called the Handler…she sent them to stop me.  Then as soon as Diego’s friend got in the way…well…they’re fair game.”

“And now they’re my fair game,” Diego growled once again, “And I’m gonna see to it, that they pay!”

Diego stormed out and Bri looked between five and Luthor, and back to her son, “we-we should go! We-“

“Can help!” Benji said quickly, cutting his mom off, “Uncle Five, tell us what we need to do!”

“I’m afraid you can’t help, kid!” Five muttered, looking at his nephew.  His own heart ached at how much he looked like Ben, “your mom and you should get somewhere safe while w-“

“WE can help!”

“Benji…”

“Former employer?” Luthor asked, breaking the tension between Briana and Benji, “What is this really about, five?  And don’t give me any of this ‘it’s not any of your business, crap!”

“Well it’s a long story…”

“We’re leaving, Benji!”

“But mo-“

“Now!” she said firmly, shooting her son a look.  Benji frowned, still at his mother’s side, while five talked about how he was an assassin.  On her way out, she paused, seeing Diego still in the alley beside the house in the car.

“You should talk to him, mom…”

“It’s not that simple, Benji…”

“From what you always told me, dad would have been the kind of guy to encourage you making up with Uncle Diego…he never liked the idea of any of you arguing,” Benji said softly.  She sighed, knowing that he was right, as she looked at a very sad Diego.  She passed her phone to her son, “what’s this for?”

“Call your Aunt Allison and tell her to meet us on the coffee place on fifth.”

He nodded and instantly started dialing a number while she went down the alley; the gravel crunching softly beneath her feet.  When she reached the car, Diego had his head in his hands and was softly crying.

“Hey.”

His head shot up and he shot her a look, before quickly wiping the tears from his face, “what do you want?”

“I know Eudora meant a lot to you, Diego…”

He sniffled and looked at her, “you don’t know what she meant to me, Bri…”

“I know that you wanted to marry her...that you-“

His eyes narrowed as he glared at her, “what? How did you know that?  Were you stalking me or something?”

“No-no…I just…she found me…when you two first started dating,” she said quickly, “She-“

“She what?”

“When you were training at the police academy to become an officer with her…and you two were seeing each other, she looked me up…”

“Why would she do that?” he asked, confusion lacing his voice, “why haven’t you ever told me about this?”

“It-it’s not like we were on good terms, Diego,” she muttered, suddenly regretting her decision to check up on him as she looked back to her son, “I mean…after you cheated on me, I-“

“I didn’t mean to…”

“And after me and Ben got together…and then he died.  I just…I tried to put distance between us all!” she admitted, “the only ones I kept in touch with were Dot, Allison, and Luthor…”

“Yeah…I heard about you and Luthor,” he grumbled, a pain hitting his chest at the mention of how Bri and Luthor saw each other for a while after Ben passed, “caused a rift between you and Allison for a second…”

“She was married to Patrick…look…we’re getting too far off topic.  I just wanted to make sure that you were okay, Di-“

“I’m never okay, Bri,” he said quickly, cutting her off, “I haven’t been okay since you left me for Ben.  And then coming home and meeting him…he-“

“Don’t you dare pin any of this on Benji…you don’t know him.”

“You’re right!” he hissed, “I don’t know him…and I don’t want to.  Because that kid shouldn’t be Bens…he should be mine.”

“Mom!” Benji called from the top of the alley, holding out the phone, “Aunt Allison is calling back…she wants to know where we are!”

“You should go, Bri!” Diego muttered as he turned the car on, “wouldn’t want to hold you up from something important…”

Klaus pulled himself out of the water, gasping deeply as the oxygen rushed back into his lungs, and the sounds and sights that hid behind his eyelids faded.  A calm looking Dot watched him curiously as she sat on the edge of the tub, “I was wondering when you were going to come up for air.”

“It wasn’t a matter of wanting to, Dot…”

“You have PTSD…”

He shot her a look and leaned against the curved back of his tub, his arms draping themselves over, dripping red tinted water onto the marble beneath him.  She eyed it momentarily and then looked away, “I can sense it on you, you know…”

“What are you talking about?”

She smiled softly at him, the look turning sad when she took his hand, “you should get dressed, Klaus…we have a lot to talk about.  And this isn’t a discussion that will be a short one.”

“I don’t want to…”

“Come on,” she offered gently, taking her brother’s hand.  He sighed heavily and stood up, following her as she wrapped a towel around him, “it’ll be okay, Klaus.”

“It’s never okay,” he muttered, “I haven’t ever been alright.”

She nodded sadly and followed number four to his room, ignoring the bloody trail that he was leaving behind himself.  It wasn’t much longer when she heard the soft padding in the hallway, another frown perching itself on her face when she saw five in the doorway.  He looked to Klaus, “are you okay?”

“Yeah…long night.” He lied, looking between the two, “why is everyone asking me how I feel all of a sudden?”

Five looked at Dot, who shook his head, and suddenly five began examining him from a distance, “more than one from the look of it.”

“Yeah.”

Things began to click as five noticed the smaller details that were added to his brother that hadn’t been there yesterday, “don’t remember the dog tags.”

“Yeah…they belonged to a friend.”

“How about that new tattoo?”

Klaus lazily rubbed at his arm, and began to shrug it off, “yeah…you know, I don’t even totally remember getting it.  It was a long night.”

Five looked back at Dot and she bit her lip.

“You did it, didn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, I can recognize the symptoms, Klaus!”

“The two of you are crazy,” he muttered, shaking his head, “what symptoms?”

“The jet lag,” he pointed out, “the full body itch.  The headaches that feel like someone shoved a full box of cotton up into your nose and through your brain.”

Klaus stopped fiddling around and looked between Dot and Five.  If there were to be anyone in the house that would know what he’d been through and wouldn’t think he was crazy, it would be the two of them. 

“So, are you going to tell us about it?” he asked, gesturing to Dot and himself, “because we can both tell what’s going on.”

“Your pals,” Klaus began, nodding along, “when they broke into the house and they couldn’t find you, they took me hostage instead.  Five smiled, “and you took their briefcase!”

“Yeah…and I thought that there was money in it!” he admitted, “or that I could pawn it.  You know.  Whatever.  But then when I opened it…and the next thing I know…”

“Where?” Five asked.

“What he means is…when?” Dot corrected.

Klaus swallowed his anxiety, not able to look either of his siblings in the eyes, “what difference does it make?”

“What diff-“ Five asked, cutting himself off.  He shook his head, “better yet…how long were you gone?”

“Almost a year!”

“A year?” he asked, “do you know what this means?”

“Yeah,” Klaus scoffed, his scoff turning into a sarcastic chuckle as he tried to make a joke, “I’m ten months older now.”

“No Klaus, this isn’t any sort of joke!” Five admonished, “Hazel and Cha Cha will do whatever they can to get the briefcase back.  Where is it now?”

“Gone!” he sighed, “I destroyed it!”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Dot stood up from her spot on Klaus’ bed and glared at five, “he didn’t know what he was doing, Five.”

“What do you care, anyways, you prick?”

“What do I care?” Five asked, “I needed it, you moron…so that I could get back.  So that I could start over!”

“FIVE!”

“Jus-“

“Where are you going?” Five growled, glaring at Klaus as he tried to excuse himself from the situation.

“Interrogations over…I’m tired of good cop, asshole teen!” Klaus said simply, leaving the room, “just leave me alone!”

Chapter 6

[lady-o-ren]

NEVER WILL I LOVE THEE

CHAPTER ONE // CHAPTER TWO // 

CHAPTER THREE 

(AO3 link HERE)

The King's council room is unexpectedly small and simply furnished, solely meant for conversation and truly nothing more. Yet the crackling fire and floor to ceiling windows brings a warmth to the room, casting a burnished sheen to the gold and silvery embossed armor of the two guardsmen flanking the chamber's door.

At the heart of the room, beneath a large tapestry that hangs on the wall, is where the King of Albion sits.  He's a short and stout fellow with closely cropped hair, gray as the thin smoke that spouts from the fireplace. His face is lined from the years of having to bear the weight of his title alone, with eyes the dusky color of a sable's pelt that peek from beneath his furrowed brow, searching the younger King's own for deceit just as his niece had done.

“Whyever would you come all this way just to break an engagement?” The elder man asks Jamie.

“For one, Your Grace, I think the princess would've thrown any letter from me to the fire before ever reading it, considering it an insult. And two, I didna break the engagement. I simply gave her a choice where there had been none before,” Jamie replies, his voice spiking ever so slightly with hostility that ripples down to his fingertips, tapping against the polished arm of his chair. 

For he too knows what it's like to be betrayed by one's own kin.

But not all of them. . .

He glances over at his captain of the guard standing off by the high windows that overlook the water, reflecting the last glimmering brilliance of the setting sun. He catches the older man's disapproving eye narrowed at his hand. Jamie clenches it to a fist, remembering the feel of a belt against his knuckles that strapped him just hard enough to leave a red sting.\

“I'll break them bones too if I a’ve tae, laddie. All that fidgetin’ let's the other man ken all yer thinkin’. The same as screamin’. And what good will that do ye?” 

And though he hasn't been punished like that since he was a lad, Jamie wouldn't put it past his guardsman to whack him with his leather scabbard right now. No matter that he's inherited a throne and can see far above that dark head of his. He'd always see him as the child he was.

Alone. 

Without a mother and father. 

Ripped from his sister's arms.

But Jamie knows he does so out of love sacred as the vow he'd sworn on his head as a wee babe. For the captain of his guard was also his godfather.

“Till my last breath, when my heart no longer beats, I swear tae God Almighty and yer mother above, tae keep ye from harm. Always, a bhalaich mo ghràidh.”

And Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser was a man of his word.

“But there is another matter I'm most concerned with,” Jamie continues, flicking his gaze back to King Quentin.

“Go on,” he says warily.

“Part of the agreement between you and my uncle was that your kingdom would be joined with ours in peace. It's something I'm still verra much interested in upholding and think it would be to both our benefit. "

“Our benefit.” The elder man snorts humorlessly and leans forward against the table, inlaid with florals and fish hiding between reeds.

“Your uncle said the same when he threatened to invade my land and savage my people unless I gave him my niece's hand. And I did so, not having much choice myself,” he says roughly, giving Jamie a cutting look. “It was either my people's lives or the last piece of my heart and I've paid dearly for it.”

Jamie holds his glare, unflinching. Firelight flickering across his features and thick waves of unbound hair.

“I'm not my uncle. I'm not here for yer land and I've proven I'm not here to force marriage on yer niece, even though I've been advised a union between us would've helped me a great deal better than pleading wi’ ye to take me at my word." Jamie gives a quick glance to his godfather and cocks a half grin at his barbarous scowl. He'd been very vocal when told of the broken engagement and would likely be foul tempered for their entire stay. “ I'm here to amend the reputation of my kingdom that's been tarnished by her fallen King and clear my sullied name.”

A gray feathered brow is raised in challenge.

“Your name, Red King, is spoken in the same breath as the devils. It's said you take great delight in torturing your enemies, even more so when it's the blood of innocents.”

“All lies,” Jamie says resolutely, eyes gleaming bright and true, that doesn't go unnoticed. “I've never tortured my enemies nor have I murdered an innocent. The only blood that stains my hands and soul has been spilt on the battlefield. Nothing more. And done so not out of some misguided loyalty to a King but for the sake of my sister, taken by Dúghall when she was a child barely older than I.”

The King of Albion regards him with a curious gaze that deepens the wrinkles around his eyes.

“I've heard something of that sort too. That Dúghall held your sister captive for years and it was she who poisoned him in the end. ”

“That's gossip fit for chambermaids who've no doubt fancied doing the same to many a man and worse,” Jamie retorts through a tight jaw, and is surprised when the elder man huffs a laugh from deep within his belly.

“And no one would blame them, nor your sister if true. But I do wonder,” he says, serious once more. “If one tyrant was disposed of to make way for an even crueler one.”

“If ye believe me to be as vile as others say, and I dinna think ye do, then let me prove my worth to ye as an ally, one ye sorely need, Your Grace. For I know trouble brews with your borders to the east, with the Wolverton King.”

A fraught quiet fills the air before King Quentin heaves a weighty sigh and rubs the space between his eyes straining without his spectacles.

“I think a drink is needed before we continue. What say you, King of Scotia?”

His tone is almost cordial but only faintly so, just enough for Jamie to crook a grin.

“I'd like it fine. Any whiskey perchance?”

//

They continue to talk for an hour more until Jamie and Murtagh are dismissed by King Quentin, needing to ponder their possible alliance and rest his tipsy mind and even more so tired eyes. 

Out in the grand windowed hallway the torches have been lit along the walls that arch up into a high domed ceiling, it's intricate carvings lost in the flickering shadows. A young faced guardsman, introduced simply as Sir Jeremy, has been waiting to escort them to their private chambers for the night and ends up becoming witness to a verbal brawl.

“So what d’ye think, Ghoistidh?” Jamie asks in the gàidhlig as they walk. “Will the King join wi’ us or has our journey been for naught?”

Murtagh doesn't spare a glance nor a word, but his nostrils flare like a bee-stung bull in response.

Jamie sighs, glancing down  at the white marbled floor and runs a finger down his nose. “Ah, still mad at me then. Would it make ye feel better to bash my face in wi’ yer fists?”

That gets his godfather's attention and he halts his step.

“Nothing would please me more if it meant knocking some sense intae that reckless, empty heid of yers, ye wee shite,” he growls from his scruffy black whiskers, gnarled hands gesturing his thoughts.

“Ye ken ye could'a been thrown intae the dungeon fer approaching the princess wi’out her guard or chaperone beside her. And me being yer sword and shield, I would'a been heaved in right after ye, amongst the fekkin rats and piss, begging yer mam above fer forgiveness fer strangling the bloody life outta ye.”

Jamie, used to being berated by now, simply quirks an auburn brow, mouth twitching.

“Isn't it treasonous to both threaten and insult yer King?” 

Murtagh leans in, breath laced with the king's whiskey and the spiced jerky he keeps in his leather sporran.

“Hang me from the gallows then when we're back in Scotia, my King of fools,” he hawks.

But before anymore is said (before Murtagh is forced to do penance for the murder of his godson who's shoulders are shaking from stifling his laughter), the sound of a door opening has the two men turning back down the hallway where two guards have now appeared along with the princess.

“Seems we had a wee mouse listening in on us. What must she think of ye now?”

“I wonder,” says Jamie softly, switching back to the Albion tongue, and watches as the lass turns a corner, a heartbeat too far. “I think I'll ask her.” 

Murtaugh stares at him as if he's lost all sense. “Ye’re naught tae speak tae her.”

“Is that an order from my guardsman to his king?” Jamie asks, knowing his godfather would be powerless to challenge his title, especially in the presence of a foreigner in their native tongue.

And he's right. 

Murtaugh flicks his gaze to young Sir Jeremy, who's eyes dart nervously between the two men, and sighs. “Pardon me, my King, but it is getting late and I'd rather be sleeping in a bed t’night, no’ shackled tae a dungeon wall beside ye.”

Jamie grasps his shoulder, the whipcord muscles beneath his palm taut as a bowstring. Always primed for a fight. “I'll be only a moment, Ghoistidh.” Then says no more, his feet already propelling him forward, as Murtagh can only look on, muttering incoherently -

"Tha e na iongnadh nach deach mi liath."

//

The princess is still within sight when Jamie calls out to her in the quiet hallway that has her pausing to look over her shoulder, gilded in the moonlight. Still dressed for a tumble through the thistle and grass, she raises a hand for her guards to move aside as he approaches her with a hurried step, loud and eager as his heartbeat.

It had been racing since he first caught glimpse of her running between the green bracken and trees, curls whirling about her like a gale over a stormy sea. Jamie had thought her a nimble, wild thing of enchantment. The kind of tameless creature that lived only in tales of times long gone his mother and father had told him about when he was a child. And for a breath of a moment, he had wondered if this maiden had unwittingly stumbled from her own realm of faerie to his.

But then she had tripped and fallen, graceless as a newborn fawn. 

Had spat out the most wicked obscenities that would've made even his godfather blush. 

Yet when he held her hand in his, small and wounded like an injured dove, Jamie felt something startling, warming him like a golden ember from the breath of a firedrake down to the marrow of his bones.

And his heart . . .

"What is it King of Scotia that couldn't wait for the morrow?" 

Claire asks, voice no longer bristling with the bite of a crocodile but still thickly laced with trepidation, as her guardsmen wait behind her with their halberds raised.

It's enough to make Jamie's gut plummet to his boots.

“I saw ye leave the king's chambers and came to ask if yer opinion of me has changed but I see that even from what ye heard and what we spoke about beneath the trees that ye still doubt the man I am, that I ask ye to trust.”

Her eyes fall down to her hands clasped together, the right still bound with his handkerchief, and gingerly she brushes her delicate fingertips over the fabric. 

"You have given me my freedom, King of Scotia, and for that you have more heart than my former betrothed. But I still have known you far less than a day and now you're willing to pledge your loyalty to my people and king just like that, without a price."

Jamie shakes his head, eyes intent on hers. “I don't make my decisions on a whim, Your Highness. All I want is a chance to hold me heid up high and bring honor to my family name that right now only brings fear to all who hear it, as ye've proven t’day when first we spoke. And I think I can do that by shielding Albion from an enemy like yers . . . And mine."

"Yours?" Claire's eyes search his, a fearful shadow tainting their amber-gold luminescence. "You said no such thing to my uncle, that you know The Wolverton King."

Jamie draws in a hard breath, looking down at his right hand flexed between them, the skin scarred and burning with the crushing echoes from his past. 

 You beauty, let me hear you scream . . .

He clenches his palm shut, before saying roughly. "I've never met the King, but I've had the cruel misfortune of falling prey to his brother years ago. A man I pray ye never meet and would lay my life to keep that so. This ye must believe of me, Your Highness."

His voice whispers off at the end, feeling his heart gallop just as it did in the midst of battle, waiting for her to speak. And she does. A tentative question, hand outstretched to his.

"May I?" 

Claire asks, though Jamie can't fathom why. Not after she recoiled from him earlier. But he nods, heart fluttering, as he opens his palm for her to take. For who could ever deny a princess?

He watches as her fingertips feather across his battered hand, gently tracing the jagged scars gone white as the years of violence dragged on. She grimaces at the once broken bones protruding awkwardly beneath, as if she could truly see how each crooked finger had met the brutal blow of the malicious prince.

And maybe she did.

"You were just a boy when you met him, weren't you?" She lifts her gaze, dark with shock.

"Aye," rasps Jamie, glancing down at his hand clasped between her own. "I was barely fifteen when I was ambushed by a gang of soldiers along the Wolverton borderlands. They tied me up and brought me to their Lord Commander, their prince, for interrogation and I was fool enough to think he'd simply slit my throat. Instead he crushed my hand wi' his boot and carved my back to the bloody bone like he was gutting a fish . . ." 

And for all his days, Jamie would remember the pink flick of the wicked devil's tongue tasting his blood, smeared like rouge across his harsh thin mouth, parted in a lover's blissful sigh.

Jamie grits his jaw, swallowing the bitter bile rising up the straining cords of his throat, and continues.

". . . He would've done far worse to me too if not for my godfather risking his neck to save mine."

Claire tightens her grasp, instilling a steadying warmth into his palm and fingers he badly needed. "Not your uncle? Surely he must've tried to rescue you

He snorts ruefully at the princesses' appalled expression. 

"He's the one that sent me to scout the border, Your Highness. Wi' no sons of his own, he thought my very existence was a threat to his and wanted me dead. Tis why he forced me to soldier for him when I was a child. The bastard couldn'a kill me himself and waited for someone else to." He then shrugs, grinning wryly. "Didn'a work like he planned though. Nor was it the first or last time he ever tried."

There was a thick curved scar along the back of his skull that could attest to that too.

"So do ye see why I'd give my right hand and more to defend ye from men like my uncle and the prince they call Black Jack? Why being compared to them, to ken ye see me in such a way, is a blight on my soul."

He sees her chest heave with unspoken breath as she circles her thumb around a knot of tissue, so very softly, as if his skin would bruise from such attentiveness.

Was it just hours before she threatened to tear him apart? 

"King of Scotia . . ." 

He shakes his head, voice low and heady from her ministrations.

"Jamie, Your Highness. Tis my boyhood name and ye're welcome to call me so, as the last of my kin does, please."

For the first time, Jamie sees a smile bloom on her wine kissed mouth that only adds to her loveliness that glows in the mystic light of the moon and stars, the vibrant flames of the torchlights.

"I suppose if you're to stand between me and all things grisly, a single name would be easier to call upon."

 "Do ye mean that? Truly?" Jamie asks, unaware he's tugged her hand up to his chest, sparking a sudden shyness in the princess.

"There's still much to talk about between us, and with my uncle too," she hastily adds.

"Of course," he grins.

"So until the morrow then . . . Jamie." 

"Until the morrow, Your Highness," he echoes back, reluctantly letting her hand fall from his.

Jamie then achingly watches her walk away, a heartbeat too far again, and slumps his shoulder against the wall. Runs a hand through his curls, down the back of his neck.

"You are a fool." 

Jamie doesn't bother to turn around, merely sighs in answer to his godfather.

"Ye've fallen for a princess. Could've had that princess. But ye've gone and thrown it all away." Murtagh shakes his head, coming up beside him. “Ye're the same heartsick fool yer father was.”

Jamie huffs a laugh and glances to his side. "Do I have nothing of my mother?" 

Arms across his chest, the older man looks thoughtfully at the once wee lad, his grizzled features softening as he does so.

“Tae much heart. Tae much spirit. Tae many good things that will make ye tae good of a king." He then smacks the back of the young King's head, who bunches over and lets out a yelp. "And  a pain in the arse tae serve and protect. Now if yer done fawning over the lass I'd like tae get tae bed.”

But as they walk, and as Jamie rubs the bump on his head . . .

“Ye dinna think she noticed the fawning, d’ye?”

"Ye wee. . . " Murtagh reaches for the hilt of his sword just as Jamie cracks into raucous laughter, running down the hallway for dear life.

A/N:

So the first two parts have been ready since the summer. The third part has been a beast to write.

 I couldn't put Claire in the beginning because she just took over the conversation and distracted Jamie way too much and I needed that place to flesh out Murtagh a bit. I also can't write more than two people in a scene so I had to push her down. But then I had a hard time writing her there. She's listened to Jamie and Lambs conversation and has definitely mellowed out off page but is still cautious towards Jamie. But I didn't know how the fuck to write that tone into her speech. I tried having Jamie joke around with her to flesh her out but after three rewrites it just didn't work. Also it's all written in Jamie's pov cause I felt overwhelmed by all the juggling I had to do and by being so deep into Jamie's thoughts and backstory. I tried mixing in Claire's pov but it was just too much and I ended up with a very stilted Claire at the end which sucks.

Anyways this is the best I could muster and I'm not happy at all about it. Mostly because I did rush through what was left to be written. My grandma is not doing well (I wrote about that in another chapter of another series) and she won't be getting better. I feel like I'm being ripped apart and a thousand other emotions that are driving me mad. But I'm trying to write to keep some semblance of sanity (it's not working). I just don't know how long I can keep doing that.

Thank you to all you readers who gave me some kind words and prayers ♥️🙏♥️

Random Info:

*So Uncle Lamb is very different in this fic compared to how he is in my head (he's like Jane's dad from the animated Tarzan which is very different from how I think of him in canon). And since I don't think he'll pop up again, his back story is that he married. His wife died in childbirth, along with the child, never remarried and is very protective of Claire.

*Murtagh is Jamie's bodyguard. And looking up some official titles the only one I liked was Captain of the Guard. He's also been at Jamie's side since Dougal forced him to be a soldier.

*Claire definitely has thoughts on the Wolvertons that I couldn't flesh out here but it's why she's warmed to Jamie a great deal more than last chapter.

*It's been so long since I've written parts of this fic. If there's anything that sounds like it's from the books I got it from there.

[wh6res]

dreams come true | yuta

"soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks." — ny

[ part of the my bloody valentine collection ]

tw. gore, blood, murder, death, killings, mentions of illegal organ trafficking, violence, mentions of stalking, minor character deaths, weapons (a knife and a gun), almost (??) suggestive content but nothing happened

disc. this is rlly fucked up and yuta is unredeemable. i dont condone such acts. this is all a work of fiction and meant to entertain.

wc. 5k

every time you sleep, the void is sickening. it was all you could see, lightyears and lightyears away of pitch black that made your head dizzy and your stomach dry heave. you've always wondered when you'll start dreaming about your soulmate's memories. they were like little secrets, another way for two people to be intimate without even being together. their days were flashing before their soulmate's eyes in the form of a dream. it's as if you spent the day with them!

you loved it, the whole concept of it. it sounded so wholesome and sweet and jesus fucking christ, you've always been such a hopeless romantic.

it was sweet until it turned sour. you loved it until you hated it. it was romantic until it turned downright terrifying.

you wake up covered in cold sweat, panting and gasping as if you've run a whole marathon.

moonlight seeps through your glass window, slightly left ajar for the midnight breeze to pass through – you walk up to it, pull it shut, and draw your thick curtains together. you exhaled, breath shaking as you tried to anchor yourself back to the ground.

with the only source of your light disappearing, darkness envelops you whole. for once, you craved the void. you want that void back if it meant never seeing something like that again – something straight out of your worst nightmare.

"119, what's your emergency?"

"uhm, i think… i think i just witnessed a massacre."

you reiterate everything you saw in the dream – the mahogany door, paint chipping off the drywalls. the doorknob was rusty, so were the hinges, and it made an ominous creak when pushed open. the light switches on, the first you see was a bunch of dirty ice coolers in what should've been the living room, it wasn't even the slightest bit organized. they were everywhere, and the floor looked grimy and disgusting, like there's a stain they can't seem to scrub off. only when your soulmate has stalked closer did you see the labels haphazardly taped on top of the ice coolers.

kidneys. livers. lungs. pancreas. intestines – you nearly vomited on the floor, trying to relay everything you saw to the operator on the other end of the call.

then came the gruesome parts.

their deaths.

they were five people in total. men clad in cheap t-shirts and pants, wearing all these similar leather jackets. some were well-built, ripped in the arms and thighs, but some were skinny, the jackets hanging on their small frames.

they never stood a chance against him.

your soulmate is agile, quick on his feet with outstanding eye-hand coordination. only equipped with a butcher's knife, but it was all he needed to take them down and send them knocking on inferno's gates. he was skilled, knowing when to pounce and where to slash his knife to maim but never to kill. by the time your soulmate was through with them, everything is bloody red. all the victims' eyes widened as they sputtered and choked on their blood – not dead, but dying...

because your soulmate wasn't done yet.

a killer should have a modus operandi, should they not? so he took out a desert eagle, stood before the bleeding bodies, and shot two bullets straight into their eyes. the finishing touch? carving a frown on their faces with his butcher's knife.

the operator only told you one thing after she's made you describe the place for them to track the crime scene down.

"double-check all your windows and doors."

because you couldn't be too sure, not when you have been granted a front seat to the sad face slayer's most recent endeavors.

the detective eyes you with a certain pity. maybe that's why you don't bother meeting his eyes. you sit still on a chair, camera blinking red behind him, the interrogation room is freezing even with the thick jacket you're wearing.

seven billion people in the world and you're soulmate's a ruthless serial killer who took it upon himself to purge the world of evildoers – he was playing god, no wonder the detective is looking at you like that.

"uhh…" he's awkward, fidgeting in his seat. "and you saw this all in a dream?"

"yes."

you've known him only minutes ago. mark lee was his name and he seems to be a subordinate of a higher, more experienced detective named kim doyoung. you don't know whether to feel offended or not for having a doe-eyed newbie taking care of the case, but you pushed it at the back of your mind, knowing his superior is watching on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"did you have, like, other past instances where you dreamt of him? of what he…" mark looked like he was going to throw up. "what he does to his other victims?"

you shook your head. no. "i've mostly just heard of him on the news. i don't think i have the stomach to find out in-depth what the killer does."

mark takes out a folder, features walking the fine white line between looking apologetic or wanting to say me too. "i'm, uhh, really sorry to hear that."

there's a sudden pregnant silence encapsulating the interrogation room. it felt like you were mourning for something, the chains of dread dragging your heart to the ground as it pounded against your ribcage. mark looked like he wanted to say something, but you swore his eyes darted towards the camera in the corner and decided otherwise.

"anyway…" he trails. flipping the folder open in one swift motion. "past sightings have given us the sad face slayer's name."

he slaps down a picture of a man, his hair raven and a permanent scowl etched on his face. the quality was shitty. it looked like it was a screenshot taken from zoomed-in cctv footage.

"nakamoto yuta, twenty-five, japanese, and has slipped one too many times past authorities that at this point, it's practically a talent."

and just like that, it made sense why you're here.

your lips pursed in contemplation, palms quaking as your fingers reach forward to inspect your soulmate's picture. "and… you want to use my soulmate connection –" you glowered. never had a sentence sounded so fucking cursed and utterly wrong. "– to catch him?"

mark can't look you in the eye. "yes. he's very elusive. his killings have been happening cross-country and, as you can see, have garnered national media attention. the police are hanging by a thread here. a month in his case and all we got is his MO, name, and that he has this weird god complex on him. if we can't catch him by the end of next month…" he shrugs. "the feds are going to interfere, sooner or later."

"so…" you trail, urging him to continue.

"so, we need as much information about him as we can get and your dreams about him will be able to provide that."

fucking great.

the much newer revelations of precisely who it was on the other end of the soulmate connection put a significant damper on your mood. you'd like to think your new little cop buddy who follows you around gives you the least bit sense of security, but alas, it doesn't. not when you've seen first hand how yuta took down five men all at once without breaking a fucking sweat – you absolutely refuse to call him your soulmate, you'd never accept a person with his nature as a soulmate.

you try to hide the bracelet mark handed you last two weeks ago, during your time spent in the precinct's interrogation room.

"please have this on you at all times until we catch him, okay? this is for extra measures, just in case something happens to the cop assigned to guard you. just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?"

considering you're now probably being hunted alive for snitching on a serial killer? mark lee, that was not funny at all.

"do you have to get inside the lecture with me?" you whine, shielding your face with your hair when you notice people shooting glances at the rather handsome cop they assigned to you. "it's not like he'll attack in broad daylight! and in a fucking classroom, for that matter."

jaehyun looks just about ready to hurl you out the window. "lower down your voice," he scolds. "serial killers don't pick a time and place, sweetheart. he kills when necessary and if it's fucking necessary to murder everyone in that classroom to get to you? he'll do it in a fucking heartbeat."

you sigh when the chair next to you screeches against the floor, the aforementioned male taking his seat right next to you. jaehyun felt more like a babysitter than a cop, who seems to have a habit of constantly inputting his not-even-needed opinions on the most superficial things.

are witness protection protocols like this?

it was a good thing that overgrown bat doesn't come hanging around in your apartment, but he does have the police car parked right across the building's entrance. judging by how meticulous and thorough he seems to be, he won't miss any face that comes in and out of the building.

you didn't forget exactly why you're under witness protection. for the cops to waste one good officer to follow you around, you needed to be valuable and being valuable meant sleeping through nightmare-induced dreams of what your soulmate does for a living. the scenes are so gruesome, so graphic and utterly gory, that you dart towards the bathroom first thing after waking up in cold sweat, draining all of dinner down the toilet bowl.

after dreaming of him in action a few times, you've now completely understood what detective lee had said regarding yuta's god complex. it was unsightly, yet there was a twisted sense of heroism to it. if there's one thing, he only gutted the bad guys – but that didn't make nakamoto yuta any less of a bad guy, himself.

i need to ask you a favor [sent 2:05am]

JJH: what? [received 2:10am]

often the nightmares were too much. too much that you thought of escaping its horrors by never getting a wink of sleep ever again – until you realized you're a witness and is probably the only chance for the seoul police department to catch that bastard.

buy me sleeping pills? [read 2:08am]

when you peep out of the window, you find an empty spot across the road where jaehyun usually parks the police car. twenty minutes later, you answer the knocking on your door. he used that little "code" he did for you to know it was him. jaehyun was glowering and muttering about how he wasn't some errand boy when he shoved the plastic bottle in your hand yet, you still thanked him nonetheless.

the pills worked like a charm. you managed to stay asleep throughout the whole night, ceasing those episodes of yours where you jolt awake in the middle of dreaming about the sad face slayer's memories.

life continued for you. it became a little bearable, but that didn't mean the horrific murders you see in your dreams are something you can get used to – you don't think you'll ever get used to the sight of him slashing his victims, the blood trickling like a goddamned waterfall.

today the dreams were different. anticlimactic, per se, if you compare it to the violence so utterly present in his memories.

the first you see were black gates, then it shifted to him ordering coffee in a café (amazing what a simple black mask can hide). it switched to him walking on a sidewalk, then he arrives at his destination, an apartment building – it wasn't too rundown, nor was it extravagant.

the serial killer takes the elevator and walks up to a mahogany door –

your room number is a blaring sight.

you couldn't be wrong, not when the 506 with the missing zero in the middle was a sight you saw every day, going and coming home from university.

that was your front door.

he was at your front door.

you jolt awake, ignoring the icky feel of sweat making your clothes cling onto your skin. ice creeps up your spine and freezes you over when you notice with a sinking realization.

those black gates are from the university you attended. that café is your favorite study nook. and that sidewalk is a route you take every day.

you clamp your hands on your mouth as tears roll down your cheeks in rivulets. you pull the comforters up above your head, fear gripping onto you with a vice-like grip as you sob.

it was in the dead of night, moonlight grazing the confines of your room and hours away from dusk. you finally utter those three words in a frightened whisper.

"he's stalking me."

as if having the overgrown bat jaehyun following and annoying you around wasn't enough, you now have another person keeping watch over you. mark lee, unlike jaehyun, may not be as ripped with muscle, but you heard from your cop buddy that the young detective has a few black belts under him. people at the precinct said that if they have to choose one person who can ever come close to the sad face slayer's agility, mark lee's your guy.

"you gotta be shitting me," you mutter, leaning close to jaehyun to whisper like high school girls talking about gossip. "he doesn't look the type!"

jaehyun, in turn, plays along and copies you. "yeah, true. he gets that a lot, i think,"

"guys, i'm literally in the back seat. i can hear everything."

the change hadn't been too drastic. at least mark was there when jaehyun proved to be difficult, pulling him towards the other way when the older male tried waltzing into your class again. "you don't need to sit next to her in her class! are you serious? there's one exit and entrance and we're on the fifth floor. breaking into that classroom will be the end of nakamoto's serial killer career!"

you shoot mark an appreciative smile, one he quickly returned before hauling jaehyun around the hallway. "we'll just be at the canteen, okay? press the 'lil button on your bracelet and we'll be right there!"

shaking your head with a slight smile on your face, you entered the classroom, sat in your usual spot, and did some of your readings from our other class to kill time. you hardly hear the screech of the chair next to you as it was pulled back. not like you cared much for whoever sat down next to you, but you can't deny there's that feeling of missing jaehyun when he used to force his way into the lecture.

"settle down! settle down, people!"

the professor enters and the class begins.

you were meticulous with your note-taking system. it's thorough, leaving no room for information to slip you. having already printed hard copies of the powerpoint presentation and simply jotting down some extra key points mentioned by your professor.

you were just about to raise your hand for a question when you feel something warm graze past your arm. you absentmindedly look down.

the breath is sucked right out of your lungs.

hi, soulmate

there, scribbled with an ominous red crayon on a small piece of paper. it was almost laughable how innocent it looked but when you follow the ring-clad hand, up the black hoodie he's wearing, and finally to his face—

"hi! i'm yuta."

his cheshire smile spikes up your heartbeat. it makes you want to throw up, makes you want to slam your head against the desk. the fight or flight hormone you have is making you restless, eyes pinned on the serial killer sitting next to you, scared that if you avert your gaze, he's going to take out that desert eagle and shoot you until your skull caves in and the bullets in his magazine empties.

"but judging by your reaction, i don't think introductions are needed, hm?" his tone is easy, conversational even and it shoots a freezing jolt of fear right up your spine. it makes you sweat profusely because you don't fucking know what to do, your thoughts in complete and utter disarray.

"just press the little button here and we'll be there before you can even finish shouting 'help!' – hey, i was just kidding! what's with the face?" you swallow, sneakily pressing the button without breaking eye contact with the serial killer sitting in front of you.

"look upfront. now." yuta orders and you nearly snap your neck as you turn your head with lightning speed.

"i thought i was above the soulmate rules, but here we are. my soul is either too tainted or too great to be tied to such trivial things, but oh well, we learn to work with what we have. surprisingly, i learned to like dreaming about how your day went."

you feel something sharp poking at your thigh and when you look down, he has a silver butterfly knife pointed against you. the precision of the angle he held it with doesn't slip your notice. one slice of that knife, no matter how small, and he'll be spilling your guts in this classroom.

a fat tear rolls down your face.

"can you imagine how much my heart broke when i learned you were spying on me? leaking information to that snobby detective? to those incompetent cops? bad baby, that was very bad of you."

"yuta—"

"you think the cops can save you from me?"

his other hand comes in contact with the nape of your neck, holding your head in place as he leaned down to invade your space. he scoffs, and you can picture that terrifying cheshire grin you've seen one too many times in your dreams.

the knife digs through your coat, the tip hardly poking your skin only because he doesn't want to drive it into you yet. how did he even manage to get inside the university? not to mention the weapons he possessed? shouldn't anyone be suspicious when they see a man dressed in all black, clad in jeans and a hoodie, into a university—

he even dressed the part. with that hood drawn up and carrying that one notebook, he looked fairly normal. someone who can easily blend in with the crowd.

you eye your professor, willing him to look at you but your soulmate is having none of that. you squirm when he drives the knife further, at the base of your stomach. with his other hand, he twirls a lock of hair around his finger. "now, now, soulmate. you don't want half the people here to get hurt, do you? unless... that can easily be arranged—"

"no!" you whisper, head jerking to the side to look at him humming in satisfaction. damn. out of all the faces he's seen contorted with fear, yours is his absolute favorite. with those pleading, glassy eyes and parted lips, yuta is tenting in his sweats.

"thought so," he chuckles. "let's get up. we're leaving. that old crook doesn't care if students just up and went in the middle of his lecture."

you don't want to think about how he even knew that because it implied attending the lectures a good amount of times. it's with sinking realization that jaehyun was right. if it weren't for him insisting to sit next to you, nakamoto yuta would've long gotten you in his claws.

you tried gathering your things until he purred into your ear.

"ah, ah, ah. you wouldn't be needing those with where we're going."

the hallways were empty, not that you had much time to scream for help when he had a knife pointed up your back, shoving you into the fire escape stairs. within the tranquil confines of the staircases, the sad face slayer couldn't fucking care less for your personal space.

he disgusts you greatly, he needn't do anything but stand there in front of you but you can already smell the long blood trail from his path. it reeks of rotting flesh and that infuriating god complex he had left a sour aftertaste.

"you know, i genuinely wanted to get to know you," yuta pouts, shaking the hoodie off his head. his hair raven, it's ends kissing the nape of his neck. he looked like he came right out of a shounen manga but the bloodlust in his eyes is something that can never be masked. "i detested the soulmate connection at first, i thought i should just kill you off because you could be my loose end."

his humorless smile is enough to give you nightmares.

"but seeing how sweetly normal and untainted you are made me hold back," the butterfly knife appears before your line of sight, yuta teasingly dragging the tip right down your cheek to trace your tears. "so, why did you snitch, baby?"

you shiver when he noses the side of your neck, inhaling your scent as his other hand hooks underneath your top, freezing fingers making you jolt. when you don't reply, his patience starts to dwindle. then again, he was never a patient man.

"answer me, you bitch. why did you rat me out?" gone is the playful lilt in his voice. the vibrations surge through you as his deep, demanding voice scares you shitless.

you feel, hear, and smell him everywhere. this wasn't like any nightmare. this is real, and you won't magically wake up on your bed, sighing in relief, knowing he isn't there, that it was all just in your head. no, this was very much real and there's absolutely no escape.

"i didn't," your voice cracks. "i didn't mean to—"

"bullshit!" he yells. you wail in pain when he slams you against the wall, head aching as it came in contact with concrete. "because of you betraying me, i nearly fucking got caught, and i never get caught!"

you were full out sobbing at this point, noisy and unsightly as the snot mixes with your tears. your only hope now is he gives you a quick, painless death and that he doesn't carve and mutilate your face like what he always does to his other poor victims. "i'm sorry! please... i'm so sorry. i was scared—"

he coos mockingly, tilting his head to the side as he inched his face closer. "aw, scared? my sweet little soulmate was scared?" he places the blade flat against your neck. as humiliating and degrading as it was, you almost peed on your clothes. "how about now? i'm sure as hell that you're fucking terrified for your useless life right now."

you cringe when his hand abandons the expanse of your stomach, no longer inching higher, finding its purchase on the hair sitting at the crown of your head. he holds you in place like that, forcing your head parallel against the wall, with his whole body pressing up to you that it's nearly suffocating.

"just one quick little slice," he taunts. you hiccuped when you feel the feathery light scrape of the blade moving against your skin. "you won't even have time to scream… but i'm sure we don't want that, do we?"

you forgot how to speak. forgot how to breathe. whenever your mind wanders, you've always thought about how you'll give this killer a piece of your mind, with the amount of fear and sorrow he inflicts upon other people. but you guess realities were a lot more different than expectations. the yuta you dreamed of meeting is in handcuffs, but fate is a fickle little thing.

"do we?" he repeats, slicing ever so slightly at your skin. enough to draw blood in droplets, never a waterfall.

"n – no."

he smiles. "you can make it up to me. do you want to make it up to me?"

the butterfly knife digs even further. a warning. and if you value your useless life, you should be smart enough to know what to answer. drawing a shaky breath, you tried forcing the ends of your lips up to a smile. "of course, yuta."

your voice breaks as your sobbing grips your body whole. the fear consuming your entire being like a parasite consuming the host. you would've shut down altogether if it weren't for the calloused hands gently gripping your face. "i know, i know. i see how regretful you are, baby. don't worry, i won't hurt you. you'll make it up to me."

anyone would be fucking stupid if you believe those words coming from a serial killer.

in your wrecked state, you barely register that he's pushing you down to your knees. skin coming in contact with the freezing linoleum floor as you refuse to look at what his hands are doing. yuta has pocketed his knife. the sound of a belt unbuckling in itself added insult to injury.

you stare blankly at his shoes as he shoves his bottoms down enough for his cock to show. if you squint hard enough, you'll see tiny splatters of blood in the shoelaces. whether or not he feels you're unresponsive, he doesn't show. maybe he doesn't care entirely. he takes one of your hands and used it to wrap around himself. he gasps, sharp, followed by a hiss.

you feel it throbbing and it strengthens the disgust you feel. no way you're going to give him the satisfaction of eye contact when you're already forced to blow this psycho.

"eyes up."

you sniffled, vulnerability present in the tone you speak. "i don't want to. please, don't make me."

if words alone aren't enough for you to follow orders, maybe you'll feel more motivated if held at gunpoint. it's unmistakable, the infamous desert eagle you've only seen in your nightmares. the last thing you ever expected is to be on the side where the bullet comes out.

the barrel is freezing as he digs it into the crown of your head. "soulmate or not. i don't shoot blanks."

your eyes looked up then. glaring as the tears rolled down your face. "you're a monster," you mutter under your breath. where you got the confidence to fight back is unknown.

"i've heard that before, be more creative next time," he holds your hair tight in one grip, shoving you forward, eye-level to his throbbing dick. "now… suck, baby."

"freeze!"

you knew that voice, you've been hearing it for the last two weeks. "jaehyun–!"

yuta cuts you off, shoving the gun into your mouth. the safety clicking off resonating in the tranquil room. it's deafening, and it makes you immobile.

"hands up. step away from the civilian." whether or not mark is nervous as he points the gun at the serial killer, he's doing a damn good job of hiding it.

yuta sighs, exasperated as he throws his head back. his raised arms came down to tuck himself back in his jeans, and the action made jaehyun's calm exterior crack. "i said, hands up, asshole!"

"chill out, motherfucker. i'm just trying to wear my pants." the serial killer hisses, glaring at jaehyun over his shoulder.

"mark, call back up already. what are you doing?" jaehyun mutters, side-eyeing the young detective whose gun shakes as he holds it up. the taller cop takes a step forward, eyes never leaving the notorious killer as he addresses you curtly. "(name), come here."

just as you plant your palms to the ground to push yourself up, one of yuta's hands shoves you down quick as lightning. "no. she stays here, with me."

jaehyun scowls, takes another step forward. "and what makes you think i'm going to let that happen?"

"i don't think. i know."

there's a constant ring in your ear as the gunshot temporarily renders you deaf. you've shut your eyes in utter fright, hands shooting up to cover your ears but it was too late. you refuse to open your eyes, you didn't want to see a dead body lying before you, even if it belonged to a heartless serial killer.

but when your eyes fluttered open, it's not yuta bleeding out on the ground.

"no, this can't be – jaehyun!"

it was a bullet straight to the head, no one could've survived a shot like that. his eyes are empty as he stares at you, unblinking, stoic. the color is yet to drown away from his milky complexion. but you can't even manipulate yourself into thinking that jaehyun's still alive. not when his eyes are empty, not when he just looks so lifeless.

it couldn't have been yuta who pulled the trigger.

his weapons were on the ground and the shot rang too fast. the sad face slayer couldn't have crouched down for his gun to shoot the cop, it would've taken too much time. and among the three men, there's only another person holding a weapon, and that was –

"great shot, mark."

the detective smiles, but with the blood splattered on his face, it looked cold. "told ya i've been practicing."

yuta hauls you up by the arms, addicted to how frail your body feels as it collapses against him. he's finally got his little soulmate in his arms. and he will never, ever let you go.

the cops lost – you've lost.

yuta, with a sense of victory coursing through his veins, took the liberty of trailing little pecks down your neck as he mutters, "mine, mine, mine!" but you couldn't care less about his display of mocked affection. not when the other person meant to protect you, turned out to be everything you think he wasn't.

mark must've felt the gravity of your stare as he crouches before jaehyun's bleeding body. grabbing the fallen cop's gun, he took it upon himself to empty the magazine. the lopsided grin he sends you broke your resolve more than yuta ever could.

"i'm sorry. it's nothing personal."

jenoluck (c) all rights reserved

[hrtiu]

Writing prompt idea- Bobannec marriage with the mandalorian vows? Maybe it’s a sincere but spur-of-the-moment thing between the two of them. I love your writing for this pairing! :)

Sorry it takes me so long to get to these prompts! I am still working through them, though, I promise! This one is great, thanks so much for the prompt <3

The heat on Tatooine was dry, but every once in a while the temperatures soared so high that the air was still heavy and sultry with it. On just one such day, Boba Fett rested in Fennec’s basement study at the palace, his back slouched in a wicker chair and his feet propped up against the edge of Fennec’s desk. He could be in his own study, of course, but the basement was always coolest on days like this, when even old Jabba’s powerful refrigeration system struggled to cool the ancient palace.

Fennec poured over a stack of flimsi and several datapads, her eyes flitting across each page for only a few seconds before moving on. Boba left most administrative work to Dr. Pershing—his brilliant mind was perfectly suited to paying bills and sorting the junk mail from what deserved Boba’s attention—but Fennec took on some of the more complicated business matters personally. She was a genius with a ledger, bringing Boba’s empire comfortably into the black less than two years after they’d started working together.

“Are you free next Tuesday?” Fennec asked, not bothering to look up from her datapad.

“Yes.”

“Alright. Keep it free. We’re going to Mos Eisley.”

The corner of Boba’s mouth turned down in distaste. “For what?”

“I’m making an appointment at the courthouse to get married. The tax benefits are ludicrous.”

Boba froze, his back arched midway through a stretch. Marriage. To Fennec? Taxes?

“I didn’t think we were the tax-paying type,” he said once he’d recovered enough to find his voice.

Fennec set her datapad down and looked over at Boba, a slight smile playing at her lips. “Only amateurs don’t pay their taxes at all. You have to give them something to throw them off your scent.”

“You want to get married to get a break on our fake taxes? On taxes that only represent a fraction of what we should be paying?”

Fennec narrowed her eyes at him. “And you have a problem with that? How do you think we got such a healthy surplus?”

Boba got to his feet and reached for his helmet. This was not a conversation he wanted his expression visible for. “We can afford it. Just pay the damn taxes.”

He started for the door, but the cold tone of Fennec’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“What is your problem?” she asked. “It’s just a legal status.”

He turned on her. “It’s not just a legal status. Not to me.”

Her eyes flashed. “We’re already practically married. What are you not ok with? Do you want me to move out?”

“No!”

“Do you want to stop sharing finances? Do you want me to sleep with other people? Do you want to sleep with someone else?”

“No!” Boba, more forcefully than he meant to. Then he noticed the flicker of doubt glinting in Fennec’s eyes. Funny, he didn’t think he’d ever seen something like that in her expression before. “No…” he repeated, softer this time. “Of course not.”

“Then… what’s the problem?” Her voice had gone quiet—almost delicate, though Boba would never admit to even thinking of her that way.

“I don’t want to get married in the same place that spice addicts get sentenced, that’s all,” he said. “Even if it’s just for taxes.”

Fennec slumped back in her chair with a sigh, and Boba’s body relaxed. They’d fought enough over the years for him to recognize a ceasefire when he saw one.

“Fine. We don’t have to go to the courthouse,” she said.

“Good.” He stepped out of the office and closed the door softly behind him. As he walked up the stairs out of the basement, he stubbornly ignored the knot forming in his stomach. He’d won the argument, so why did he keep feeling like he’d lost?

---

Boba barely saw Fennec over the course of the next three days. She’d always been somewhat elusive, disappearing for a few days at a time when she needed space, but this was the longest she’d been gone in years. It was the longest she’d been gone since they’d started sharing a bed.

Boba told himself he was fine with it. She was like an itinerant tooka, coming and going as she pleased. He knew he needed to be patient and let her come to him.

On the third day after their argument Boba walked into the master suite and immediately knew she was back. The signs were everywhere, subtle but unmistakable. The pile of shoes Boba had left by the door had been straightened, the lamp in the corner that Fennec liked to read under was lit, the closet doors—which Boba never bothered with—were shut. Afraid to spook her, Boba stepped cautiously further into the suite.

“...Fen?”

“In here,” her voice called from their room.

He followed the sound into their room, where Fennec tossed him his favorite blaster before he had time to register the sight in front of him.

“You have your armor on? Good,” she said.

Boba clutched at the blaster automatically, but his eyes stayed glued on Fennec. She was wearing a jet black gown that swept to the floor in elegant, draping fabric. The top twisted and criss crossed over her collarbone, tying behind her neck and revealing her shoulders. Her toned arms were hard with muscle but somehow her curves still showed through, her hips smooth and inviting and her skin begging to be touched.

“Fen… What’s this?” Boba managed to get out.

She picked up her sniper rifle from the bed and slung it over her shoulder, the thick leather strap at odds with her gazy dress but somehow still at home on her body. “You said you didn’t want to get married in a courthouse. So I did some research.”

“Research?” Boba was struggling to follow her, his mind both pleased and utterly bewildered by this turn of events.

“Yes.” She stepped towards him, sniper rifle still slung over her shoulder, and took one of his hands in hers. “I thought we could get married the Mandalorian way.”

“Oh…” This couldn’t be real, could it? Boba wondered in a daze. Did Fennec really know him so well? Could she see so far into his soul as to understand what he wanted before he even knew it himself?

That shadow of doubt passed across Fennec’s expression once more, and her grip on Boba’s hand tightened just the smallest amount. “Unless that’s not what you want,” she said.

That rare, precious show of vulnerability shook Boba from his daze, and his fingers squeezed Fennec’s back. He locked eyes with her and swallowed thickly, unexpectedly nervous.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” he said.

The corner of her mouth turned up and she responded, “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

And just like that, they were husband and wife.

Boba dropped his blaster to the floor and surged forward, pulling Fennec into a fierce kiss. She returned in kind, her lips moving against his in a way that was achingly familiar yet just as thrilling as the day they’d first kissed. He broke away long enough to push her onto their bed, then he was back on her, his tongue dragging a hot line up her neck.

She squirmed under him, then pushed him away so she could remove the sniper rifle from her back. Once her weapon was out of the way she snaked her hands around the back of his neck and drew him back down to her, her eyes dark and shining with an intensity only she held.

“What’s with the blaster and rifle, anyway?” Boba asked between breathless kisses.

She chuckled into his ear, her voice throaty and irresistible. “I don’t know, it just seemed more… Mandalorian.”

He snorted in response, though he couldn’t deny she was right. His wife was always right.

His wife. What a thought. Boba’s hand crept further and further up her thigh—his wife’s thigh—and he felt himself getting lost in her. With a jerk of her hips, Fennec rolled him onto his back and all he could do was stare up in wonder at her beautiful, lethal face. Her cheeks were flushed. Her braid hung over her shoulder, messy and nearly undone. She was the most flawless woman in the whole galaxy, and she was his. She was perfect, and he was hers.

She leaned down to him, and Boba lost his breath. “You know we’re still going to the courthouse next week, right?” she said, her voice husky and commanding.

Boba chuckled and drew her closer to him. “Damn taxes…”

[outofsstyles]

AU | Famous!Reader x Fashion student!Harry

☁️ FIC PAGE ☁️ PART 1 ☁️

word count: 20.3k

warnings: language

//

Sweet tea in the summer

Cross your heart, won't tell no other

And though I can't recall your face

I still got love for you

- Seven, Taylor Swift

//

“Can you bend your arms one last time, please?” Harry quickly angles his arms, holding them at chest height to show Marcus what he’s referring to.

He stands in front of Harry, dressed in his full Gaston outfit for the last fitting before opening night. The atelier has gone hectic again now that everyone’s gotten back from their lunch breaks, a mess of fabrics and papers taking over every surface in the room. There’s a low mesh of voices blending with Moyra’s playlist playing on a speaker that’s probably lost somewhere by now. Someone rushes across the room in a speed walk and almost bumps into Harry, muttering a quick apology before disappearing behind the doors leading to storage. 

As the week approached, Harry was warned by pretty much every single one of his coworkers about the chaos that it would be. After all, it’s the last week of rehearsals, and the first time the actors would get in characters with their full costumes. All arrangements have to be done by Saturday morning, is what Lisa said with her stern voice the previous Friday, with no space for wardrobe malfunctions. She meant it as a warning, but Harry took it as motivation, knowing he works better under stressful situations — which is not the healthiest working ethic, he admits, but it gets the job done.

On top of it all, your unprompted visit has surprisingly given him the boost he needed to finish up most of his work with an entire day to spare. 

It’s only been two days since you appeared on his front door with a Brit statuette and a promise to make up for the years lost in each other’s lives. Your suggestion to go out for a coffee quickly showed itself to be a bit more complicated than both of you thought it would; as neither of you expected the conflict in your schedules when making those plans. This was a busy week for Harry and an even busier opening weekend. The only time he’ll actually be able to catch a breather is by Monday, which, coincidentally, is the same day you’re catching a flight back to America.

Still, none of you seemed to want to wait another week to meet again. So he proposed to meet after his Friday shift. Which is why he spent the entirety of Thursday inside the costume studio, being the last one to leave just so he could wrap everything a few hours early to meet you back at his flat — by your request.

Even with a day cut short, however, there’s been barely enough time for him to focus on anything other than measurements and fittings. It’s a good thing when it comes to his nerves; the tight schedule giving him no space to let any butterfly drift on his belly. Without the anxiousness on the way and work to keep himself busy, it’s as if the clock has gone with a leap. He sewed back details that had fallen off an extra’s costume while swallowing back the salad he’d brought for lunch, made sure Lumiere’s candleholders were fixed in place, and that no feathers from Plumette would sweep around the stage. Now, after having to make an adjustment to Gaston’s shirt - thanks to an unexpected problem with the stitching - he’s finally able to allow his shoulders to relax a bit.

Marcus mimics the movement shown to him, keeping his arms still as Harry takes a step to examine the character’s signature red shirt with his fingers fiddling with the tip of the measuring tape hanging around his shoulders.

“Does it still feel tight around your chest?” Harry asks, noting how the stitching on the sides is not stretching anymore. “Or under your arms?”

“Nope,” Marcus answers with a pop, relaxing his arms back down when Harry turns to write something down. “Fits like a glove, mate.”

He clicks his pen down on the table. “Then we’re all good.” 

“So, I’m free to go?” He jumps down from the platform, loosening the black leather belt that’s fastened around his waist.

“You’re free to go,” Harry confirms after a double-check at the file sitting on the table, making sure there’s no other change that’s needed on his costume. “Just put everything back in the bag and hang it on the rack.”

“Yes, sir.” Marcus shifts with the curtains of the changing room before disappearing inside of it.

“And make sure the label is still stuck to it!” Harry calls over his shoulder, listening to the mumbled response before turning back to the files on his hands. 

While he waits for Marcus to return, he gathers everything he needs to leave. A quick look at his phone that was left forgotten on top of a roll of blue-dyed camel tells him it’s around four, meaning he’s just in time. Checking the pages he’s been focusing on, Harry walks to the rack, selecting the two bags carrying the costumes he still needs to make adjustments on, placing them carefully over his work table before making his way to fetch his backpack.

As soon as Marcus is out, he gives a double check to see if the label is still stuck to the bag he just hanged - not entirely trusting the cast’s attention to those details - before collecting his belongings and heading for the door. He bids his goodbyes on his way out, catching the attention of Alice, who’s standing on a platform near the door while Moyra works on the skirt of her yellow dress with a few pins placed between her lips.

“Going already, H?” She asks, her eyes big as she looks down at him.

He stops in his tracks with a hand on the door handle gnawing on his inner cheek as he turns to face her. 

As soon as he meets her gaze, he notices the subtle tinge of pink painting over her cheekbones. It’s something that Harry’s gotten used to by now when speaking with Alice. 

He could tell she was shy from the moment he got to meet the entire cast, always standing quietly to the side reading her script, keeping her chats restricted to the same two people (which is funny enough of a contrast with her stage persona, considering she has the main role). But with Harry, she’s always been especially timid, and it didn’t take too long for him to learn from Moyra that the girl had taken a fancy on him — if the blushing wasn’t a big indicator.

It’s sweet, he reckons. She’s lovely enough, from the limited amount of conversations they had, and Harry finds it that maybe if she opened up a bit it would be nice to get to know her. Julia’s the one that always pesters him about it, though urging for Harry to make a move from the moment he told her about the girl’s crush on him. She says his romantic side gets especially annoying when he’s lonely, and he knows she’s right, but would never admit it to her face. So he just brushes it off, saying he’ll take the time to talk to Alice.

Except now. Harry knows he’s on the clock if he wants to make it in time to meet you. The last thing he wants is for you to have to stand on the street because he got caught up in her mutters. 

So he keeps his grip on the handle, hoping it’s enough of a hint for the conversation to be cut short, as he motions his arm that holds the clothes’ bags at the crook of his elbow. “Yeah, I- Lisa let me work on these at home.”

“So you’re not having a drink with us tonight?” Alice rushes out, eyes darting up at him, and her blush gets a shade stronger. When her lips part again, her voice comes out a bit lower,  “It’s the last one before opening night, and you haven’t gone in a while...”

“Harry’s too cool to hang out with us.” Moyra barges in the conversation, glancing teasingly at Harry from over her shoulder as she takes the last pin from between her lips.

“Shut up, Mo.” He rolls her eyes slightly, grip tightening on the door as he prepares to leave.

Before he can do so, Alice speaks up, her eyes falling again to her fingers that poke at her nails. “You know, bringing work home sometimes can cause stress… And stuff.” She peeks up at Harry, shrugging slightly. “I read about it somewhere, anyway.”

“I think I’ll be fine, really, but thanks.” Turning the knob, he cracks open the door.  “Just got something today.”

Moyra doesn’t waste a second before blurting, “A date.”

“Don’t.” He warns with a sigh. “I’m seeing an old friend.”

“That’s nice.” Alice nods.

“Yeah.” He takes a step out, being painfully aware of how he’s a second away from being late. “Uhm, I gotta get going then.”

The girl looks up at him fully then, giving a small wave. “See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, yeah, for sure.” He calls over his shoulder as he’s out the door.

The tube’s just starting to get filled again with people like Harry, who are likely on their journey back home. Shoulders tense and frowns scrunching their faces, they barely pay any mind to him as he finds a spot opposite to the exit doors — preferring to stay closer to them as to get off quicker. He leans against one of the many metal rails that outline the inside of the train car, his vans bouncing nervously as he adjusts the bags at the crook of his elbow, feeling as if today it’s traveling slower than usual. 

Picking up his phone to check the time once again, he’s met with a text. It’s not from you, as he’d hoped, but from Julia. A picture of her and Blake, faces squished together as they force a smile a bit too big for the camera, their hairs meshing together in a mix - Julia’s darker curls tangling with Blake’s shorter blonde locks - and Harry can just about make out the outline of a bright orange sofa from Blake’s living room behind them. The message that reads under it is short, yet playfully demanding.

Juls: impromptu movie night!!! bring chocolate!!!

He smiles down at the screen, but it quickly turns into a frown as he realizes that he won’t be able to make it. Biting down his bottom lip, his thumb hovers above the keyboard, not sure how to respond. There’s not a chance he can fully tell the truth to her, not over text. Even if he brushes over it, he knows his friend, and how nosy she can be sometimes — which has never bothered him before until he found himself in this position. He contemplates lying. A white one, there is. Just say he got caught up with work or something along those lies. Something he knows she’d understand. But the simple thought of it makes him feel guilty; as if he’s leaving her out.

So, he opts for the ladder, pushing the responsibility for his future self to deal with the interrogation afterwards when he sees her again. Maybe if he finishes the tv show she’s been nagging him to watch in time, it’ll be enough of a distraction so she won’t ask him many questions. His answer comes a bit slower than usual — not only due to his internal battle but also for finding it a bit tricky to type with one hand. By the time he clicks the send button, Julia has already sent enough interrogation points to cover half of the screen.

Can’t tonighttt got something...

Juls: what’s something

I’ll tell you later, send Blake a hug for me.

Juls: no :(

With a chuckle, he pockets his phone,  noticing he’s just a couple of steps away from his own. Once he’s out of the station, just a couple blocks away from his building, the bundle of nerves he’s been avoiding all day sweeps in. They’re not overwhelming, they don’t make his chest tighten or his palms sweat, no. They’re the nerves that give him a spring to his step, that make him take deeper breaths, and that speed his heart just the tiniest bit.

It’s a strange feeling to be going home with the sky still shining a clear blue, instead of the purple-pink that comes just before the sun hugs the horizon. A cloudless day. Thanks to the previous streak of rainfalls that washed away the angry greys. The colors painting his surroundings seem somehow more vibrant, more welcoming. The greens of the trees greet him with a gentle breeze. The maroons of the bricked buildings warm under the sunlight. Even the yellow and the pink of his dirty vans feel a bit brighter as he strolls around the corner of his block.

It’s almost like it matches the way he feels. And Harry knows that from now on, with spring at its peak and summer becoming more present, the weather is bound to become even more pleasant. He hopes it’s some sort of sign. Maybe the universe is getting gentler with him. He’d like to think that.

Part of him still dwells on the feeling the slightest bit, finding a strange sort of uncertainty over how quickly you’ve got at the palm of your hand again. He barely got any sleep after you left his house just thinking about it, actually. There’s no denying that your presence again has brought back the fondest memories of his teenage years. Ones he tried too hard to bury as to ease the ache in his heart that came with them for a long time. But now, having you back, it’s as if they’ve taken almost a hopeful feeling. The reminders of how close you used to be came crashing into him like a wave, enveloping him. That was the first time he ever opened up so fully to someone, after all. And that comfort of having someone that knows him better than he knows himself is something he craves so deeply within himself that, as soon as even the slimmest possibility of having it once again presented itself, he grasped it so quickly that now he’s afraid he’s letting himself dive too deep.

He’s so inside of his head, thoughts rushing inside his mind, that he almost glances over you when he finally approaches his building. 

Paying little to no mind to your cream trousers as you kneel on the sidewalk, a paper bag propped under your arm and a disposable cup holder in your hand hugging two paper cups, you focus on a collie that’s enjoying your hand caressing the fur down its neck. A gold pendant from your necklace reflects the weak rays of sunlight, glowing in a contrast with the black of the short-sleeved turtleneck you’re wearing, tucked under your trousers. 

It’s only when he lets his eyes focus on the company you have that he immediately recognizes the pup, as well as the older lady holding the leash while smiling down at you interacting with her pet.  

Margaret is one of the oldest residents of the building, taking a permanent spot at the very first apartment on the first floor. She was the first neighbor he got to meet, bringing him homemade jelly tarts on his first weekend at his apartment. They chatted for an afternoon and, after admitting he’s not the best cook, she vowed to bring him some of her dishes every time she could. And true to her world, around twice a week she knocks on his door with a warm trail and a sweet smile. Harry likes to visit her as often as he can, knowing she lost her husband a few years before he moved, and has no children to keep her company — that is, apart from her collie, Duchess.

“Harry!” Margaret is the first to acknowledge him with a grin, her voice causing your head to snap up from where you kneel. “You’re early today, my love.”

“Actually, I’m a bit late.” He chuckles, glancing at where you’re standing up while sweeping your trousers. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh! No worries, I just got here.” You brush it off, finding a place next to him before gazing back at Margaret. The older lady attempts to look discreetly between the two of you, brows arched, and Harry knows from the look in her eyes he’ll probably have to face another interrogation later on. Though, in this case, he’s sure she’s oblivious of your public image. “And, thankfully, I bumped into these lovely ladies who kept me company.”

“Stop that! You’re a very lovely lady yourself, darling.” Margaret reaches for Harry’s wrist as she smiles at you, giving it a squeeze, and he quickly nods, agreeing with her. She looks up at him, lips tight in a grin that’s enough for him to realize her assumptions about why you’re here, and, from the way you’re holding back a laugh yourself, he’s sure you’ve noticed, too. He clears his throat, gazing down at his shoes, trying to cover up the warmth that creeps up his neck, and that seems to be enough for Margaret to take a hint, letting his wrist go with another gentle squeeze. “I’ll leave you two be, Duchess and I still have to grab groceries before it gets dark.”

Harry scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “‘Ave a good day, Marg.”

“You too, Lovie.” She gives his hip a soft pinch before turning to you. “It was lovely meeting you.”

“Right back at you!” You answer excitedly, waving back as the older lady starts her stroll. “Have a nice walk! Bye, Duchess.”

For a second, you quietly watch the duo walk further away from where you stand. A faint hum of car engines can be heard, being cut only by the high-pitched voices of two children, seeming not much older than ten, as they appear at the other side of the street. The peek over your shoulder is quick before you turn your back to them, turning fully to Harry with a slight smile tugging at the side of your lips. 

He clears his throat again, adjusting the bags he’s still holding. “Hi.” 

“Hey.” You answer in a beat, nodding towards him. “Your hair is down.”

“It is, yeah.” His voice comes lower than he intended, the warmth still present on his cheeks, and he quickly motions towards the front door. While fiddling with the side pocket of his backpack in search of his keys, he picks up as you lean into the bricked wall next to the entrance.

“It looks great, really! Wasn’t expecting it to be this long.”

“Yea, I- Thanks.” He shoots you a look once he fetches the keys. “Have been growing it out for a few months now.”

You give him a knowing hum. “Any reason for it?”

The click of your boots against the wooden steps echoes around the narrow walls of the building’s staircase. Harry leads the way up, climbing the steps in a bit of an awkward position as he tries to look back at you.“Uh, not really, no.”  He shrugs. “Just having fun with it, I guess.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be!” You exclaim. “It really compliments you, I mean it.”

“Thank you.” He rubs his nose, coming to a stop as both of you reach his front door. “You- Uh, I- You look very nice, as well.”

“Oh!” You look down at your outfit with a chuckle. “I rarely go around this fancy, but I had a meeting today.” You brush it off. “Which is also not an excuse for me to dress up but I didn’t know most people there so I had to make a good impression, or whatever.”

A dimple pokes at his cheek as you ramble, a habit you seem to haven’t lost. He unlocks the door with ease, pushing it in and motioning for you to walk in. “‘S nice, very pretty, I- I mean, your trousers are very pretty.”

Your smile grows as you support yourself on the wall while toeing off your shoes. If you notice the blush on his cheeks, you don’t mention it. “Thank you! Means a lot coming from you, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you’re the fashion student, after all.” He’s not sure why your answer comes in a bit of a letdown, almost as if he was expecting you to say something else. “By the way, I got us some goodies on the way. Didn’t know how you like your coffee, so I just took a wild guess. Here, try it— If you don’t like it you can have mine, it’s a cappuccino, very sweet.” You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, watching for his reaction as he sips on the hot beverage. “So...?”

“It’s perfect.” He takes another small sip of the cup you handed to him, trying not to make a face at the slightly bitter taste that comes with it (he’s still not the biggest coffee fan, if he’s honest). He makes his way to lay the bags that now have slid down his elbow at the arm of the couch. Noticing you’re still standing awkwardly by the front door looking around, he points at the counter next to him, quickly sweeping his arm over it to brush the stack of papers to the side.  “You can set everything in here, please feel at home.”

This is the first time you properly get to have a look around his place, which is weird enough of a concept when you take into consideration it’s not the first time you’ve come here (and the flash memory of that night alone is enough for you to fight back a cringe). You recall the path to your right leading towards the bathroom where you spent an hour sitting inside his bathtub before having to answer a not-very-pleased Sonia calling your phone. The rest of the place, however, is a bit of a blur in your memory, so you take this moment to take in his home.

Surely, the space itself is quite modest, but it doesn’t mean there’s not a lot to take in. From your position across from him, the island separating the two of you, you can still scan most of his living room. 

You like that it’s not completely tidy (those sorts of crystal clean homes always freak you out a bit). Upon a first glance, it’s clearly the residence of an undergrad. A couple textbooks pile on top of a center table. A shut laptop sitting next to the cushions on the navy blue couch. Even a few houseplants amongst picture frames spread on shelves and stands. It’s cute, you think, but you barely sweep your eyes over those details.

What calls your attention are the glimpses of the life you’ve missed on. It’s the magazines decorated with sticky notes. It’s the rolls of fabric peeking out from the couch arm. It’s a box of yarn tucked in the far corner, on top of other boxes that are shut closed. Those details seem to have replaced his canvases and paint sets. It makes you wonder if he still keeps them hidden somewhere. If there’s still anything left of the life he had the last time you saw him. 

Oddly enough, you smile at the thought. Somehow glad that he found his passion, even if you weren’t there to support him through it. And it brings you back to why you’re here in the first place. Make up for the lost time.

“Thank you for agreeing to do this here.” You speak up as you focus back on taking the sweets you so carefully picked out from inside the bag (you weren’t entirely sure of his dessert preferences now, which caused the slightest rise of panic as you tried to decide on what to pick from the vast array of options). “I know it’s weird to ask you to, like, have me at your house instead of just meeting at a cafe, but the one I usually go to is closed for renovations and I get a bit wary at, uh, public places.”

“It’s alright, I don’t mind having you here.” A small grin tugs at his lips, and it’s hard for you to ignore the warmth that comes to you with it. 

You clap your hands together, gazing around quickly before focusing back on him. “So! I finally get to properly see your place— sorry about that the other night, by the way, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He chuckles. “It’s really okay, like I said, don’t mind having you here.” He repeats, clearing his throat. “It’s, uh, not that big but-”

“I love it, seems so cozy.” You interrupt before he can go on any further, hating the way he feels the need to apologize to you for something like the size of his home. “And it’s a perfect place to have just for yourself.”

“Actually, I-” His lips stay apart for half a second before he continues, blurting the next words out as if it’s a confession, “I have a flatmate.”

“Oh!” You blink in surprise, taking a second to process the information. 

Of course he does. Why did you even think otherwise? Most people share flats these days. Despite that, the possibility of him living with someone didn’t even cross your mind. It’s hard to ignore when it comes to you the riskiness of it. Whoever this flatmate is, you don’t know them, and the possibility of them spilling anything makes you a tad uneasy. It could easily ruin any possibility of a friendship with Harry before you can even get close to him again. 

There’s a wave of anxiety that hits you with the prospect of being the cause of his face printed on the cover of money-hungry tabloids, but, before you get deeper in your own nerves than you already have, you sum what’s left of composure within you to ask,  “Do they... Have you told them about-- well, me?”

He tears up a piece of banana bread, picking at it as he shakes his head, clearly unaware of your change in moods. “Not, really. She’s at her girlfriend’s for the week, so I haven’t been able to see her.”

You try to hide the way your eyes widen the slightest bit with the information that said flatmate is a she. “Is she a fashion student as well?”

“No, she’s a journalist. She works— well, interns for a music magazine, actually.”

Of course she’s a fucking journalist. When you think it couldn’t get any worse. “Anything that would ring a bell?”

“I don’t think so, they’re quite small.” He shrugs, sipping at his coffee.  “Don’t even have an office, they do most of the work online.”

“That’s interesting.” You nod, nails picking at a few crumbs dotted around the counter. Scrunching your lips, you try to consider how to word what you’re about to say. Knowing this conversation would have to be brought up eventually doesn’t make it any less awkward for you to have it. You peek up at him from under your lashes, only to find his oblivious state as he smiles back at you. “Harry… Can I ask you for a favour?” 

“Course.”

Inhaling deeply, you attempt not to let your voice come out as calculated as the words that roll out of your lips are. “Could you… Just for a bit, not mention anything about me to her?”

Harry’s expression falls to a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Just--” You pause, resting your cup down before turning to face him fully. “Just for a little while, I-- You have to understand that I would like to be a bit more private… About us?”

“Us?”

“Our friendship… I-” There it is again, the gust of panic. It makes you spit out the words before you can even process them,  “I wouldn’t want any headlines.” 

This only seems to worsen everything it seems, as Harry sits back on his stool, putting more space between you two. He shakes his head, “Julia would never do that.”

“I’m sure she wouldn't!” You rush, attempting to fix it. “It’s just… She could mention it to someone, and-- I don’t know, these things get out of hand really fast.” 

“So you want me to lie to her?”

“Not lie.” You chew at your bottom lip, sure that you’re a word away from getting kicked out. “Just, not to mention it… Just for a little while, it’s not like it can be a secret forever.”

“Right.” He slowly starts to nod, falling quiet for a beat too long. “Sure, yeah, okay.”

You exhale in relief, softening your expression. “Thank you.”

A silence falls between the two of you and, for the first time since your reconnection, it’s not much of a comfortable one. You have to swallow back the guilt that threatens to take over, knowing the awkwardness is mainly your fault for dealing with your request in such an awful way. Of course, you would have to have the privacy talk with Harry eventually, ideally being sooner rather than later. But asking him to lie and insinuating that his friend could use you to sell her magazine is most certainly the worst way you could’ve chosen to go about it. And there’s nothing to stop yourself from feeling completely stupid while picking at the brownie in front of you.

There’s a part of you, one that comes a bit louder now, that ponders if even bother continuing this in the first place; if it wouldn’t be better to spare him the burden that the simple association with you will bring into his life. You know it would be easier, better for him even, if you just collect your stuff now and walk out the door to never contact him again. If you excused this meeting as a lapse of rationality on your part. And just like that, you could let him go on with his regular life, having to come to terms with him painting a picture of you as another arrogant celebrity that just toyed with him for a bit before she got bored. It would hurt, sure, but this part of you tries to reason that it’s the best you could do for him.

Another part, though, a more selfish one that is, can’t bear the thought of standing up from your stool and just simply turn your back to this as if it never happened. No, you can’t bring yourself to do that. Not when meeting Harry again has brought you a sense of comfort you hadn’t even realized you’ve been lacking for months now. Not when he feels like the only person who doesn’t have an image of you shadowed by this big bright monster of fame — one that calls everyone’s attention before they can even take a proper look at you. You know he doesn’t need that, because of all the versions you present of yourself, he’s one of the few people that know which is the real one. 

This part of you makes you act thoughtlessly, letting your emotions speak louder than your brain. It makes you want to follow the immediate sense of relief that comes in knowing there’s no need to change anything to fit an imaginary narrative someone has made of you. There’s no need to do that with Harry. You’re so desperate to keep that ease that comes with being in his presence, that any thought of how it’ll eventually come crashing down on you is pushed to the back of your mind.

Worrying your lip between your teeth, you risk a glance up at him. To your relief, there’s not a crease between his brows like you expected. He doesn’t seem upset about your question anymore, his shoulders relaxed while he focuses on tearing a piece of the banana bread and shoving it into his mouth. The realization makes you straighten your posture, a sudden rush of determination flushing through your body. You’ve come here to get to know him again, and you’re not letting a poor start weigh you down. And, as your gaze falls to the costume bags lying across the couch arm behind him, an inquiry that has been floating through your mind comes back to you.

“So…” You clear your throat, leaning your elbow to rest on top of the counter as you rest your chin on your palm. Harry’s eyes shoot up at you, and you grin a bit as you point to the spot behind him. “Are you going to tell me a bit about that?”

His brows frown for a second as he looks back, finding the bags that called your attention from the moment you saw him on the sidewalk.  “What would you like to know?”

“Well, last time we spoke you were talking about working in a gallery.” You circle your cup in your hand, bringing it up to your lips but not yet taking a sip.  “And now, I have the information that you dropped out just a wee after; how did that happen?”

"It took a while for it to happen, actually.”  He crosses his arms on top of the counter, leaning in slightly. “Dunno if you remember but, uhm… This might be a bit awkward.”

Your brows raise towards your hairline, his words only enhancing your curiosity. “It’s okay, whatever you feel comfortable sharing.”

“I don’t mind it, just- well, after we broke up,” He starts, clearing his throat as his gaze searches for yours, eyes flickering between your own in search of a reaction. He was right. This is awkward. You try to remain a calm expression, nodding in encouragement for him to continue — although you want nothing more than to flinch at the words. “I was, uh, well, sad.” He lets out a quick chuckle. “A friend of mine- James, dunno if you remember them- they recommended a knitting group class kinda thing that they were in every Wednesday, told me it was quite therapeutic and calming, and stuff.”

“That’s cute.” You comment, trying to brush off the way your chest tightens at the brief mention of his feelings post-breakup, knowing how hard it was for both of you.

He smiles at you before continuing, “Got the hang of it pretty fast, actually. James was right being therapeutic. After a bit, I started going twice a week.” He reaches to brush his fingers over a napkin. You watch as his fingertips slide gently along its edge. “The lady that taught it, Laura- you’d ‘ve loved her, used to bake us biscuits every week. She had graduated in fashion, actually owned a boutique for a good fifty years.”

“Holy shit,” Your lips part in awe. “Can you imagine doing something for that long?”

“‘S exactly what got me thinking.” He peeks up at you, lips twitching up. “Around that time I was so confused about what to do with an art degree, and I realized it wasn’t really something I saw myself doing for decades on end.” 

Understanding, you give him a warm smile, toying with the lid of your cup as to not reach for his hand. Even though you weren’t around anymore at the time the events he’s describing took place, you still remember how confused he was right from the start. Harry’s always had an artist in him, and that’s something that wasn’t hard for anyone to see, but it was clear then how he wasn’t completely satisfied with his path. Back then, before you two parted ways, you recall thinking he was still adjusting with uni, and that eventually, he’d find his passion within the arts. It never occurred to you he might not be in the field he loved, after all. 

Looking back at it now, it makes sense.

“Laura helped me a lot during that time. She was the one that even introduced fashion as a possibility for me, we would talk for hours.” It’s hard to miss the fond smile that tugs his lips at the memory. “She even started inviting me for a cuppa outside of class hours, answer all my questions- even the stupid ones, she was really patient. Was almost like a mentor of sorts.” 

“She sounds like an awesome human.” Your voice is gentle, admiring how the words come out of him with an admiration that makes you warm all over.

“She was.” His eyes fall to his hands. Your expression softens, suddenly noticing how he’s been using the past tense when talking about her. “She told me once that sometimes making a career out of a hobby is not always the way to go, you know? Takes away the fun of it if you feel obligated to do it. It was then when I decided to switch.”

“Were you scared?” 

“Terrified.” You two laugh. “I was choosing a path that I’d never even considered before. It was so new, I was so scared I wasn’t making the right decision. It scared me that maybe fashion wasn’t also my thing, you know? Cause if it wasn’t, then what?”

“I get that.” You risk resting your hand next to his, sticking your pinky out to brush against his. He quickly interlaced them, smiling down at the gesture. “I’m glad it worked out, and you found something you’re passionate about.”

“Me too.” He replies, mimicking your position as he brings the hand that’s not enlaced with yours to rest under his cheek.

You smile, and he smiles, too.  

//

“Why can’t we just stay in tonight?”

The question leaves your lips in almost an annoyed huff. The third one in the last five minutes. Aya doesn’t spare you a glance this time, her eyes focusing solely on sweeping the white eyeliner over her eyelid as she finishes the last few touches of her makeup.

Her apartment is lit up with a golden glow, the lights having been lowered and the flame of a couple of green lavender candles helping set the relaxing energy of the room. It’s the primary reason you love staying at Aya’s; her place is always cozy, no matter which house of hers you’re in (even though you have a softer spot for her New York apartment). And it helps to have company, since your place has been uneasily empty lately. 

The original plan was simple: make dinner while catching up with the last Game of Thrones season. You’ve been looking forward to it all week. After days of hopping from long meetings to recording sessions, only to go home to your cold bed, reuniting with Aya was the one thing that kept you from catching the first flight back to London as soon as your errands were dealt with. So, it’s hard not to express your disappointment about having to attend some dinner party a good thirty minutes away from her warm apartment.

The thing is, the suggestion didn’t even come from Aya, but rather a surprise guest you weren’t even expecting to be here at the same time as you, Claire. 

And it’s not like you don’t like Claire, you do, well, you try to, which is the best you can do for now. She's been friends with Aya for a couple of months and, with Aya, it’s not that hard to become friends with her, if you’re honest. So you never really bother to keep track of the ones that come and go as quick as the pendulum of a clock. It’s something you’ve grown used to with the years of friendship. But unlike most of them, Claire seems to have stuck like an annoying piece of gum at the bottom of your boots.

In reality, you know it’s unfair to her to be annoyed when she’s really done nothing wrong. The sole reason for you two not mashing that well is more of a conflict in personalities than anything else. Usually, you manage to ignore that in order to keep at least somewhat of a friendly relationship with her during nights out -- more for Aya’s sake than yours. And sometimes you even enjoy her presence! When she’s not surrounded by big groups of people  (rare) and doesn’t feel the need to be obnoxiously loud for no reason, at those times when it’s just the three of you, she’s actually quite nice to talk to.

But now, you honestly wish you could glue her lips together and quite literally kick her out the front door. As she rushes around the place, - from the walk-in closet to the bathroom to the bedroom and so on - her voice so loud in attempts to speak over the playlist she put on just over two hours ago. The mesh of noises is so much you’d be sure no one heard your complaint if it wasn’t for Aya’s reply just a minute later.

“We stay in every day.” You watch as she bends over the sink, getting closer to the mirrored wall as she applies her lipstick carefully. With a smack of her lips, her eyes meet yours in the reflection. “I think it’d be good for you to go out.”

“Just two months ago you were complaining about how much I go out, and now you complain that I don’t go out enough?” You arch your brows, fully aware of how whiny you sound.

“Well, not my fault you don’t know how to balance your social life.” She focuses back on herself, opening a product you can’t make out what it is and tapping it against her cheekbones. “It’s either going out every single day to the point of no sleep or becoming a hermit inside your house.”

You pout. “I’m working, you know tha-”

“It’s cause she only goes out with her LA friends now, Meme.” Claire blurts out as she appears from inside the closet, holding one of Aya’s transparent coats. You keep a straight face as you turn to look at her, trying not to cringe with her nickname for Aya. She seems oblivious of your annoyance, though, making her way to lean on the archway leading to where Aya’s finishing getting ready. “Now it’s all about Dora and - what’s his name?”

Aya interrupts before you have the chance to bite back, “It’s not even that, C, think she’s found something more interesting keeping her in London.” 

The smirk she shoots you from over her shoulder makes you avert your eyes, a blush creeping up your neck, warming all the way to the tip of your ears. The knowing look on her face could almost make you entirely flustered, as if she knows exactly the reason you’ve been so comfortable staying in London by yourself — especially now that the sole thought of being alone sends a tight grip to your chest. But you know there’s no reason for you to be nervous about it. You haven’t told a single person about your reconnection with Harry yet, somehow feeling an odd sort of protectiveness over it. And you’re not sure why this new flame of happiness still feels so fragile to you, so delicate, that a simple, outspoken word to the wrong person could take it away from you. 

And oh, how scared you are of it being taken away as quickly as it came to you.

So you’ve kept it within your grasp for as long as you can. Away from prying eyes and greedy hands. It’s the one thing that you have now that feels just yours, the one part of you that no one else knows about. That’s the sole reason you even asked him to keep it a secret in the first place.

Still, that doesn’t mean that people around haven’t noticed the sudden change in you — as small as you thought it was, it surely didn’t go unnoticed by those that know you so well. Sonia was the first to mention it. When you couldn’t keep yourself from checking your phone every five minutes during a studio session, she had teased you about it. You brushed it off, and she made no more comments about it, thankfully. But you didn’t miss the looks she gave you every time you excused yourself to make a phone call.

With Aya, though, you know it won’t be as easy to get her to disregard your behavior. You hoped she hadn’t caught on when earlier in the afternoon she nudged you about being all smiley while reading a text (Harry had just sent you a picture of Duchess wearing a knitted vest he’d made for her and you had it open when Aya peeked from over your shoulder to see what you were looking at, so you just said it was a message from your sister before quickly locking the screen). 

However, after her comment, you’re sure she’s clearly aware that something’s up. And, knowing Aya, you’re aware she won’t drop this subject until you tell her exactly what it is that’s keeping you in London. Before she has the chance to poke further, you’re saved by none other than Claire, who did not pick up on Aya’s grin shot towards you. Barely registering the meaning behind her words at all, actually, as she makes her way to sit at the foot of the bed. “Well, whatever it is, I think I might have something to keep you here with us.”

Thankfully, Aya drops the subject, only widening her eyes slightly at you, almost in a warning at what’s coming. “Here it comes.”

You frown, glancing from your friend that stands opposite you to the girl that’s scooping closer to where your legs rest. “What do you mean?”

“I know you’re still having a hard time after Noah.” The words spill from her lips and you almost choke on your own saliva at her bluntness. There was a sort of silent agreement between you and Aya about not mentioning your ex by name. So hearing it being outspoken without expecting it surely comes in a bit of a shock. But Claire still seems oblivious of it, only reaching to grip right under your knee in what’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture, you guess. “But it’s been so long now! Maybe you need a little push with, like, getting over him.”

“A push.” It’s hard to keep the affronting expression that tugs down your lips.

“Someone.” A squeeze to your knee. You want to push it off. “There’s this guy-”

That’s it. You close your eyes with a deep breath. “Claire-”

“Before you say no, listen to me!” She holds out her hands, in a habit of gesturing her words when she explains herself. “There’s this guy, okay? He works with my brother at NYT and I met him a couple of times, and- Just listen! The whole time we were talking, I could only think of you! I was like ‘oh my god, she’s gonna love him’ cause he’s totally your type!”

You scoff, glancing over at Aya who’s clearly trying to keep herself occupied. “Is this why you’re dragging me out tonight?”

Her deer-in-the-headlights eyes meet yours in the reflection. “Hey, I have nothing to do with Mr. Perfect here. As I said, I just think it’d be good for you to go out.”

“Just meet him, okay? You don’t have to go out on a date or anything just-” Claire brings your attention back to herself. “Just talk for a bit, see if you click. I think it’ll be good.” Her voice gets softer, shoulder dropping. “I’m just trying to help.”

There’s not an ounce of you that wants to engage in any sort of small-talk filled conversation, having close to no patience in getting to know someone new at this moment of your life. The prospect of having to sit and pretend whatever this man is going to tell you about himself interests you for god knows how long is enough to make you want to swim all the way back to England in your stilettos. But it’s clear that Claire’s intentions with this are far from malicious in any way, and you can’t help but feel bad for lashing out at her. So you just sigh, letting the words fall from your lips before you think about it enough to regret them,  “Okay.”

Her face lights up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll chat with him.”

She squeals. “You’ll love him! I’m telling you-”

“Claire,” You interrupt before she can get ahead of herself. “You sound like you’re envisioning a wedding already. I agreed to chat. That's it.”

“Chat. Okay, it’s a start.” She nods, a smile too big for her face before squealing again, throwing a look over her shoulder. “Right, Meme? Don’t you think it’ll be good for her?”

“Please, I’m just the audience in this conversation.” She calls back, turning to face you after a second to motion to the coat sitting on Claire’s lap. “Is this the coat you chose?”

Claire jumps from her spot in the bed at the mention of it. “Yes! What do you think? Wait- I’ll try it on, see if you can still notice the pink details on my dress.”

The girl bolts towards the walk-in closet where there are larger mirrors she can see herself better on and, just as she turns her back, Aya shoots you a wink before following her. 

You relax back into the arrangement of pillows, another sigh leaving your lips as it comes to you what you’ve just agreed on. Sometimes you wish you weren’t so easily persuaded by a pair of puppy eyes, knowing the consequences of it almost always have to do with you doing something you’re not too comfortable with. Your eyes shut close and you have to refrain from rubbing your face as not to ruin the makeup Aya applied so carefully. The night has barely started and you already feel exhausted mentally. Not wanting to dwell on it further, you make a mental note to yourself: learn how to say no.

Turning your face, you pick up the phone that was left forgotten next to you during the chat with Claire. To your surprise, the screen lights up showing a text from Harry received just about five minutes ago. You try not to sit up too suddenly, as not to call attention to yourself, while you swipe your thumb over the screen to open the message. 

A smile tugs on your lips before you can even read what it says, simply reacting to the picture attached to it. The first thing you notice is his hair, poking out of his head in a messy mesh resembling somewhat of a mane. You bite back a giggle at the thought. His face is lit up, mouth parted in an open smile as he gives a thumb up to the camera. You take a moment too long looking at his face until you realize what the picture is meant to show. You. Next to him, on the screen of his telly, grinning with the blue sunglasses you wore to the music video shoot.

The text under it is short, but it causes the most beautiful flowers to bloom under your chest.

H: Found this cutie while browsing todayy

H: Looks familiar? ;)

//

“That’s definitely too much.”

You glanced back at Harry as your eyebrows shot towards your hairline, challenging. His own face mimicked your expression, peeking down at the cup of flour in your hands before meeting your eyes again. With his locks being pulled up with your hair tie, it’s hard to take him seriously after you’d teased him about resembling a sprout when he first walked into the kitchen, ignoring his protests to playfully sweep the tiny bouquet of curls with your finger.

“How many times do I have to tell you, this is the exact amount?” You replied, trying to keep a straight face.

“How do you know? You’re not even measuring it!”

“It’s a muffin, Harry, how difficult can it be?” You rolled your eyes in feign annoyance, turning the cup into the mixing bowl before he could protest it. “I can do it by eye just fine.”

“This is chaotic.” He scrunched his nose, shaking his head in disbelief at the cloud of flour that floated through the air at how abruptly you threw it. “Making a bloody mess, you are.”

“Yeah, yeah, now tell me what’s next.”

He exhaled a chuckle, secretly enjoying your antics, before turning to check the open recipe book that sat on the counter. His finger followed the words written in instructions, and you observed with amusement the crease forming on his face as he attempted to decipher your nan’s handwriting. It took him a second before he clicked his tongue, “We should’ve mixed the wet ingredients first.”

“Does it make a difference?” You bit back a smile, knowing your words would get a reaction out of him.

And, as you predicted, Harry’s face turned into an appalled expression. “Does it make a difference?” He repeated your question, astounded. “Of course it makes a difference!”

You giggled, reaching for the milk carton. “I’m sure the muffins will be fine if I put in the milk after the flour, they won’t even notice.”

“Christ,” He shook his head again, a few curls falling loose against his forehead with the motion. “Baking with you is going to make me go gray by the time I reach my twenties.”

This time you let out a full laugh, mouth falling open in fake offense. “You’re so dramatic!”

Harry smiled, then, both dimples poking deeply into his cheeks as he reached to take the carton from your hands. You two finished mixing the batter, taking a bit too long to get it inside the oven as you enjoyed pestering Harry in the process a bit too much. Every so often someone walked into the kitchen to pick up some drinks or leave dirty dishes by the sink, checking in on the both of you with that smile adults always give you when you’re with Harry (usually followed by some corny joke about young love that made you roll your eyes).

It was the day of one of the barbecue parties your parents always threw at the beginning of summer break. They would invite their closest circle of friends to spend the day in your back garden, usually followed by a ‘luau’ (as your dad called it, even though it was definitely not a luau) once your parents got tipsy enough to bring out the guitars and light up a fire. 

When everyone was a tad lethargic from lunch, relaxing back into their chairs as the sun felt hotter as it shone proudly on the cloudless sky, you had the idea of baking your nan’s recipe of blueberry muffins.

Usually, the tradition of baking a dessert to be freshly served in the afternoon was left to your mum and sister -- who was almost passing the age in which she wanted to have a hand in everything to call attention to herself. But you were faster this time, volunteering to do the task, and dragging Harry with you, as you were eager to have some time alone with him without having someone interrupting to ask him yet another football question that left you bored out of your mind.

So, you take advantage of having the kitchen to yourselves, bumping your hips against his as you two swept the counter quietly, cleaning the mess you’d made earlier. Your aunt had just left the kitchen after making one of those comments regarding marriage that are meant solely to embarrass both of you, and a faint blush was still visible on his cheeks. It made you want nothing more than to reach up and press your lips to them, only to feel the spot of his dimple deepening with a smile.

The air was smelling sweeter when you threw the dirty cloth inside the sink, leaning back into the island as you watched Harry crouch to peek inside the oven. You couldn’t help the grin as you noticed the muffins spilling out of their cases as expected. 

“Told you it would work out.”

“I don’t know how you do it.” He stood, resting a hand on the counter next to you, leaning into it. “Do absolutely everything wrong but still manage to make it work.”

“Hey!” You giggled, pushing him softly with your hand as you dragged out the word. “I did absolutely everything right just… In my own way.”

“Yeah?” His finger twirled on the hook of your jeans, pulling at it as he moved to stand in front of you, keeping a hand resting on the counter next to your waist. “The world bends its rules for you, it seems.” Pressing a peck at the corner of your mouth, he mumbled, lips close enough that you could feel every word caressing your skin, “Don’t blame it, though.”

You chuckled. “Oh? Do you bend your rules for me too?”

“Of course,” His nose tickled the apple of your cheek, causing you to shrug your shoulder slightly. You felt his warm breath as he exhaled a laugh, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Would never let anyone else butcher a batch of muffins in my presence like you just did.”

“Harry!” You cried out, shoving him off playfully. “I’m never baking for you ever again, you can starve during lunch from now on, see if I care.”

He laughed again, leaning down to bite the tip of your nose before you quickly tried to push him away. “Stop, baby, you know I’m just joking.”

“Too late now, you already lost your dessert privilege.”

“Ouch.” Harry pouted, attempting to pull his puppy eyes to get you to budge, but you simply raised your brows at him, chewing your inner cheek to prevent a smile from growing on your face. He started to lean down to press his lips on yours but he could barely move before the doors leading outside slid open again, startling both of you, causing Harry to quickly step back.

Your sister’s face peeked up curiously from her spot at the door frame, a juvenile smile teasing at her lips at the scene she’d just interrupted.

“What do you want, Ly?”

Lyla shot you a condescending look from your harsh tone, “I’m not here for you, dumb face.” She took out her tongue, and you rolled your eyes — sometimes she’s too much of a thirteen-year-old. “Auntie Sue said you were done and Harry promised to help me with a project.”

“A project?” You raised your brows, glancing at the boy next to you who was already adorning a guilty smile on his face.

“I did promise that.”

“It’s a secret project!” Lyla’s voice raised to a higher pitch.

“Okay, then.” You sighed, looking between the two of them before setting your eyes on Harry again. The pout is clear in your voice as you speak up,

“Seems like your presence is being required.” You nod towards Harry’s vibrating phone that sits on top of the table behind the two of you.

“Oops, sorry.” He shoots you a guilty smile before reaching over his shoulder for the device.

You avert your eyes as he glances down at the screen, focusing on the sunrays that peek from between the leaves of your green fence, painting the tips of the grass gold. It’s been just over a month since your first coffee date (you only call it that for lack of a better word) and, with summer just around the corner, the days are beginning to stretch longer. The sun is still bright and proud as the afternoon meets the evening. There’s a warmth that’s not yet too insufferable, but more like welcomed after months of endless drizzle and sharp winds. 

It’s perfectly fitting for a nice lazy day like this one. 

This is the first time you got to properly have him around for the day. Despite Harry having wrapped his term just about a week ago and your agenda keeping you in London for the next few months, both your schedules only seem to have gotten tighter. You spend most of your time during the week inside the recording studio — the sessions dragging into the evening hours more often than not, as you find yourself too caught up with them. Meanwhile, Harry’s back to working his regular working hours now that Act One has officially started working on the productions for the summer season.

Surprisingly, though, you fell into a routine of sorts quite easily. You still chat every day, not limiting your communication to texting alone (though you still love receiving Harry’s random pictures throughout the day), but also making phone calls most days once both of you have finally settled in bed after long working hours. And it’s not like you’re not able to see each other with these scheduling complications, it’s only that those hangouts are limited to either weekends or early evenings. 

On the two-week mark, after you met again, you could finally take him to the proper coffee hangout that you’d promised. The cafe in question is one you’ve been going to for over a year now. A friend recommended it, and you instantly loved it for how hidden it is, and most frequented by an older audience — which means you’re able to sneak in and out with no hassle. You took Harry there on a Sunday morning, and it surprised you to find that the place is actually much closer to his flat than your house. So, after cups of iced coffee and shared muffins, you two walked all the way to his place, enjoying the laziness that allows people to sleep in as the week reaches an end.

That was one of your favorite days with him. It had been a long while since you allowed yourself to simply relax during a walk; forgetting how it feels to be aware of every corner you turn. That’s the easy thing about being with Harry, you’ve found the simple concept of relaxing. He allows you to let your guard down, to enjoy those things you’ve once taken for granted. The ones that bring a sense of normalcy that can easily be overlooked by those who don’t get to experience the other side of it. It’s something you’re sure Harry doesn’t even realize he’s brought back to your life, but you still show your silent gratitude in any way you can.

It’s what made you invite him to your house for lunch in the first place. It didn’t go unnoticed to you how most times you end up back in his flat and, as much as he repeats how he enjoys your presence there, it doesn’t stop you from feeling the slightest bit self-conscious about it. 

“Shit.” Harry mutters under his breath, his fingers tapping swiftly on the screen, a frown deepening on his face.

Raising your brows, you wait a second before speaking up, afraid of interrupting whatever it is that has him alarmed, “Everything alright?”

“Julia’s making dinner tonight.” He replies, eyes scanning the device in his hands before sighing. “Completely forgot.”

“Oh. Is it, like-” You pause, glancing down at your phone that’s left forgotten in your lap, pressing the home button to check the time. The screen lights up, letting you know it’s just around six, meaning Harry’s been over for just about seven hours now. “Shit, I’m so sorry, didn’t mean to keep you-”

“Don’t apologize.” He locks his phone, shooting a reassuring smile your way. “My fault, really. Just completely slipped off my mind.”

You nod, watching him gnawn at his bottom lip, brows meeting in a frown as he gets deep in thought. Parting your lips. You don’t let any word out at first, afraid that if you do, he’ll remember it's time for him to go back. There’s a selfish voice in your head that wants to ask him to stay a bit longer, to not part ways yet, to just call off on this dinner. But you know better than to say any of it out loud, opting to suck in your lips instead, as if the words could just slip out without your consent.

Harry sighs, and you can’t help but let your shoulders fall, knowing what’s coming. “I should get going.” He picks up his empty glass, pocketing his phone as he stands with a huff. “Julia’s not very happy that I’m late.” He chuckles. “Again.”

Laughing, you get up from your chair as well, patting the back of your thighs as you feel your skin a bit sore from sitting for so long. Before you can answer him, however, your attention snaps towards the opened door leading to your kitchen, as a small figure comes rushing towards you. You feel the soft fur against your legs before you can properly register the pup circling you. Once you realize what’s going on, as the familiar black spaniel greets you, you freeze in your spot, glancing from the dog that now jumps excitedly on Harry’s legs to the door where he came from.

“You didn’t tell me you had a pup.” Harry smiles, his voice getting a higher pitch as he kneels to pet behind his ears. “Hey buddy, where did you come from?”

“I don’t.” You reply, walking towards the house as you search for the owner who’s likely already found her spot in the kitchen.

“Huh?” You hear from behind you as you stride towards the house. 

Surely, as predicted, you spot her hiding halfway inside your fridge, back turned to you. You notice how Bella’s blonde locks are way shorter since last time you saw her — now stopping just above her shoulders. As surprised as you are, you don’t comment on it, simply staring at your intruder of a friend as you try to figure the situation in hand. 

This isn't exactly how you’d planned to introduce Harry to your friend group. Well, shit.

Bella doesn’t pay any mind to you at first, but certainly senses your presence as she speaks out from over her shoulder. “Hey, did you not buy any more greek yo- Oh.” She stops as she turns, just in time when Harry walks in with the dog cradled in his arms. Her eyes jump between the two of you as she pushes the fridge’s door to a close. “Hi.”

“Hello.” You shoot her a look.

Harry puts the pet down, “Hi.”

“Uhm,” You stand awkwardly, playing with the rings hugging your fingers. Bella raises her brows in a silent question and you sigh. It’s not like you can do anything now. “Harry, this is my friend, Bella. Bella, this is Harry.” You motion your arms between them as you introduce one another.

Harry clears his throat. And you can only suppose how confused he must be, considering you mentioned nothing about a friend visiting today. But it’s not like you were aware of it, either. Bellas and you are at that point in your friendship in which you don’t find the need to announce your visits anymore, simply making yourselves at home every time both of you are in town.

He glances at you for a second, before nodding at your friend. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She grins politely. There’s a beat of quietness that no one really knows what to say next, and you can feel a silent pressure for you to break it. When you don’t, Bella points vaguely to a spot behind her, “Uh, I can come back tomorrow…”

Your lips part as you try to stop her, but before you can do so, Harry beats you to it.“You don’t have to, really. I was just leaving, actually.” He scratches his nose. “I don’t mean to intrude on anything you two have planned…” 

“Oh, no, that’s not it!” Bella rushes.

“We have nothing planned.” You assure him, glancing between your friends. “Bella just comes to visit whenever she’s in London.”

“Yeah, I was the one interrupting.” She backs you up, clicking her tongue. “Should’ve called first.”

"That's okay.” You tell her.

“Well, I hope you two enjoy the rest of your day, then.” Harry nods, eyes meeting yours as he mutters, “I really need to get going.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You say, “I’ll take you to the door.”

With one last wave to Bella, he follows you as you guide the way towards the front door. You open it for Harry, allowing him to step out first before you let it close behind you — as to avoid the dog from running out. Leaning back against it, you shoot him a small smile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was coming.” You point back. “She has the keys so…”

“That’s fine.” He reassures, hands hiding inside the pocket of his jeans. There’s a second of silence, as you two just enjoy each other’s presence for a little before having to bid your goodbyes. You can’t help but let your eyes fall to his shirt once again — although being a simple white tee, the words I spread like strawberries embroidered to it have been haunting you all afternoon. Once your eyes move up again, you don’t find his, as he glances down at his shoes, a cute reddish tone painting the apple of his cheeks. When he speaks up, he peaks up at you from under his lashes, “I had a lovely time, as usual.”

“Me too.” You bite down a smile, tilting your head. “As usual.”

He nods, looking over his shoulder before back at you. Chewing down the side of his lip, he asks, “I’ll see you?”

You try to think of a date to give him, knowing as summer progresses your schedule will only get tighter with the studio sessions. “Uhm, probably sometime at the end of the week, maybe? I’m a bit busy, but I’ll let you know.”

“Alright.” He nods, staring for a second before stepping forward to embrace you into a hug. “Take care, love.” His words come out a bit muffled as he squishes his face on the crook of your neck.

You giggle as the strands of his hair tickle the side of your face. “You too, H.” 

Pulling away, he steps backward, pointing at you in a playful warning. “Still owe me a lemon tart.”

“Gotcha.”

Taking a deep breath, you watch for a bit longer as he walks away, waving a last goodbye before disappearing back inside your house. You give yourself a moment to prepare for the wave of questions waiting for you as soon as you step back into the kitchen. 

You find Bella twirling on a stool propped next to the island, spoon in her mouth and an open package of greek yogurt sitting on the counter. As soon as you walk in, she stops, pulling the spoon out as her brows shoot towards her hairline. She doesn’t wait a second before questioning, “So…” A smirk grows on her face and she points vaguely with her spoon to a spot behind you. “Harry?”

You groan, taking a seat next to her. “You were not supposed to walk in on that.”

“Well, I’m sorry! How was I supposed to know?”

“I don’t know, maybe try calling?”

“I never call before coming here.” She challenges, and it’s true. Picking a spoonful of yogurt and shoving into her mouth, she watches you for a second. You simply glance back, aware of her expectant stare attempting to pry you to speak up first. You watch her swallow, lips quirking as you refuse to give what she wants. She raises her brows again, this time voicing her question, “Is he…?”

You shake your head at her implication. “No, he’s… A friend.”

“That was a pause.”

“Well, he was my ex before he was my friend.”

“An ex? Is he-” Bella frowns for a bit and you can almost see the wheels inside her head turning. “Holy shit! Is he The Harry?”

Now it’s your turn to form a crease between your brows, confused. You don’t recall ever mentioning Harry to her. “Don’t know what you mean by The Harry, but, yes, he was my first boyfriend.”

“You’ve told me about him before.”

“Have I?” You blink at her. “When?”

She thinks for a second before pointing the spoon in her hand at you.“Yes! It was in one of your Halloween parties- actually, right after it.” She looks over at you, only to find a confused expression still settled on your face. “The one we had a sleepover, and I broke your lamp.”

“That was two years ago, yeah, I remember.” As much as your Halloween parties have a tendency of meshing together in your memory (as they’re mostly the same apart from one or two remarkable occurrences), this one in particular you remember quite well as it was the first time Bella slept over at your house. In the middle of the night, she knocked on your room to ask you if she could sleep with you. Her words were coming mumbled because of the alcohol still affecting her bloodstream. The two of you barely slept a tick that night, as you spent hours whispering stories to each other and, at one point, she got so excited as she was telling you about some sort of vacation she had taken (you don’t remember it that well) that she elbowed your lamp causing it to shatter as it fell. You try to rack your brain to find any recollection of mentioning Harry that day, but all that comes to you is the two of you falling into a fit of giggles when you told her about a past hookup of yours. This only causes your frown to deepen. “The party, I mean. I don’t remember mentioning Harry.”

“You were drunk.” She shoves her spoon inside the yogurt as she speaks. “Was sitting at one of the patio chairs, scrolling down on your Instagram page and you saw a picture of him, think you said it was his sister’s profile? I don’t know. But you were whiny for like an hour because of it.”

“What?” So it was at the party? You have a flash of panic, wondering who else was there to hear you whine over your ex boyfriend. “I have absolutely no recollection of this.”

“It was cute, really.” She tries to comfort you, still focusing on her pot of dairy. “You didn’t say much- you weren’t making a lot of sense, really, but I remember you saying he was the first person you were in love with. Didn’t know he was your first boyfriend.”

You fall back into your seat. “Yeah… That’s him.”

“How long were you together?” Bella glances back at you, brows peaking in curiosity. 

“Almost four years.”

“What?” Her eyes bulge. “How come you never told me that?”

“Don’t know, was a bit of a sensitive topic, I guess.” You know it was. The only reason why you refrained from mentioning him to anyone for a long time was because of the tightness in your chest that followed the sound of his name. “But yeah, we started dating right after his fourteenth birthday.” The memory comes to you as a smile. “His birthday’s in February and he asked me on Valentine’s day, was really cute. I don’t think anyone thought it would last that long at the time.”

“That’s super sweet.” She whines, her shoulders falling as she huffs. “Ugh, I hate love.”

You chuckle. “Same.” 

“So you broke up when you were, what, eighteen?”

“Yup.” 

“Was it because of distance and stuff?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” You think back to the time you two started drifting apart, a thought you haven’t revisited in a long time. “We were already very distant even when we were together.” Shrugging, you try to push back the heaviness in your chest. “Guess we were just meant to go different ways.”

"That's poetic.” She nods. You assume she’s noticed the way your voice has taken a lower tone, as her own grows a pitch, shoving you as she tries to cheer you up. “But now you’re together again!”

Breathing out a laugh, you roll your eyes slightly. “We’re friends.”

“Right.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “But, you know, you went each your own way and somehow crossed paths again. Do you know what that’s called?”

You close your eyes, already familiar with your friend’s antics. “Bella…”

“Fate.”

“Oh my god.” You shake your head at her, hoping she doesn’t notice the blush that creeps up your neck.

“I’m just saying, if I were you, I wouldn’t let this opportunity escape.” She bites down her empty spoon to hide the smirk that grows on her lips. The way her brows wiggle before she says anything allows you to prepare for what's to come. “I mean, with all due respect, he is very fine.”

“I knew it was coming.” You pucker your lips to avert from smiling, trying to seem casual before confessing, “But yes, he looks really good.”

“The long hair? The tattoos? Girl!” Her eyes widen. “If he wasn’t your ex, I would’ve been saying some really inappropriate stuff right now.”

You groan, hiding your face behind your hands. “Please, don’t.”

“I said ‘would’!” She emphasizes the word as she tries to pull your hands away from covering your eyes. “I’m only thinking about it, relax.”

Rolling your eyes again, you nod towards her half-empty pot. “Eat your yogurt.”

//

The air inside the flat somehow is warmer than the outdoors. The large windows opposite the kitchen are wide open to have some sort of breeze flowing around to relieve the heat coming from the stove. A generic scent of fried dough dances around the small space with it. It’s one that Harry recognizes from past times that Julia’s made the dish, and it makes his mouth water as soon as he steps inside.

Julia’s at her spot in the kitchen taking care of the food, her back turned to him as she bumps her hips along with the beat of a song he doesn’t recognize. Next to her, Harry recognizes Mitch’s back reaching for the small pile of plates inside the cabinet with Blake standing right behind (he assumes because she’d asked for his help with the task, considering she usually has a hard time reaching the last shelves). 

Their voices mesh together as they seem too lost in their conversation to notice Harry’s arrival. Right as the door clicks closed, however, Blake takes the plates from Mitch’s hands, turning to catch Harry right as he toes-off his shoes.

“Look who’s decided to show up!” She speaks up, calling the attention of both friends that still stood oblivious of the boy that now sports a guilty smile. Blake raises her brows at him, setting the plates on top of the island counter. “For what do we owe this honor?”

“Finally!” Julia barges before Harry can even start with the apology he went over in his head during the entire tube ride. “I was completely outnumbered in this discussion. Tell them that our plates are nice!”

He stops right by the edge of the kitchen tiles, furrowing his brows at his friends’ request. “What?”

Harry tries to search for an explanation from Mitch, who simply leans back onto the counter with his arms crossed, and an amused smirk painting his lips as he nods towards Julia.

The girl has turned back to the stove, a colander spoon in her hand moving the pastries around inside the pan filled with oil. She huffs before she explains, eyes trained on the stove, “They’re being incredibly rude, calling our plates tacky!”

Without even looking at the plates in question, Harry chuckles. “Oh, is it the floral ones?”

He confirms his assumptions when glancing at the dishes set on top of the island counter. The collection was sent by her parents around the new years after her visit for the holidays — she’d told them about how they cracked most their dishes at the edges and they sent in a full set as a replacement. And, as much as both of them found the action heartwarming ly thoughtful, they both had a good laugh upon opening the box when it first came in. 

Because they were, after all, a bit tacky. 

Each has its edges painted with a different color, with matching roses circling around it. To make matters worse, the center of them have each a different phrase. Harry couldn’t make sense to them at first, as they’re written in Portuguese, but from what Julia’s translated it doesn’t go far from those catchphrases you can find at the Live, Laugh, Love side of Pinterest.

That’s something Julia very openly makes fun of her parents about; what she says is their lack of taste for just about everything. And Harry was very aware of the fact, not only by the way she teases them to no end about it but also by her choices of presents to send back home (for instance, that god awful umbrella -- may it rest in pieces). With their time together as flatmates, it’s almost become somewhat of an inside joke between the two of them. 

But, as much as both of them have taken the piss about it before, they still have a fondness heavily attached to them. So it’s understandable Julia’s annoyance at their friends’ tease, especially when both bark into laughs at Harry’s question.

“You’re not helping!” Julia throws him a look from over her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to confirm!” Harry raises his hands in surrender as he watches the girl roll her eyes before focusing back on the pan in front of her. He pulls one stool next to the one Blake’s taken for herself, sitting on it before glancing down at the dish in front of him. He spins it slightly with the tip of his finger, watching the yellow roses move with it. “But Jul’s right, stop attacking our plates.”

“I wasn’t attacking them, if I have any right to a replica.” Mitch moves from his spot to take the stool in front of Harry. “If I recall correctly, I even said they were very charming.”

“Your sarcasm doesn’t impress me, Rowland,” Julia replies from her spot, not looking back. “Just say they're ugly already! Since you guys hate them so much!”

Blake shoots Harry a knowing look, a smile poking at her lips from being too used to her girlfriend’s dramatics. She pushes her stool back, standing before she walks over towards the grumpy girl who’s now focusing on taking out the pastries and laying them on a trail that’s covered with napkins. Embracing her from behind, she presses a kiss between Julia’s shoulder blades before whispering something just for her to hear.

Harry watches them for a second, not helping the part of him that wishes he could have someone like they do. It verges a tragedy, he thinks, to be a hopeless romantic and not be in love.

"Food is ready!" Julia speaks up, her voice this time taking a higher pitch. Harry doesn’t miss the look the couple exchanges before finding their seats across from each other.

Julia sets the trail in the center. The pastries take a half-circle shape and are organized neatly in two rolls, their golden crust looking very appealing, making Harry realize how hungry he actually is.

“So, explain to me,” Mitch begins, nodding towards the dish. “What are those guys?”

“These, my dear, are called pastel- you know, like the color shade,” Julia explains, picking up one of them. “They’re basically, like, a pastry. You can stuff them with anything you want, really. I made the most common ones which are cheese- the ones on this roll- and meat.” She points to the rolls showing where each one line. “We usually have them as, like, a snack, but I was really missing them so I made it for dinner. And we also eat it with sugarcane juice, but y’all don’t have it here,” She shakes her head. “Tasteless.”

“Sugarcane juice?” Mitch raises his brows.

Julia goes into one of her rants that Harry’s heard about a hundred times before by now — the ones that come up every time she talks about her country, which he finds rather cute how passionate she gets when talking about her culture. His head shuts off for a bit, though, already knowing the information by heart, as he focuses on his groaning stomach. 

For a moment, they just eat while having more of a casual chat. Julia rambles for a good portion of it about her life back home, and, soon enough, they all share their own experiences that make them miss their hometowns. It makes for a nice bonding experience, four people from different spots in the world that found themselves in London at the same time. All sharing a meal as they recall the parts of them they left behind when they choose to leave. For a moment, Harry forgets all about the apology he’d rehearsed on the way back from your house. 

It doesn’t even slip into his mind how he escaped any sort of immediate interrogation about his whereabouts. He’s even naïve enough to think that maybe Julia’s even forgotten about it as well, thanks to the plates’ discussion. 

Harry soon finds himself to be wrong, though. And the worst of it all, it catches him completely off guard.

The group has just quietened down from a story Mitch’s told from back in the days he used to work in a pizza place. Blake’s just offered to clean up the dishes, standing from her stool as she collects the plates. Harry hands her his, glancing at her as he mutters a quick ‘thank you’. He doesn’t notice the way Julia stares at him, eyes narrowed and lips puckering, as she leans into the counter. It only calls his attention once she speaks up, her words coming out slow but almost calculated, as if she’s been thinking about voicing them for a while, “So, H, are you gonna tell us what’s up?”

He doesn’t realize what she’s referring to at first, only furrowing his brows in his confusion. “Huh?”

“Don’t ‘huh’ me, Styles, you’re hiding something.” She points at him and that’s when he realizes, breath hitching on his throat. “And I think that something’s actually a someone, so spill.”

He hears Blake chuckling from her spot at the sink. “Guess we’re going straight to the point, then.”

Harry tries to even his breath, holding back the urge to bite down at his bottom lip as not to show he’s nervous. “What makes you think that?”

Julia grins as if she’s been waiting for him to ask that. “Well, should we go over the list? You suddenly have a life outside, barely stay at home, you’re almost always late to hang out— and that’s coming from me, a Brazilian- oh! You’ve also been baking?” She puts out a finger at each topic on the list, emphasizing the last word as if it’s the most absurd concept to grasp. “And I caught you taking a selfie the other night, which would be odd on itself if I wasn’t sure that you sent it to someone right after.”

Harry nods slowly. “Okay. You kept a list.”

“So?”

“I-” He feels himself panicking, not knowing how to explain himself. On one hand, he hates lying, especially to people he loves. He also knows how upset Julia gets when people lie to her, considering honesty is one attribute she values the most in a person. So the prospect of not only going against one of his own principles but also letting down one of his closest friends, almost makes him sick. But he gave you his word that he would not tell anyone until you were ready to do so. And he wants to keep his word and respect your wishes, knowing that if he doesn’t, it could mean losing everything he’s gotten back these past months. It could mean losing you. So for a moment, he stays there, lips parted but not saying anything. There’s gotta be some sort of middle ground.  “There’s… Someone, and-”

A loud thud comes as Blake drops one plate inside the sink, turning around with wide eyes and soapy hands. “What?”

“I knew it!” Julia slaps her hand on the counter as she exclaims, her mouth dropping in the shape of an ‘O’. “I knew it! How do you get a girlfriend without mentioning it to me? I thought we were friends?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend.” Harry blurts out.

“How could you keep this from us?” Blake comes to stand behind her girlfriend, her face still wide in shock before she turns to Mitch. “Did you know about this?”

“I did not have any involvement in this, no.”

Julia continues her inquiry, “Who is it?”

“Jul-”

She interrupts Harry before he can properly form a word, “Is it that girl from work? The one that had a crush on you? What’s her name again-”

“Julia, please.”

“Alice!” She snaps her finger, her grin widening as she looks at him as if she just solved an enigma. “It's her, isn’t it? Did you finally make a move? Oh my god.”

“I- It’s-” Harry’s fully panicking now, eyes moving quickly between his friends as they stare at him, waiting for a confirmation. Is this the middle ground he wanted? No, he thinks to himself. This will only make things worse. He should just say he wants to keep it private for now. It would annoy them, sure, but they’d have to understand, right? It’s the rational thing to do. But Harry’s not working with rationality at the moment, and his mouth works before his brain does, “Y-yeah, it’s her.”

Blake gasps. “Harry!”

“I can’t believe you!” 

He needs to fix this. “We’re not dating.” 

“Yet.” She points before squealing, reaching a hand over her shoulder to hold Blake’s wet ones while placing her other over her heart. “Look at you! They grow so fast…”

“Please, don’t.”

“Babe, let him breathe for a bit.” Blake breaks her hand from her girlfriend’s grasp, reaching for a napkin and using it to dry her hands. She smiles at him, “I would like to see a picture of her, though.”

Before he has the chance to answer, Julia’s already talking, “You should’ve invited her to come today! There’s enough food-”

“No, it’s… Uh, it’s not like that.” Harry tries to come up with something to explain himself as not to dig a deeper hole than he already has put himself in.

Blake frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Just-” He pauses, glancing between his friends. They all show different stages of confusion. “We’re taking things slow.”

Julia rolls her eyes, “Harry, you’re already the slowest person I know.” She states as a matter-of-fact, shaking her head at him. “With your pace, we’re getting this relationship announcement in five years.”

He huffs, the insistence annoying him a bit. Maybe it’s because he knows the more they keep this subject, the deeper the hole he can get himself in. So he simply avoids feeding more into it, choosing to ask her instead,  “Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me in a relationship?” His eyes meet Blake’s in a silent plea for an intervention.

“Because I want to have cute double dates!” Julia whines.

Mitch deadpans, “What’s this, then?”

“Okay! We have desert!” Blake seems to find her cue to barge in, clapping her hands together before continuing, “And it’s made of chocolate!”

Harry smiles at her, shooting her a look of gratitude. “Chocolate sounds perfect.”

“Sounds marvelous,” Mitch adds.

Julia, however, is not dumb. She narrows her eyes slightly. “You guys are changing the subject.”

Her girlfriend barely bats an eye at her statement, though, only squeezing her shoulder gently, “Babe, why don’t you tell Mitch about brigadeiro? I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”

The girl sighs, shooting Harry another knowing look before giving up on the subject for the time being. He only gives her a small smile, watching as she begins to tell Mitch all about desert. 

Well, he really dug himself a hole with this one.

//

Harry loves Sundays.

This is funny enough of a statement, considering how he used to despise it when he was younger. Back when he knew it meant that he’d have to be up early the next day to walk the cracked sidewalk leading to his school, fighting to keep his eyelids halfway open. The entire day would feel like a countdown (just eight more hours until the weekend’s over!). The only thing that made the day the slightest bit enjoyable was that he used to visit his nan every Sunday right after breakfast. He still remembers how he and his cousins would sit in front of the telly with their toys scattered around them, the entire house adorned with the scent of vanilla.

He’s not sure exactly when the switch of opinion for the day happened, but he knows that you’re one of the main reasons for it. Sunday’s were your days. They were the only days in which you were sure to be free from babysitting duties with your sister, hence why there was a silent agreement that settled between both of you to spend it together. So you reserved Sundays for the two of you. And Harry’s sure some of his fondest memories with you happened on a Sunday.

So it was hard not to love the day when it brought you to him every time.

Although years have passed, his attachment to the day hasn’t faded. Especially now, when you seem to fit back into his Sundays just as perfectly as you used to. 

The cafe smells just like his nan’s house used to when he first walks in - the only major difference being the scent of coffee that meshes with the vanilla in the air. It’s the third time he comes with you here and, just like the previous ones, there’s a surprisingly low movement for it being mid-morning. Most of the customers that frequent it, as you’d informed him the first time you took him there, are elders. There’s a couple right at the door enjoying the cloudless day at the chess table that’s carefully prompted just outside the cafe that bids good morning as the younger pair passes by, not paying much attention to them. Meanwhile, inside, the other four or five customers that sit scattered around the armchairs barely bat an eye towards them as they walk in, focusing only on their newspapers or crossword magazines that sit in front of them as they quietly sip on their drinks.

Despite you not sharing loads with him regarding your public image, from what he could gather, it’s clear how much you value your privacy. So it’s easy to understand why you enjoy coming here, as your presence comes and goes as just another one. 

And he quite enjoys it too, especially noticing how carefree you get in a space you’re comfortable with. Usually, on other few occasions, the two of you go out to public spaces that you’re not as used to, it’s clear how alert you are, even if you’re enjoying yourself. You limit yourself to plain clothes to not call any attention, always with what’s become your signature big sunglasses shielding part of your face -- you even wore them when you went to the cinema to which, although Harry understood the reason for, he didn’t refrain from teasing you about it. 

But today, you abandoned the hoodies and large shirts in various shades of grey. Harry knows the riskiest part of your day in being recognized would be the short walk from his building to the cafe. Still, that thankfully didn’t stop you from going back to your usual wardrobe. Instead, you’re wearing a white dress with red stripes lining along your curves, the skirt flowing all the way down your calves, showing the white sneakers covering your feet. The sunglasses are still present, of course, but you quickly push them up as soon as you walk inside.

Harry watches for a second as your eyes scan the menu written on the wall behind the counter, chuckling to himself as he knows you’re still going for the same order as usual. Before you can step closer to voice your order, however, he says, “Go find a table, I’ll get your order.”  You glance up at Harry, brows shooting up, challenging. “Medium iced coffee and a chocolate muffin.” He grins proudly as he recites your order. “Anything else?”

“No, that's it.” You bite back a smile. “You’re not paying for me, though.”

Of course, you’re insisting, he thinks, already shaking his head. “You paid last time and the time before that and, if I recall correctly, you didn’t let me have a say in it when I tried to intervene in either of them.” Harry pokes your side, nodding towards the table area. “So, go get a table. I’ll be right there.”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you stay silent for a beat, clearly debating whether to keep insisting. “Fair enough.” You sigh, walking backward as you point at him. “But I’m paying next time.”

Chuckling, he keeps his eyes on you for a tick longer to catch where you’ve sat, his face warming the slightest bit once you throw him a wink as you settle back in the chair. Once he places the orders for the both of you, he notices some drawings stuck to the wall behind the counter as he waits for them to be done with. They all have a clear childlike trace to them, some more than others, and Harry assumes the more abstract one must’ve been done by a younger child. He smiles to himself, finding it an adorable addition to the place, even if it could easily go unnoticed by an inattentive eye.

“They’re from my granddaughter.” The barista smiles at Harry as he places two cups on top of the counter, nodding back towards the artwork that caught his attention. “Just turned eight. Loves drawing.”

“They look lovely.” 

“This one, actually,” The barista points to one that seems to be more recent, as it’s stuck on top of the others. It shows what looks like two girls holding hands; a smaller one holding a heart on her free hand, and a taller one with a star on top of her head. The man nods to a spot over Harry’s shoulder, “It’s her and your friend, she’s a big fan.”

“Really?” Harry’s lips part in surprise. “That’s very sweet.”

“It’s how I found out she was known.” The man lets out a low laugh, opening the display to reach for a muffin. “Millie was proper mad that I didn’t know who she was when she came to visit, but your friend was a sweet thing, signed her shirt and everything.”

Harry smiles at the story. “Sounds like her.”

“Sure does, seems like a lovely lady.” The man’s attention gets called as the front door opens with a ding. He shoots Harry one last smile, “Duty calls. Enjoy your coffee.”

Harry reaches for the cups with one hand, picking up your pastry with the other. “You too, have a good one.” He feels the words slip before he can register them and, as he realizes his mistake, he quickly turns to head for the table, eyes wide and a blush tainting his cheeks.

You lock your phone, setting it down as soon as Harry approaches the table. He sees a grin twitching on your lips as you glance up at him and he avoids your gaze, knowing it’ll only worsen the warmth on his face.

“What’s got you all flustered?” You ask, your voice verging a laugh.

“Stop.” He scratches his nose in a nervous tick. “Just told that man to enjoy his coffee.”

“Oh, no.” You burst into a fit of giggles and he peeks up at you, holding back a laugh himself as he shakes his head — he loves making you laugh. “C’mon, H, everyone does that. I’m sure he didn’t even notice.”

“Still embarrassing.”

“Just a bit.” Biting down at your bottom lip, you squint your eyes, pushing the muffin towards him. “Here, have a bite, you’ll forget all your problems.”

He breathes out another laugh, reaching to pick a piece of the sweet before shoving it into his mouth. Soon enough, his embarrassment gets lost in conversation, the rosy tone on his cheeks no longer making themselves present from shame but from laughing too hard from something you say. You two get lost in your little bubble for a good while, taking your time sipping on your drinks. Every so often, Harry steals a bite from your muffin — at first, he does it just to have a piece, but once he gets a reaction out of you, eyes narrowing at him adorably as you scrunch your nose in feign anger, he does it just to watch you.

There’s no better way of learning about you than watching, he’s found. One of the biggest changes that he noticed upon getting close to you again, is how you seem to have closed up in a way. And it’s difficult to catch on. He figures that someone who didn’t know you years ago probably doesn’t even realize how much of yourself you keep bottled up. You’re a rambler, that much is easy to pick up. But Harry’s realized that as much as that part of you remains intact, your chatters become much more superficial. You talk about specific events and memories but always narrate it as if you were a mere expectant. You rarely go into detail about your personal life all that much.

Apart from the day you were drunk on his bathtub, he’s barely got a glimpse of feelings regarding him. 

So, he resorts to picking up those bits and pieces you let escape without realizing. He enjoys noticing you (and he’s aware that’s a bit creepy of him, but he can’t help it). How you mention you light a candle before going to sleep cause it helps calm you down. How you refer to your friends with the fondest smile picking up on your lips (but also how you let slip out you only have a person or two that are close to you because getting to know new people makes you anxious). How you always smile at dogs whenever you are — sometimes you even wave at them. How you have the habit of circling your drink in your hand when you’re comfortable, much like you’re doing right now.

The last one always warms his chest. He’s realized you only do it when you let your guard down, allowing yourself to get lost in your world without having to be alert all the time. For all you know, the world outside this small table could’ve stopped spinning and neither of you would notice.

Maybe it’s why you don’t pay any mind to the two teenage girls that enter the cafe. Not until both of them stand right next to the table.

It’s the call of your name that snaps you out of your head. The girls barely blink as they stare down at you, their mouths agape in shock as they hold each other’s hands. “Is it you?”

Harry thinks there’s a flash of panic in your eyes, but it’s gone as soon as it comes. You smile as you stand, and he doesn’t fail to notice the way you turn your body slightly to shield him. “Last time I checked, that would be me, yes!” You chuckle. “What are your names?”

“I’m Lauren.” The taller one speaks up, her hand clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles are almost white. She looks down at the other one who simply stands there, wide eyes not leaving your figure for even a second. Once the other says nothing else, Lauren answers the question for her. “And she’s Georgia. She’s a bit nervous cause she’s a big fan.”

“That’s very sweet, thank you so much.” You tilt your head a bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too,” Georgia says, her voice trembling and the hold on her friend’s hand. “Uhm, do- could we- if it’s not too much of a bother, could we get a picture with you?”

“Uhm, I don’t think it’s the best time right now, I’m sorry, loves.” Your voice is soft as you talk to them, but it quickly takes a more joyous tone as you suggest, “But I’d love to sign something for you if you’d like?”

“Yeah, if you can! If not, it’s okay, really.” Georgia nods, the words all but stumble out of her mouth. “Sorry for bothering you.”

“It’s no problem at all! It’s a pleasure to get to meet both of you.” 

Harry tries to watch discreetly as not to call any attention to himself, recalling what you once said about not wanting headlines of the two of you. So he only peeks up when you turn to fetch a pen from inside your bag, meeting your eyes for a second before you turn your attention back to the young fans. You chat with them for a little as you sign their phone cases, and he can’t help the tug in his heart at seeing you being so attentive to them.

“There we go.” You say as you hand Lauren her phone.

“Thank you so much!” Georgia exclaims, and even from his spot, Harry can make out a glossiness in her eyes. You pull her into a hug. “You’re really, like, one of my favorite people.”

“I’m honored.” You giggle as you back away, giving her friend a hug as well. Softening your voice once again, you keep a gentle hold to the girl’s shoulder, “Just one more thing, I’m sorry to have to ask you that but, would you mind not posting about this location?”

“Of course!” They say in unison, and Georgia is quick to add, “I wasn’t planning to!”

“Thank you for understanding.” You nod with a smile. “It was really lovely meeting the two of you! Hope we get to see each other again. Enjoy your day.”

The girls bid their goodbyes to you, and you give them one last wave before retaking your seat. Harry observes how you keep an eye on them for a beat longer before meeting his gaze, an apologetic expression adorning your face.

“That was sweet.” 

You sigh, “That was unexpected.”

“Thought that kinda thing happened a lot.”

“It does, just-” You pause, frowning your lips slightly. “Never happened in here.”

You tap your fingers against the wood of the table in a nervous tick, bringing your other hand to your mouth as you bite down on the nail of your thumb. It’s clear how alarmed you’ve gotten now that the girls are gone, eyes scanning every bit of the room. Looking anywhere but to Harry’s own worried ones. He doesn’t need to be able to read minds to know that yours is probably rushing right now from a simple glance at your face.

He reaches for your hand on top of the table to call your attention. Once you snap your gaze back on his, you let your shoulders relax a bit. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah! It’s just…” You try to brush his worry off, glancing back at the entrance before sighing again. “Do you think we could take this back to your place? Is Julia there?”

He shakes his head to your last question, “Of course, it’s not that far, anyway.”

“Thank you.” Your expression softens as you move to gather your belongings hanging from the back of your seat. “I’m sorry, I always do this.” Your shoulders fall, the edge of your lips frowning down.

“Hey, how many times do I have to tell you?” He bumps his arm against yours as both of you stand to get you to relax. “You don’t have to apologize, I understand.”

“I appreciate it.” You nod, but the crease between your brows doesn’t ease. “I just want to avoid a possible mob in case they end up posting about the location.” 

Harry tries to ignore the way his heart drops at your words. He wonders how many times you’ve been caught in a situation like this that ended up badly. “I get it.” 

The way back to his building is much different than when you were coming to the cafe a few hours ago. It’s noticeable that you’re tense as soon as you step outside, the sunglasses earning a permanent spot on your face for the time being. Even with your eyes covered, however, Harry still notices how you take in your surroundings almost cautiously. He tries to bump his hips against yours every time you do it, trying to distract you from your worries. It helps, as you shoot him a smile every time, bumping your hips back.

Screams from a nearby park call both your attention as you get closer to his building. As the day approaches the late hours of the morning, people have decided to enjoy the rare dose of sunlight that gave a break to the frequent rainfalls that cloud the city. On the other side of the road, children run around in a playground as their parents watch them from near benches. A few runners make their laps on the sidewalk lining the edge of the block as well as dog-walkers that take more of a stride sort of walk.

“Such a nice day.” You say, glancing down at the floor ahead to allow your hair to cover a bit more of your face. “It’s a shame we have to go back inside.” 

It breaks his heart to hear the way your voice takes a lower tone. He tries to meet your eyes, “Can tell you’re beating yourself up about things out of your control.” Harry pitches your arm, his next words coming out in a playful warning, stretching the word as to get you to smile.  “Stop it.”

“I can’t help it.” You let out a humorless laugh, coming to a stop at a corner to wait for a red light so you can cross. He looks down at you, but you keep your gaze trained ahead. “It is kind of my fault, you know?”

Harry frowns. “Except it’s not.”

“Thank you for trying to make me feel better about it.” You give him a small smile, shaking your head. “But in a way, it is. I know it is. And I don’t mean to complain about it or anything! Cause I’m aware of how privileged I am to get to live my dream and all that… It just-” You shrug. “It’s not always a field of flowers, I guess.”

“You’re allowed to not love every second of it, doesn’t make you ungrateful.” He argues, his hand meeting your shoulder as he gently turns you to face him. “Especially when it comes to all this privacy stuff, you deserve to have your space.”

“I know that but...Well, I signed up for it, you know? I knew my life would never be just mine once I started getting big.” You adjust the glasses on your face. Harry’s close enough that, if he focuses, he can see your eyes under the dark lenses. “And in a way, I’m used to it now, I’ve learned how to live with it.” You sigh, frowning at your lips. “What makes me uneasy when stuff like this happens- what makes me want to keep a low profile when we’re out, it’s not to protect me. It’s to protect you.”

Him? “Me?”

“Yeah…” Your voice is small, almost shy as the confession leaves your lips. Clearing your throat, you avert your eyes down as you quick some loose pieces of concrete from the sidewalk. “It’s the same with my parents or to Lyla or anyone that doesn’t have a life like mine.” You explain in a rush, trying to cover the timidity that warms your cheeks. But when you continue, it’s still clear in your tone, as the words come from your lips in almost a shame, “You don’t deserve to be exposed to all of it just because you’re part of my life. It’s not fair to you.”

It takes Harry a second to let it sink in. To understand the whole reason behind your uneasiness when going out. Why you’re so adamant about keeping your ties to him a secret. Why you try to separate him from your public side.

All this time. You’re doing it to protect him.

There’s no denial of how the confession brings a tightness to his chest. He knows it’s not what you mean to do. But he can’t help it when you sound as if you could be a burden in his life — when, in reality, it couldn’t be the furthest away from the truth. So his shoulders lump as he watches you keep your gaze away from his again, lips frowning down as he uses every ounce of self-control within himself to not pull you to him.

Instead, he ducks his head, trying to find your eyes under the lenses of your glasses. When he speaks up, his words are soft, to embrace you in a way he can’t physically, “Is this why you get so stressed about going out in public? Why you asked me to not tell anyone?” You look up at him at the question and he adds, “To protect me?”

“Of course.” You reply as if it was obvious all along. “W- Did you think it was… Something else?”

“I-I don’t know.” From his peripheral vision, he can see cars coming to a halt as the streetlight turns red, but neither of you makes a move to keep walking. The world around doesn’t matter right now. “I think I just assumed you didn’t want the media assuming…” He motions vaguely with his hand. “Anything.”

“Well, yes, to protect you from that.”

“You-” He shakes his head incredulously. There’s no denial of the bouquet of butterflies that bloom on his stomach at the prospect of you wanting to protect him. At how you say it as if it’s obvious that you’d do it in the first place. Almost treating it as if it’s your duty to do so. But he also can’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt from it, knowing how this is the main reason that gets you anxious when you’re together. His hand reaches for your shoulder again, caressing it in silent gratitude as his expression softens, “You don’t have to do that, to stress yourself because of me. Do you know that?” 

“But I do.” You’re quick to argue. “You don’t know what it’s like, H. People are brutal. I won’t have them pestering you. I won’t have that.” There’s a clear quiver in your voice at the last few words, and Harry has to fight back the lump on his own throat at the sound of it.

“Love-”

You push up your sunglasses so you can fully glance up at him, “I’m serious.” Your eyes are set, stern, as you lock them on his. But they’re also getting glossy at the edges. “I won’t let them get to you too.” You whisper.

“It’s not your duty, love.” Harry insists, hating how you’re clearly beating yourself up for it. “I can take care of myself in case anything happens.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” The smile that tugs on your lips is weak, and you shake your head. “If you knew what it would be like...” You trail off.

“Is this why you don’t have any friends with- uh, a regular life?” Harry cringes at himself but doesn’t know how else to word this without making you feel abnormal.

You nod. “Pretty much, yeah.” 

“I understand where you’re coming from.” He says, eyes trained on yours as he wants you to take in every word that he speaks. “I do, but you maybe you shouldn’t allow those people to dictate your happiness.”

You give him a sad smile that twists his heartstrings. “That’s not what it is.”

“It’s what it seems like.” He argues, desperate to get you to understand where he’s coming from. 

The more he takes in the way your eyes water and your lips twist, shoulders falling almost in defeat — as if you’ve accepted the responsibility that you’ve weighed upon yourself — the more he has to hold back his own emotions. It’s clear the toll that this position takes on you; you’ve told him about it before. You’ve told him how you barely have anyone that you consider close — those in the industry being too worried about building their own careers on top of each other’s backs for you to be comfortable sharing any meaningful exchange (apart from very few exceptions). And now he knows why you don’t find these ties with people that have a life outside the spotlight.

 “Doesn’t it get lonely?” He questions out loud.

“All the time.” You let out a humorless laugh. “People don’t realize how lonely it can be to have a career like this.” It comes as a vent and you take a deep breath, your hand quickly coming up to wipe the sides of your eyes though there’s yet a tear to fall. “Like, yes, you have this big team with you, and everyone fawns over you everywhere you go, but-” You pause, exhaling. “After the shows, and the lights, and all that...In the end, when you go to bed, it’s just you and your pillow.”

Harry doesn’t stop himself now, taking the step to close the gap between the two of you, arms circling around you as he pulls you to him. “I hate that you have to feel like this.” He mutters into your hair, feeling you melt into him. Angling his head a bit so his voice doesn’t get muffled, he whispers, “From now on, you have me, yeah? If you ever need anything- anything, I’m just a call away.” 

You hug him tighter at the assurance, your own words coming in a breath that could have easily been missed if they weren’t spoken so close to his skin. “Thank you.”

//

“You should probably get that.”

Jack, your producer, nods towards your phone as it begins to vibrate on top of the wooden table again. You sigh from your spot on the couch, cursing silently whoever’s been blowing up your phone for the past ten minutes. Mondays in the studio are already hard enough to concentrate as it is - especially as you and Jack have been trying to get the guitar riff just right for the past hour - so to add your buzzing device to the mix feels like a cherry on top to your stress cake.

You shoot him an apologetic look as you reach for it. You wanted to wait until you were done to pay attention to whatever’s been going off so as to not lose your focus, but it seems like whoever’s been trying to reach out has been very adamant about your attention.

So you step outside, letting your eyes fall closed for a second as the outdoor breeze relaxes your senses a little. Jack’s balcony right outside his home studio is quite small and doesn’t stand very tall from the second floor, but you love how you can still have a view of a park close enough that the sunset in the back paints the full leaves of the trees gold. After a moment of peace, you sigh as you’re reminded of your duties once the phone in your hand vibrates once again.

Your brows all but meet as you take in the notifications on your screen. There are two missed calls from Sonia, and a couple of messages, not only from her but from your publicist as well. Opening up the chat, your tired eyes just give a quick scan over the words before falling on a link attached to them. Just before you click on it, you can feel your heart sink as you realize it’s a The Sun article.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You mutter to yourself as you wait for the page to load. When it does, you can feel every ounce you get cold as your dread shows itself to be true. What calls your attention first are the pictures, ones taken yesterday as you recognize your white and red striped dress. And you recognize the look of adoration in a click, perfectly timed when you took off your sunglasses. And worst of all, you recognize Harry, holding you close at the corner just before his building.

When you finally remind yourself to read the headline, you’re not sure how you don’t drop your phone all the way down at the words that stare back at you.

NEW ROMANCE? This year’s favorite breakthrough artist is spotted on a coffee date in London with a mysterious brunette!

//

AAAH It’s finally here!! I’m so sorry for taking so long with this one but I got very busy very suddenly at the end of the year but I promise next one will be here sooon!! As usual, if you enjoyed it please reblog and leave some feedback, I’m very excited to hear what’s everyone’s thoughts!! 

[meltwonu]

|     THIEF | ┴SIƎH     |     [CHAPTER 2]

pairing; heistau!minghao x female!reader

this chapter’s notes; heist!au, dom!minghao, dirty talk, fucking in public, quickies, loads of banter, degradation, rough fucking, no aftercare whatsoever, this is also the meanest i feel i’ve ever written minghao hJHDAJ ☠️ also I wrote this with the homerun mv in mind with the train bit sooooo u kno 🥴 LOL also why do I always do this pairing im going to ja1l for this one dsfhskdh also train trips that are more than a day r so boring i did it once and slept the entire time lmao fhsjkd 🤣 As always inbox roundup tomorrow and s’more thirst posts 😗💕 I hope yall have a great weekend! I love u! Enjoy ch 2! 💕

As a refresher:

🐰 team: leader; Jeonghan | members; Chan, Joshua, Seungkwan

🐱 team: leader; Wonwoo | members; Soonyoung, Jun, Jihoon, Minghao

🐶 team: leader; Mingyu | members; Seungcheol, Vernon, Seokmin

chapters; 1 - 2 - ?

Jeonghan sends you on a weekend excursion - waving you off as he settles into his leather office chair.

‘Try to get the job done without having too much fun,’ he’d said.

And for you, spending an entire weekend on a train trying to locate a 1.2 million dollar emerald is equal parts hurting your ass from the uncomfortable, old bench seats and boring even though it’d only been the first night out of three.

Shoulda left the job to Chan.

Sighing, you visit the cafe car for the second time that night - hoping to fit in a midnight snack before you even attempt to sleep on the hard bench seat for the evening.

When you pry the car door open, you’re immediately hit with the soft jazz music from the small radio and smell of stale donuts - too tired to even notice the eyes watching as you make your way over to the snack counter to grab a bottle of water.

“Fancy seeing you here, doll.”

You clench your jaw; fingers tight around the bottle of water when you spin to find Minghao in a corduroy suit and mussed hair that falls into his eyes - hands in his pocket as he steps closer towards you.

Unfortunately, now this meant you had competition to find that damned emerald.

“I… wasn’t aware I had company on this weekend trip.” You bite back - a tight lipped smile on your face when you try to sidestep the male.

You’d only run into Minghao once before; his kind eyes and soft demeanor deceiving when he’d expertly tied you up and taken the 5.5 million dollar blue sapphire from your bag - only after fucking you and leaving you hunched over the empty glass case with his cum sliding down your thighs.

Jeonghan still held it over your head too.

“Oho~ you think you’d be alone? Tsk, so naive, doll.” He tilts his head at you; lifts in a soft pout. “But y’know… it’s going to be a long weekend, isn’t it? Why don’t we help each other out a little, hmm? Let’s not waste a good opportunity for some fun.”

He reaches for your wrist with a free hand, tugging you closer to himself as you gasp. “W-why would I help you? Especially after what you did last time, huh?” You mentally curse yourself for the thoughts floating around in your head but you can’t forget the way Minghao’s cock felt inside of you and the way he knew how to make your toes curl in such a small amount of time.

“I let you cum, didn’t I? I’m sure your ‘boss’ wasn’t too pressed about it.”

You roll your eyes in return, “Actually, he was and still is. So I’d appreciate it if you just let me do my job and quit distracting me.” Attempting to shake off all the arousal ready to fog up your mind, you try to remind yourself of the task at hand as your eyes sweep over the otherwise empty cafe car.

Minghao watches with a cheeky smile at the way you try to ignore him but he already knows the look in your eyes when you check to see if he’s looking.

“Do you honestly think you’re going to find the person with the emerald this late at night? It’s some idiot transporter thinking that taking a train means they’ll fly under the radar.” He rolls his eyes, leaning up against the snack counter. “They’re most likely asleep but also most likely armed, if anything. I wouldn’t try my luck if I were you, doll.”  

Groaning, you figure he’s actually right for once and you find yourself finally giving into the temptation as you let your mind wander.

After all, Jeonghan had only said to not have too much fun.

When you take Minghao back to your small empty train cabin, it’s a race to get enough of your clothes off for him to fuck you without getting too intimate.

“We have all weekend, doll. What’s the rush?” He jokes, tossing his corduroy jacket onto the opposite bench as you roll your panties down your legs and spread your legs wide for Minghao to situate himself between.

“If I find that emerald, I’m getting off this fuckin’ train the second it stops in the next city at 4AM. You’ll be lucky if you see me at breakfast in the morning. Now, hurry up and fuck me. I still wanna sleep.”

There’s no shame from you at all when Minghao peers down - brow raised at how wet you already are despite him not doing anything yet. “What exactly were you thinking about, doll?”

“The way Chan fucked me this morning.” You quip. “God, he was so rough. Had me squirting all over the bed while he fucked me so good. Can’t stop thinkin’ about his huge cock pounding my cunt so fucking hard.”

Minghao narrows his eyes, fingertips on the zipper of his slacks. He doesn’t say a word when he undoes the zipper and only chuckles under his breath when he shimmies his slacks and boxer briefs down enough to wrap a hand around his hardening cock.

“That so? Mm, I guess I don’t need to fuck you then since you already got your fix? Don’t wanna spoil you too much, doll.”

You reach a hand between your legs, fingertips on your clit as you moan. Your fingers flit down, collecting the wetness on them before easing in two fingers and thrusting them in and out. “Mmh, don’t you wanna fuck my tight ‘n wet pussy? I thought you wanted to help each other out, Minghao?” You shoot him a cocky smirk, eyes hazy as you watch his own hand running up and down his shaft.

“My ‘lil cunt is begging to be filled again… I can still feel some of Chan’s cum in me… Don’t you wanna fuck it out of me?” Batting your eyelashes at him innocently, you watch his demeanor shift as he peers up at you through his long fringe.

“Don’t you wanna see your cum pouring out of my filthy ‘lil hole?”

You bite your lip, curling your fingers inside of you as Minghao reaches a hand to tug your hand away.

“You’re so fuckin’ mouthy. No wonder your ass is always getting in trouble.” He pushes your hand away, simultaneously scooting in closer as he positions his cock at your entrance. “Make your pretty self cum on my cock whenever the fuck you want.”

Rolling your eyes, you nod and keep your fingers on your clit when Minghao starts to sink his cock into your tight warmth. “Oh fuuuuuck…”

Minghao meets no resistance as he sinks his cock in - bottoming out in a single motion with ease before he draws his hips back to thrust back in.

He starts a quick pace, eager to cum and make his exit before anything else could possibly happen.

“Huh, guess you weren’t lying.” He mumbles; hands on your thighs to spread your legs wider, only for you to wrap them around his waist as you tug him in closer.

His hips piston into you - cock tapping your g-spot as you moan loudly in the small room and your fingers rub quick, hurried circles on your clit as you try to match Minghao’s harsh pace.

“God, your pussy feels so fuckin’ good, doll. It’s a shame we don’t see each other more often.” Minghao smirks, fucking you hard enough to make your body jerk against the hard seat bench and the movements of the train have you swaying and moving with his harsh thrusts. “Ever think about switching sides? We can be nice too~”

“Ngh, fuck n-no…” You grimace as your back rubs against the rough material of the seat; trying to readjust slightly to make yourself more comfortable as Minghao jostles your body.

“Aww, is the ‘lil princess uncomfortable? I know you rather be fucked in a nice bed and not some dingy train bench but we can’t always get what we want, huh?” You clench around his cock, making him groan and only thrust into you harder as his blunt fingernails dig into your skin.

“Hurry up and fuckin’ cum inside my pussy… God I want it so bad…” Whining, you pinch your own clit as you mewl and arch your chest closer to Minghao. “Maybe once you leave, I’ll sit here and finger your cum back into my cunt to make myself cum again…”

“Fuck, you’re so filthy…”

Minghao feels his cock throbbing - already close to an orgasm with your walls clamping down onto his cock in a vice grip. “I’ll make sure to give you a nice big load of my cum to keep you satisfied. Maybe fill up your filthy ‘lil cunt all weekend so your boss can see what a good job you did when you come back empty-handed.” He goads.

You choose to not reply, instead, focusing on bringing yourself closer and closer to your own orgasm when you start to feel Minghao’s thrusts becoming more and more erratic. He starts pushing your legs up, leaning more and more over your bent body to get more leverage. 

“Mmh, fuck, yes, give me all your cum, Minghao~”

He growls in return, eyes clamping shut when he feels himself slip off the edge and into a mind melting orgasm. You moan at the warmth that pours over you and you quickly follow suit as you cum on his cock - walls fluttering around him as the two of you ride out your highs.

You can already feel the cum sliding down to the seat underneath you as he continues to thrust into you - fucking his cum deeper into your cunt as your body trembles underneath him. “God, h-how much are you cumming? Ah, fucking m-making a m-mess… Fuck, my p-pussy’s so full...”

Minghao laughs, opening his hazy eyes to watch you milk your own orgasm as you rub soft circles on your swollen clit.

“Isn’t that what you wanted, doll?”

When his and your orgasm start to ebb away, you slowly start pushing Minghao away from your quivering body. “Okay, time’s up. You should go.” His cock slides out from your spent pussy covered in your wetness and his cum as he kneels on the dingy carpet.

A soft ‘wow’ falls from Minghao’s lips as he nods; quietly tugging his slacks and boxer briefs back up as you sit with your legs pulled up and your hands to your sides. “You’re not a very nice host, doll.”

“I’m only returning the favour.” You smirk.

Minghao stands - eyes flitting to the cum pooling underneath you onto the seat bench. “You gonna sleep in that tonight?” He tears his eyes away from you to grab his jacket, tugging it back on before checking his appearance in the reflection of the glass window.

“Are you worried about it?”

“About what? You sleeping comfortably? Not really, doll. Just figuring you should clean that before someone else sees. Wouldn’t want you to be embarrassed.”

You let out a scoff, head tilted towards the door. “Okay, now you really should go. Can’t be see fraternizing with the enemy, right, Minghao?”

“Isn’t that what you do best, doll?”

Minghao takes his leave before you can comment back, laughing on his way out before the door to your train cabin slams shut.

You’ll give it two minutes.

When you know for sure Minghao is gone and not standing in front of the privacy glass window of the cabin, you hurriedly start to collect your things.

It’d only take a few minutes before he realized the emerald from the left front pocket of his slacks was missing so you had to move fast.

You just hadn’t realized it would’ve been that easy.

A quiet giggle bubbles past your lips as you slide your panties and pants back on - worrying about the cum soaking into the material later as you simultaneously store the emerald safely into your bag while also trying to text Jeonghan that you’d be back much sooner than anticipated.

‘Taking the 4am.’

In the midst of his high, Minghao let his guard down and you knew you only had seconds to move when you leaned forward - a quick sleight of hand getting you the emerald and letting you finish your job within 24 hours of it beginning.

Maybe you’d spend the rest of the weekend at a resort.

Once your clothes are fixed and your bag packed, you stealthily open your cabin door - making sure Minghao was nowhere in sight before you turned the corner.

All you had to do now was to make sure Minghao didn’t catch you before 4am came.

‘Good work, bun. Get back safely.’

[sichengtual]

how sweet it is (to be loved by you)

— summary: some loves are meant to run too deep, some loves are meant to stand the test. luckily, for you and cheol, nothing has ever posed a threat.

— pairing: choi seungcheol x reader.

— genre: fluff ; established relationship ; 70's au, part of the tiny dancer universe.

— word count: 2665

— warnings: mentions of smoking.

happy birthday to the love of my life @svtxsoju! i love you so so so much 💞

Seungcheol had never been hard to read.

From the very first moment you’d met, you’d seen he always wore his heart on his sleeve. You liked that about him; the way you could tell how he was feeling by paying attention to the size of his smile and the gleam in his eyes. For a while, you wondered if he was like that when only you were there to see. A sort of prize won after confidence, the kind that came with a great deal of trust. Your heart always leapt at the thought; of Seungcheol trusting you enough to let his walls down, of letting you in with such ease you’d wonder if he just wasn’t afraid of ever getting hurt… not by you, but by the world.

After a while, you finally came to see it wasn’t quite like that. Seungcheol just trusted people. Not only his friends (which you were at the time) or the people closest to him, but the strangers he passed by on the street. The people he ran into at the store. The men he made business with, the bands he came to meet, the fans he saw from afar. It was a beautiful thought, Seungcheol having a heart so big there was no sort of mistrust in it; but it was also a scary one, because you knew the world to be cruel. You knew the world to be undeserving of him.

“He’s gonna fall down on his ass,” Mingyu speaks next to you, a hand in the pocket of his torn up leather jacket and the other holding a cigarette. “Part of me wants you to tell him to come down but the other part wants revenge from him waking me up at 5 today.”

“You guys had a gig,” you laugh, taking a sip from your cup. It’s run cold, but the beverage leaves a sweet aftertaste on the back of your tongue, so you keep drinking. Summer is just around the corner anyways. “Not to defend him, but, you know.”

“Oh no, not you too,” Mingyu whines, throwing his head back as he speaks. He’s always reminded you of Seungcheol, and you wonder if that’s why the two seem to clash together so much. “The gig was at noon, no need to see the rise of dawn and scare my sleep away with Chan’s sleeping mask.”

“Oh, fuck you!” You hear from the back of the yard, Chan’s voice somehow louder than the playing vinyl.

His laughter, followed by Mingyu’s quiet giggle and the careless strum of a guitar, brings a smile on your lips.

Night has barely begun to fall down. The sky is tinged bubblegum pink and the clouds have started to change color, adorning the afternoon sky in an array of orange shades. It’s the moment before it starts turning down, but even when the light threatens to decrease, temperature only but rises. It’s a warm summer afternoon, with friends laughing at the top of their longs and music playing as soft background music, setting the scene even when the melody runs ignored.

It had been a while since you last had spent time with the band. They had just gone on their first big world tour and were just getting welcomed back home, and you can swear there’s something about finally knowing the world that allows their smiles to grow a little bit wider. It’s as if they’ve collected happiness at every spot, experiences turned into emotion as they let themselves completely feel every single moment. It’s as if they let their hearts be free once they’ve known how it is to let their bodies do the same.

“Why did he even get up there, anyways?” You ask, taking a sip from your punch glass. It’s sweet and cool against the growing heat.

“Seungkwan and Hoshi dared him,” Mingyu answers, smiling when Soonyoung tries to excuse his actions, yelling about some book incident involving Cheol and Jun. “Can’t believe he’s about to fall on his face in front of you for a slice of cheese pizza, though.”

“It’s a matter of honor!” Seungcheol exclaims between jolts of laughter, fingers forming a peace sign as Joshua pulls his portable camera out of his bag and points it at him. “Wait, what is this for?”

He tries to pose as he stands over a wobbly table, one of his hands holding a glass of pink colored punch and the other pointing to the camera while he tries to keep still for however long it takes Joshua to focus the lens. The guitarist isn’t the best at photographs, but his enthusiasm makes up for the lack of skill.

“Ivy and Jun are doing some groovy memory thing,” he explains, breaking into a laugh, shrugging in the direction of the couple. “Don’t worry, I’ll document every step of the process.”

Your boyfriend’s mouth opens wide at Joshua’s words, the peace sign in his hand quickly becoming a single pointed finger, eyes blazing as he moves his hand in the air.

“As soon as these fifteen minutes are up I’m getting down from here,” Seungcheol says, each word enunciated in the form of a loud whine, a pout forming on his lips as he berates his friend. “Be sure to document the slice of pizza in my mouth, Bob Dylan!”

“That would be so fucking gross,” Minghao comments from the hammock, a pair of pastel yellow sunglasses resting on the tip of his nose. “Trust me, no one would ever want to see that.”

“And Josh wishes he was Bob Dylan!” Mingyu laughs.

“I bet you wish you got the riff today right, tho,” Chan teases, another fit of laughter ensuing. Mingyu responds, and Minghao giggles.

Seungcheol turns to see his friends from where he’s standing, chest growing tight at the sight. It’s his family, after all, reunited and relaxed after what was, probably, the start to a lifelong adventure. You meet him halfway, smiling as you point the glass of punch in his direction in a silent cheer. It’s your family as much as it’s his, and there’s a sense of pride growing in the center of your stomach as you realize what an honor it is to be a part of it.

He smiles, and it doesn’t really seem like he’s all the way across the yard on top of a table that threatens to break down, because he’s truly never felt closer to you.

…

Hours later, the pizza discussion has quieted and night has finally fallen down.

Seungcheol ended up not falling, breaking literally everyone but Ivy, Jun, and your expectations, but earning Joshua quite a groovy photo (he had almost fallen down, after all). The beginning of the entire thing is still a bit of a mystery to you, but with the information you’ve been given, you’re not completely sure you’d actually want to know. After all, the entire fifteen minutes had given you a good laugh and a lifetime of worries, all at the same time.

“Here,” Seungcheol’s voice breaks you apart from your thoughts. He’s holding a yellow ceramic cup full of steaming tea, arm stretched in your direction. “Can you believe Seungkwan was trying to hide his Earl Gray from me?”

“Actually, yeah, I can,” you answer as you laugh, taking the cup from Seungcheol’s hands while he sits on the grass next to you. “You don’t even drink tea.”

“No, but he knows you do,” he says. He speaks as if he’s telling you a secret, words low, soft against the wind, entering your ears like honey as your lips curl up into a smile.

Seungcheol’s gentleness is present in every thought, in every gesture. It’s in the thinking of you to ensure your comfort, the going out of his way to make you happy, that lets you know he treats your happiness like he’s guarding a flower that’s just about to bloom. He touches it with the tips of his fingers, caring for it and nurturing it, helping your smile grow by the day. A smile directed at him.

“And yet he guards it from the both of us,” you say, raising the cup to your lips and taking a small sip. It’s sweet, a bit too sweet, perhaps, but the saccharine taste feels like velvet against your tongue, so you continue drinking. You’ve always liked sweet things, and Seungcheol has always known. “Are you not gonna have anything?”

“Seungkwan’s coffee brew and my stomach aren’t really the best of friends,” he jokes, eyes fixed on the midnight sky. “Not after last time, at least. The good thing about the tour was that all the coffee we got was made by other people.”

“Hey, he takes a lot of pride in his coffee brew!”

“That doesn’t make it any lighter!”

He doesn’t quite remember just how long it’s been since he’s taken a second to stop and breathe in like he’s doing now, the feeling of laying down without a worry having been completely alienated. It’s like he’s always on track; always moving here or there, physically or in thought, and stopping finally means letting his thoughts lay down too. He lets himself feel every inch of the warm breeze hitting his skin and rustling his hair, enjoying every second of finally watching the stars shine bright above his head.

Seungcheol is always hearing Jun talk about just how much he likes looking at the stars, and now he finally understands.

“Hey, look up there,” Seungcheol whispers, nudging your shoulder with his and pointing to the sky with his finger. You’re not sure he’s drawing your attention to any spot in particular, and, to be honest, neither is he. “It reminds me of you.”

“What exactly are you looking at?” You ask, and it’s somewhere between a laugh and a question, but he doesn’t comment on it. He’s always loved the way you talk, because, even if for a second, he feels like happiness drips from every pore. “You’re pointing at like, at least five different stars right now.”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. You’re each and every single one of them. You’re there with me, lightning my path with every step I take.”

You’re not sure, but you’d think that’s the moment the world stops spinning, because it’s just the two of you; it’s just you and Seungcheol, and your warm cup of tea, and the crazed laughter of your friends flows through the air like the background scene of a film you’ll watch over, and over, and over again. It’s like the moment and his words become etched so deep inside your heart they become a part of who you are, and of who you will always be, because there’s nothing that encompasses happiness better than the love you and Seungcheol hold for each other.

“Are you coming for Jun’s job now?” You ask, voice breaking as tears begin to prickle your eyes.

“Should we switch places?” Seungcheol follows, letting himself fall completely on his back, feeling the grass grazing against the soft linen of his purple button-up. His tone is light, relaxed. Gentle. “I’m pretty sure Jun could make for a convincing business man.”

“Yes, I’m pretty sure he would. He’s different now, isn’t he? He feels a bit more confident. A bit more secure.”

“Love does that to you, I guess. It makes you believe in yourself, because you know someone else does it too.”

And it’s just so much of a feeling growing inside your chest that you’re sure this is exactly where you’re meant to be, and Seungcheol is exactly who you’re meant to be with. You look at your surroundings, and he’s nestled so deep within your soul it’s almost like he’s everywhere. Every single place, every single sound, every single scent; he's everything.

“Can I have this dance?”

He moves, rustling in place as he extends his hand over to you.

“You can have all of them.”

It’s almost like it’s your thoughts speaking, voices intertwining, souls coming together. He takes your hand in his and you follow his lead as he stands up, pulling you to his chest with such gentleness in his touch it feels like you’re made of glass. He doesn’t move for a few seconds, but you don’t really think he needs to, because as soon as his fingers tangle with yours, it’s almost like you’re flying.

Somewhere in the garden, sitting around a campfire, Joshua and Mingyu’s guitars begin playing a song you both know, and you barely notice the moment your feet start moving. They dance on their own accord, gliding over the grass in a pace that doesn’t quite match the one set by the instruments, but neither of you fight it. He tightens the grip on your fingers and sets them over his chest, moving in closer to your frame.

You can feel him in what’s almost a hug by how close you’re standing, and it’s only when Joshua and Mingyu begin singing that you move your head up to take a look at him. The melody is sweet, raising into the sky over the crackling of a roaring fire. Dark, thick wisps of hair fall against his forehead and over the golden frame of his glasses, completely rustled by the summer breeze. You know it’s only a matter of time before he’ll try to tussle it back against his head, no doubt counterproductive, further messing up his (once) carefully gelled hairstyle.

He looks just the way he did when you last saw him before the tour, and, in a way, he looks a completely different person. There’s a sense of growth, of experience, of adventure nestling in his smile and yet, the look in his eyes expresses just as much love for you as it’s always done.

“I missed you,” he says, words soft against your skin.

He pulls you in even closer, lips coming into contact with your forehead. He presses a kiss; light, soft, gentle. And yet loving, lingering. It’s an expression of a love that doesn’t quite pressure to grow, that doesn’t quite define itself by the closeness in touch or time. It’s born on the surface, but it travels down so deep it lays untouched by whatever might pose a threat. It blooms, so wildly and fierce, and so close to your own souls it’s shaped them into what they are. It’s what you are, and you can feel it dripping down your very self whenever you’re close. It’s where you’ve found a sense of home.

“I missed you too.”

You smile, letting your forehead rest against his lips. He takes in a breath, closing his eyes. The cup of tea sits long forgotten over the grass, but steam still rises from the top. The liquid lays untouched, unmoving; but still warm.

…

The morning rises, and you’re there to see.

Seungcheol is asleep in the guest room of Seungkwan’s field house, resting calmly beneath the thick duvet you had shared the night before. His arm is still splayed over the space you once occupied, and there’s a smile resting on his lips. His hand is balled into a fist, clutching the soft, velvet sheets. Light begins to seep through the window, filtering through the curtains. A soft ray falls over his face.

In the backyard, you look up at the sky. Once dark, it’s now the most beautiful shade of gold you’ve ever seen. Air runs between the trees, and you can feel it move against your skin. The world starts waking up as you smile, and you can feel every second of it. Joshua and Mingyu sleep calmly on the couch, and Minghao brews his coffee in silence. Ivy reads a book while caressing Jun’s hair, his head resting on their lap. Seungkwan, Soonyoung, Chan and Vernon busy themselves with breakfast, the faint scent of burning toast reaching your nose.

Your family is there with you, and you feel love all around.

[swan-of-sunrise]

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Six)

Summary: The trio makes their way back to Mos Eisley, and Din begins to realize how much his new partner really means to him.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Kind of a filler/random chapter that I’m not too sure about, but I wanted to sprinkle in a bit of fluff before we get into the next big adventure lol I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Six The Medic (Previous Chapter)

After helping the Tuskens and the villagers gather up their weapons and supplies, Din and (Y/N) began preparing their speeder bike for the trip back to Mos Eisley. The Tuskens had gifted them a large chunk of the creature’s meat and while they continued harvesting the rest of its carcass, he and the captain wrestled the heavy meat onto the back of the bike; the child watched them work with widened eyes, and Din grinned in amusement when he realized how eager he was to eat it.

Din glanced up from their work as Cobb walked up to them, the Mandalorian armor packaged up in his arms. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to explain.”

“No need.” The marshal placed the bundle of armor onto the seat of the speeder before handing him the helmet, a smile of respect on his weathered face. “This was well-earned.”

“It was my pleasure.” He spoke truthfully, shaking Cobb’s outstretched hand; through their adventure together, he’d grown to admire the marshal and considered it an honor to have fought by his side. Well, mostly admire, he thought to himself, recalling how the charming man had flirted so easily with his partner.

Letting go of his hand, Cobb turned to (Y/N) with a lopsided grin. “Well, if you ever get tired of hangin’ ‘round this fella, princess, you know where to find me.”

Din felt a sudden surge of jealousy. The captain didn’t appear to be romantically interested in the ruggedly-handsome Marshal of Mos Pelgo, but it didn’t stop Din from envying the man for the effortless way he made her smile.

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, but…” (Y/N) looked over at Din with a glimmer of admiration in her eyes that nearly made him blush. “I think I’m right where I’m meant to be.”

Cobb shrugged good-naturedly and shook her hand. “Princess, you sure are somethin’.” He winked at her before looking between her and Din. “Well, this was fun. I hope our paths cross again, you two.”

“As do I.”

The marshal turned to walk away but halted, gesturing over to the Mandalorian armor with a smirk. “Oh, and tell your people I wasn’t the one that broke that.”

Once Cobb made his way over to where his villagers stood, Din glanced over at (Y/N) as she wrapped her cowl around her shoulders. “Feel up to driving, alor’ad?”

“I always am.” With a grin, she pulled on her goggles and secured the child in his satchel before carefully climbing onto the packed speeder bike. “Ready to go, partner?”

With a nod, Din seated himself behind her and placed his hands on either side of her waist as she revved the speeder’s engine and shot forward, starting out back across the Dune Sea with the twin suns high above them. They had originally planned on traveling the entire way back to Mos Eisley without stopping but as the suns began to set, Din reconsidered the plan; his body was aching all over and he knew that (Y/N)’s leg was injured, so he ultimately decided that their best course of action was to camp out for the night and travel at first light.

The captain readily agreed to his new plan and stopped the speeder bike near a small outcropping of rocks, keeping an eye on the child as Din set up their camp. He watched the two of them out of the corner of his eye while he worked, biting back an amused chuckle whenever he caught a snippet of (Y/N)’s words; she spoke to the child as if he were an adult, perhaps because she wasn’t used to dealing with small children, but it was entertaining to listen to her partake in an almost one-sided conversation with the babbling child.

“How’s your leg?” Din asked later on that evening, after they’d put the child to sleep in his satchel; he and (Y/N) were sitting beside the campfire and he noticed that she’d been absentmindedly rubbing her calf as they talked. “I saw you limping back there.”

“Oh, yeah, I think I might’ve landed on it weird when Vanth and I fell out of the sky.” She stretched out her right leg and flexed it, trying and failing to mask her wince of pain behind a smile. “It feels…okay.”

Giving his head a small shake, Din gestured to her leg with a gloved hand. “May I?” With a small sigh of defeat, she nodded and leaned back on her elbows as he carefully rolled up her trouser leg. He could tell even through his helmet’s visor that the captain’s calf muscle was cramped, the theory only confirmed when he hovered a hand over the bulge and felt the slight warmth radiating off of it through the leather of his glove. “Yep, your muscle cramped up, probably due to the shock of the impact. There’s not much a person can do to speed up its healing, unfortunately, but…” He cleared his throat, his hands beginning to sweat nervously underneath his gloves. “But I can make it feel a little better…”

“O-okay. Thank you, Mando.” Her kind smile faltered a bit once he tentatively began rubbing his thumbs down on the spot. “I guess I should add ‘medic’ to your ever-growing list of impressive skills, right alongside ‘Tusken Translator’ and ‘Diplomat.’” Din scoffed and she lightly kicked his armored thigh with her other foot. “I’m serious! The way you got those two groups to set aside their differences and work together was amazing, Mando, and you should be proud of yourself.”

Din felt his face warm at (Y/N)’s praise, and he was thankful that she couldn’t see just how flustered her words made him; feeling overwhelmed, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “You know, there’s no Mando’a word for ‘diplomat;’ ‘translator’ is miit’amyc and ‘medic’ is baar’ur, but there’s no word in that language that directly translates ‘diplomat.’ The closest would be naak, which means ‘peace.’” He looked up from his work to meet (Y/N)’s stunned expression, suddenly feeling self-conscious under her gaze. “I’m rambling, sorry-”

“No, no, it’s okay! You’re actually doing a great job at distracting me from the pain, baar’ur,” She joked, biting back a wince as he continued massaging the muscle. “How do you say ‘bounty hunter’ in Mando’a?”

“Beroya.”

“What about ‘smuggler’?”

He paused for a moment. “Mir'sheb.”

(Y/N) smiled. “So, you’re a beroya and I’m a mir’sheb.” At her statement Din burst into laughter, unable to hold it in any longer and she merely raised a confused brow. “What, did I pronounce it wrong?”

“Mir’sheb...mir’sheb means ‘smart-ass’...”

His chuckles continued as she threw him a withering glare and the corners of her lips curled into a reluctant grin. “Just for that, I’m gonna find a language you don’t know and learn to speak it just so I can call you names all the time.”

Their laughter died down and they sat in comfortable silence as Din massaged her cramped muscle. With one particularly hard rub, (Y/N)’s eyes squeezed shut in pain, she blurted out, “It’s kinda silly, isn’t it? You purposefully get swallowed by a kriffing krayt dragon yet I’m the one with the stupid injury.”

Din frowned in guilt, remembering the expression on the captain’s face when he’d flown out of the creature’s mouth; it had been an equal mixture of shock and anger, the latter nearly disguised by her trademark grin. “I’m sorry, alor’ad.”

“It’s okay, it’s already feeling a little bit better-”

“That’s not what I was talking about.” He interrupted. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you about my plan; we’re partners now, and I didn’t treat you as my partner back there.”

Blinking her eyes open, (Y/N) looked at him with a patient expression on her face. “I understand, Mando, there wasn’t enough time. I was…I was just worried about you, that’s all.” Din stopped massaging the muscle and she gave her leg an experimental flex. “Oh, that feels great! Did you want to take first watch or should I?”

“I will,” He quickly answered, averting his gaze as she bent over to roll down her trouser leg. “You get some rest.”

(Y/N) bid him goodnight and crawled into the bedroll beside the child, her breathing evening out as she quickly fell asleep. Once Din was sure that the captain was unconscious, he began taking off pieces of his armor and tending to his many injuries; since they were only darkening bruises, he couldn’t really do anything except examine them and check for any broken skin before strapping his armor back on over them. He finished his work quickly, wincing in pain as he straightened his back and rolled his shoulders.

“Dinner time.” Din mumbled under his breath, reaching over and grabbing a ration pack from his bag. He made swift work of opening it up, since he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, and just as he was about to lift the bottom of his helmet up over his mouth, he hesitated; glancing over at his partner and the child, he made the split-second decision of removing the entire helmet.

As the cool desert breeze blew over his warm skin, Din’s eyes widened in shock at his own recklessness, but his shock was soon replaced by wonder when his gaze drifted back to the captain. With his own eyes he was finally able to admire all those features he’d noticed the moment he met her, taking note of the softness of her skin and the way the corner of her lip curved up while she slept; the breeze had blown some of her hair onto her face and for the briefest of seconds, he’d been tempted to reach over and brush it behind her ear. Kandosii’la. But common sense finally returned and he gave his head a small shake before quickly eating his food and securing his helmet back on, purposefully looking anywhere but her as he continued his watch.

It wasn’t just (Y/N)’s beauty that had taken him aback that evening. Din wasn’t used to having someone around who worried for his safety; when she’d wished him luck before their first mission together, he figured she was only being polite, but now he knew that she genuinely cared about his well-being. Cobb Vanth was right back there, Din thought to himself as his face flushed, his partner really was something.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Din allowed (Y/N) to drive the speeder bike, partly because his body was still sore from the previous day’s excitement and partly because he secretly enjoyed the feel of his gloved hands on the curve of her waist. As they sped across the Dune Sea, thoughts of their quest intruded on his mind and he inwardly sighed; they hadn’t found a Mandalorian on Tatooine, which meant that they were virtually back at square one.

Preoccupied with planning their next move, Din didn’t spot the trip wire until it was too late; they were instantly ejected off the speeder, the child crying out in shock as they flew through the air. Din twisted in midair, hastily bringing a hand up to his vambrace and igniting his jetpack so that he could land on his feet. He stumbled backwards and dodged the burning speeder as it flew past him and crashed onto the sand in the distance, turning to see where (Y/N) and the child had landed just as blaster bolts hit his shoulder and helmet. Grunting, Din stumbled back some more and heard a gruff voice call out, “Get the child!”

Another shot hit his shoulder and he quickly realized that he was being cornered by four figures, pulling out his blaster to shoot one of them but missing his mark when another attacker slammed down on his weapon with a sword. He dropped the blaster but was quick to defend himself, managing to disarm his attacker and hit him in the head; two attackers pinned him up against the rocks and he couldn’t do much but hold his arms up to defend against their blows until he spotted the fourth attacker beginning to aim a rifle blaster at him. He quickly fired his grappling hook and watched as it wrapped around the weapon, tugging it hard and ducking down to let the weapon hit both his attackers in the heads. They fell to the ground and he stood but froze when he saw that the fourth attacker was holding the child in one arm and a knife in the other.

“Wait!” Din held his hands up, his heart clenching as he took in the child’s widened eyes. “Don’t hurt the child. If you put one mark on him there’s no place you’ll be able to hide from me.” The attacker didn’t move, but he was suddenly aware of a familiar presence nearby; to distract the attacker, he gestured towards the speeder wreck in the distance. “We can strike a bargain. There’s a lot of value in this wreckage; take your pick. But leave him.”

The attacker suddenly gestured towards Din’s left with his knife, speaking angrily in his unknown language and pointing it back at the child in his arms. He turned his head a little to watch (Y/N) reluctantly lower her blaster and toss it off to the side, looking back at the attacker and sighing when he realized just what the attacker wanted.

“Okay.” Din slowly reached behind him and detached his jetpack, taking a step forward and placing it gently on the ground before backing away. “Here, it’s yours. Take it. It’s okay.” He heard (Y/N) make a sound of protest and he held a hand out to quiet her as the attacker set the child down; he grabbed the jetpack and immediately ran off with it, but all of Din’s attention was on the child as he hobbled towards him with a distressed cry; he bent down and picked the child up, examining him for any injuries. “You okay?” The child cooed and looked over at (Y/N) as she hurried over and Din turned his attention to the fleeing attacker; bringing his hand up to his vambrace, he launched the jetpack high up in the air and all three of them watched as the attacker plummeted to the ground.

The child let out a snort of amusement in his arms and Din could hear the smile in (Y/N)’s voice when she quipped, “I guess the rumors were true: ex-bounty hunters really do have a flair for dramatics.”

“Says the woman who’s from Naboo, probably the most theatrical planet in the galaxy.” Din joked, his eyes still on the jetpack as he piloted it to land on the ground before them. His smirk faded when he looked over at (Y/N), finally taking note of her split lip and bruised neck. “Dank farrik, what happened to you?”

“I got in the way of a Nikto and his target.” She winced a little as she tried and failed to grin. “He was going after you while you were dealing with that first guy and I tried stopping him, but…well, I told you that I wasn’t the greatest at hand-to-hand combat.”

“Then that settles it; I’ll start training you as soon as we get into hyperspace.” Din vowed, his heart clenching as the captain nodded and shot him a grateful look. “Looks like we’re gonna have to walk the rest of the way to Mos Eisley, though…”

After fashioning a makeshift yolk out of scraps and a small argument with (Y/N) about sharing the load, they began their long walk out of the Dune Sea; Din was carrying the Mandalorian armor and the krayt dragon meat, and (Y/N) had slung the child’s satchel over her shoulders and was carrying the rest of their supplies in an improvised backpack. Theirs was a completely equal partnership, she’d reminded him with a brow raised in challenge, leaving no room for further argument.

While Din admired her strength and determination, he also worried about her slight limp and the injuries she’d sustained in their skirmish with the bandits so to distract himself from their current situation, he began asking (Y/N) questions about herself. He kept their conversation light, asking about her favorite things and listening to her answers with interest; she was fairly easy to talk to, unlike most people he came across, and it was almost a little strange just how closely she listened to him talk about his own life. And he knew that it wasn’t because she was feigning interest; she seemed to genuinely care about what he had to say, and that was something he wasn’t really used to seeing in another person.

“Have you ever tried uj’alayi?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “No, what’s that?”

“It’s a kind of cake, made with ground nuts, syrup and spices. It was my favorite food as a kid, and my…my mother would bake it once every month.” Din smiled a little at the memory before glancing over at the captain. “Don’t they have sweets on Naboo?”

“Yeah, but they’re really rich and filling; they definitely aren’t as tasty as how uj’alayi sounds.” They walked up a sandy dune and stopped at the top. Din was silently relieved when the city of Mos Eisley finally came into view, although a part of him wished their conversation could’ve gone on longer; I’m gonna find her some uj’alayi at the next market we visit, he silently vowed to himself as she exclaimed, “Maker, I’ve never been so happy to see a Tatooine city in all my life!”

“Really? As an ex-smuggler, I thought you’d love visiting shady dive-planets like Tatooine…”

“I’m gonna kick your ass for that…just as soon as I learn how to.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading!

Mando'a Translations: Alor'ad-Captain Miit’amyc-Translator Baar’ur-Medic Mir’sheb-Smart-ass Kandosii’la-Stunning, Amazing Uj’alayi-Uj Cake

Chapter Seven

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

Tagging: @remmysbounty​ @sinon36​ @seninjakitey​ @thatonedindjarinfan​ @ginger-swag-rapunzel​ @mostclevermiss​ @momc95​ @welcometothepedroverse​ @sarahjkl82-blog​ @zukoyonce​ @itsnottilly​

[vanillafrog]

On A Ride

Pairing: Whiskey x You

Summary: Jack's motorcycle gave you a thrill from just looking at it. Even without having been on it yet, you knew it would end up being one hell of a ride. Aka the one where you ride Jack on the motorcycle.

Word Count: 1809

Warnings: smut!!!! motorcycle sex of course, grinding, clothed man naked woman, creampie + unprotected sex (please use protection), established relationship

A/N: i wrote all of this within an hour on discord because i was ✨inspired✨

Jack had a great taste in vehicles, there just wasn't any denying it. He had taken you on many trips in his Bronco and the amount of times you ended up in the backseat with him is astronomical. But despite the thrill you always got whenever you sat in his passenger's seat with the top down, it never matched the shiver that ran down your spine whenever you saw his Harley. 

He hadn't taken you on a ride with it yet. He claimed it was because you didn't have a helmet but truthfully, you didn't feel like that was the full reason. You never pushed him though. You knew how much his motorcycle meant to him.

Yet you daydreamed of your arms wrapped around his waist as he sped through the backwoods. The wind in your face and his warmth pressed into your front. You just knew it would be heavenly.

Jack was upstairs in a meeting while you were left alone to wander his house. This happened time to time with how his job was and you gotten used to it. You respected him and what he did. But you were bored out of your mind. You read all of his books, he didn't have much in the ways of baking ingredients (you would need to remind him to go shopping) and your phone could only keep you distracted for so long.

You suddenly had an idea. He was busy, he would never know. You got up from your perch on his couch and walked over to the garage door. It always squeaked whenever it opened so you pulled it slowly making sure the squeaking was quiet enough that Jack wouldn't notice.

You slipped between the same crack, not bothering to close it just yet as you walked over to his Harley. The shiny red paint was kept pristine and the engine was still warm from his earlier ride. Your hand trailed along the body until you caressed the leather seat.

Your thoughts about the motorcycle weren't always clean. Most of the time you tried your best to keep them pure but you couldn't even if you tried your hardest. Not after seeing how Jack looked when he pulled off his helmet and smiled at you. His leather jacket snug over his shoulders, hair mused and cheeks pink from the wind.

Would he look more disheveled if you sucked him off as he leaned against his Harley? Would his calloused hair knot into your hair as he laid you across the leather seat as he pounded you? Would he make you touch yourself as you sat on it as he reeved the engine for you? 

Biting your lip, you saddled the bike. Your dress pushed up letting you feel the warm leather against your core. The slight fiction sending a jolt up your spine. Your eyes glanced over at the door, making sure Jack didn't suddenly appear before placing both hands on the warm handles. You used them to help you grind against the seat.

Your eyes fluttered closed as you bit your lip to hold back your whimpers. Images of Jack flashed behind your eyelids. Every dirty thing you both have ever did now featured the bike. Your underwear grew wetter with each pass of your hips. You just knew that the seat under you was drenched and the thought just spurred you on.

You were too busy in your fantasies to notice Jack creep into the room with you. He watched as you brought yourself closer to orgasm. 

Jack could feel himself losing it at the sight of you. The real reason he never took you on a ride on his bike was because he knew he wouldn't be able to make it out the garage without the instant need to pound you. Every time he rode the bike, he imagined you riding him as he sat firmly on the seat. How your lips would part with every whimper and moan. The way you were look wearing nothing but his leather jacket as your draped yourself across the bike for him.

Seeing you on it was better than any fantasy he could come up with and he was a very creative man. He just leaned against the wall in front of you as he watched you shatter apart. Small moans falling from your lips that you couldn't stop. Your hips stuttering against the seat and your grip tightened on the engine. He smiled as you caught your breath.

"If you wanted a ride, honeybee..." Your eyes snapped open instantly, a look of horror and embarrassment etched onto your face. "All you had to do was ask."

"Jack-" You started to try to explain only for him to cut you off.

"Stand up and strip." His tone was thick and darker than you ever heard. Even when you were his favorite sundress with no underwear. 

Not one to ever question that tone, you instantly stood. You almost ripped your clothes with how you pulled them off but it would've been worth it. Jack's eyes trailed over before looking at the seat. Sure enough, there was a wet smear from where you rode it.

"Naughty girl," he tsked at you. "You got my bike all dirty."

"I'm sorry, sir." 

He walked over to you, his hand twisted into your hand as he guided you onto your knees. The concrete floor biting into your skin. His eyes softened for a moment.

"Color?" Your heart skipped a minute.

"Green, sir." You gave him a reassuring smile which he happily returned before getting back into character.

"You've been so bad. Getting off without my permission, getting on my bike *and* getting it dirty. I should punish you for it." You opened your mouth to respond but he pushed your head towards the seat. "Lick it all up right now. I don't want a single drop of your pussy left on it." 

Fire raged through you as you followed his command blindly. Before Jack, you never were a fan of tasting yourself. It just wasn't something you found arousing but he changed the game. The sinful pleasure he got from tasting you invaded your mind. 

The salty taste of your cum and the musky bite of the leather on your tongue made you moan. Jack pressed closer to you. Heat practically radiated off the bulge in his Levi's.

"You like that?" You nodded against the leather, continuing to lap it up. "Of course you do, filthy baby." 

The hand in your hair yanked you away. A small whimper escaping your mouth. He helped pulled you up to your feet as he dug into his pants to pull out his bike keys that he didn't have time to put away before the meeting. Jack let go of you as he sat down.

The bike roared to life sending a shiver of anticipation down your spine. Your nerve endings were practically on fire. You watched Jack rip open his pants just enough to free himself. His cock hard and ready for you.

"Come get on my cock now." His tone left no room for argument. You scrambled to follow his order, needing to feel him filling you up. The warmth of the engine against your bare ass surprised you at first but Jack's hands on your hips soothed you. He pulled your thighs over him as he helped lower you. 

You both groaned when he bottomed out. Planting your hands on his shoulders, you readied yourself to ride him only for Jack to stop you. You looked at him confused. 

"Stay still. Let's see if you can come from just being filled with me." Your confusion turned into wanton heat as he reeved the engine. The vibrations roared through you, his cock rubbing just right against your g spot. Your head fell back as a whimper of his name escaped your lips. He smiled wickedly as he reeved the engine again. "Come on, be good for me and cum just like this."

"Please," you whined out. "It's not enough."

"Yes it is." He just reeved the engine again as he flexed inside you. Your legs twitched as your moaned. You opened your eyes to look at him. His pupils were beyond blown out. A fire roared in his irises as he kept reeving the engine. The neighbors probably thought he was the biggest douchebag but that wasn't your problem. 

With each roar of the engine, the closer you got. Your nails tearing into his shoulders and you begged for more. You needed him to fuck up into you but he ignored you. He just watched you lose yourself in the vibrations. Jack already planning on buying you a matching helmet and leather jacket so he can continue to have you like this.

One final rev and you shattered. You clenched tightly around as you shook. He cursed as your walls fluttered around him. His hands fell from the handle bars and onto your hips as he lifted you up slightly. He instantly started to pound into you, making you letting out a surprised gasp.

"So fucking good for me, honeybee. So sexy." His grip was going to leave welcome bruises. You tried to fight oversensitivity as you grabbed onto his shoulders to stay up. "I'm going to fuck you on this bike every chance I get. So much better than my imagination, fuck!" 

Jack bit into your shoulder harshly before pulling away. One hand moved between, his fingers circling your clit.  You tried to pull away from him but he moved his arm around your waist to lock you in place.

"You're going to come for me again," he growled. "Soak my cock right now." A few more harsh thrusts was all it took for you tip over the edge again. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, some falling down your cheeks and you sobbed out. He groaned as he pulled your hips flush with his. Jack's cock throbbing intensely as he filled you with his cum.

The only sounds that filled the garage was the sounds of the bike and both of your heavy breathing. Jack reached around, turning the bike off. He hugged you close to him.

"Are you actually mad?" You asked into his neck.

"No baby, I'm not." He kissed the side of your head. "If I'm honest, the only reason I didn't take you out sooner was because I didn't think I could control myself." You giggled at him, pulling away from you.

"You don't ever need to control yourself around me, cowboy." You gave him a soft kiss on the lips that he quickly turned filthy. His tongue exploring your mouth and only pulling apart when you both needed to breath.

"If that's the case, want to see what else we can do with this bike?"

[band--psycho]

Mo  Ghrá-Chibs x reader

Dear Y/n,

I can’t explain easily what’s been happening over the past few months...but it hasn’t been easy; not that anything in this life ever is, as you know. By the time you’ve read this I’ll have met Mr Mayhem and I’ll be dead. But my sons, they’ll be safe, they’ll never know this life or the death that comes with it, they’ll grow up happy and safe which is all Tara and I could want for them. I know you left this life for a reason, one that I couldn’t understand or see until now. You wanted a safer life; a normal life, no one can blame you for that, least of all me...and I have no right to ask this, you’ve probably moved on with your life after the time that’s  passed, but Chibs is gonna need you, now more than ever...he’s always needed you. He loves you and you love him, you belong together, you belong in Charming with him. The Scotsman may act tough, but he’s not-it’s an act we all have and you’re one of the few people that sees through it. Don’t let him lose that. Don’t let that gavel corrupt him like it did me and the people before us. You’re an amazing person, Y/n, I’m sorry after Opies death we grew apart but I always considered you to be like a little sister to me..I love you and I’m sorry for what’s happening, but it’s for the best…Go to Redwoody, that’s the new clubhouse..

Jax. 

I drove to Charming, tears blurring my vision as I drove as fast as I could, the words from Jaxs letter ringing in my head...I knew what meeting Mr Mayhem meant and it broke my heart, like I was losing another brother all over again. Opie was my brother and when he died I left Charming; promising myself to never return to the town that took my father and my brother from me... now I was breaking that promise to myself to go and help Chibs..I’d always loved him, but I refused to let myself give into it, just for that life to steal him away too. But right now...after this...I had to go back. I pulled up outside the Redwoody, wondering again if this was the right thing to do. I had no idea how Chibs would react to seeing me again after all this time...I know Jax said he needed me, but did he? I hurt Chibs by leaving...and this could be the worst possible time to reopen old wounds. I read the letter again...quickly wiping away the tears that fell from my eyes. I needed to do this. So with that thought in mind I got out of my car, when I did, I saw Tig stepping out of the shop.

“Y/n?” He asked, looking up at me, I sent him a sympathetic smile as I walked closer towards him.

“What..what are you doing back here?” he asked, pulling me into a hug.

“Jax, he sent me this…” I said, pulling away from the hug to show him the letter. Tig nodded, dragging the keys to the shop out of his pocket to unlock the door. 

“He’s upstairs..” Tig said, a few tears filling his eyes as I nodded walking towards the door.

“I’m glad you’re here, Y/n...he needs someone right now, he shouldn’t be alone” He continued, placing his hand on mine, giving it a light squeeze. 

“Neither should you, Tig,” I replied, squeezing his hand back. 

“I’m won’t be; I’m going to my...friends house now..” he said, his voice trailing off at the end. I nodded and walked through the door into the shop, hearing Tig lock the door behind me. I walked up the stairs quietly, trying to work out what I was going to say to Chibs...but there were no words that would ease the pain he was feeling. I reached the top of the stairs, took a deep breath and opened the door only to be met with Chibs, sitting at the head of the table looking out into the distance, lost in his own thoughts. 

“Chibs,” I whispered, walking towards him; slowly he pulled his eyes away from the window to focus on me. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were tear stained. I don’t know how long we stayed like that, staring at each other, before he rose from the chair and walked towards me. 

“What’re ye doin’ here lass?” He questioned, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Jax…” I said, showing him the letter.

“Filip...I’m so sorry,” I continued as he read the letter, the tears falling from his eyes as he did so. Before I could say anything else, he threw the letter on the table and  pulled me into a hug. Instantly, my arms wrapped him, one stroking his hair, the other stroking his back soothingly. 

“I’m here,”  I reassured; the tears freely falling from both of our eyes now. 

“I’m here,” I croaked out, as he held me tighter. 

“I missed ye so much mo ghrá,” he whispered into my neck.

“I missed you too,” I breathed out shakily, grabbing on to the back of his leather cut as he cried harder into the crook of my neck. Jax was right...I belonged here; no matter how much I tried to run from it, this was my life, the Sons of anarchy were my family..and Chibs..he was my heart.

Tag list:

@glicabhainn00 @miss-nori85 @edonaspanca

[lady-o-ren]

Never Without Me, Dear Heart

Ao3 Link (HERE)

A man-eating firedrake has been terrorizing villagers all across the Hielands, leaving bloody devastation in its wake. But as winter draws near, the terrible beast finds refuge in the hallowed mountains that encircle the small village of Broch Mordha.

But there's only one man brave enough to try and slay the firedrake before he awakens to feast.

And only one woman dares to follow him . . .

His Wife

His charm against all things grisly

//

My husband was lying in a pool of black-red blood, the firedrake lying breathless beside him. His father's ancient claymore had been plunged between the scales of the beast's long columned throat that glinted with the iridescence of a dying star in the faltering daylight.

I laid my hand on his mottled face, brushed his long sunfired curls from his split brow. Watched as strenuous breath passed through his lips, cracked like his leathered armor, clawed down from his heaving breast to his gullet and the hard muscles of his thigh.

How wretchedly beautiful here looked even half-dead.

"Am I dead?" Jamie rasped, throat rough and parched from the cries of battle. I would need to get him water. Though he'd demand that only a river of whiskey could quench his thirst.

"You tell me," I said, tracing the bold lines of his face with my mouth, tasting hot iron, and thanking God I could feel his heart and breath rising against me again. "Do you wish to die here beneath the burnt trees and sky or back home in our bed?"

The corner of his wide mouth twitched then broke slowly into a winsome smile as he licked his lips. I kissed those too, with a near violent passion for the torture he had put me through, letting him steal the air from my lungs.

"In your arms," he murmured much later, with eyes more brilliant than even the mighty seven seas, struggling to stay open. "At a very advanced age mind ye."

He then tried to raise his arm, plated with leather and iron, that promptly fell back with a PLOP to the ruined earth beneath us, and cursed himself with a throaty hiss. I took his big, battered hand instead, entwined our fingers tightly together, and tucked them between my breasts where my heart throbbed brutally with love beneath.

He sighed dreamily.

"Sae bonny they are, smooth like pearls and white as stars yer breests are." He then cocked a brow. "But it was yer arse I was reaching for, Sassenach. I'm in terrible need of that great fat rump to fill the ache in my hand."

Laughter softly trembled from me. If he had time to joke and insult me he'd be alright. He'd be mine to take home. Back to Lallybroch and elsewhere no more.

I kissed his bruised knuckles with utmost tenderness.

"Get up then," said I. "Where you can take a proper hold of them."

I began to rise but Jamie refused to budge with barely the strength to shake his head. "I dinna think I can, Claire."

"You can and you will, James Fraser. Just try for me, please."

"I said I can't." His voice cracked with a sob caught between his ribs that shook and rattled. "I'm dying, mo ghràdh, can't ye see?"

I caressed his face with my hand, coaxing him to meet my eyes.

"No, you're not," I said, blinking back tears. "You may have slain the beast, you bloody hero, but I was the one that cut out it's heart. Tore it to pieces. Fed you it's flesh bit by bit to keep you alive. Now get on your feet so we can leave this miserable mountain or I'll drag you by your curls to do so!"

He stared at me with a half-frightened and awed expression as if he were facing God (or maybe Lucifer as I was nearly as bloody as him now) and squeezed my hand, swallowing hard.

"My sister always said ye were a witch."

"And a great deal more, I know. She told me to my face. Made me vow to bring you home or she'd burn me to stake."

He hummed a chuckle knowing his sister meant every last word.

"Sounds like Jenny. It shoulda been her up here not me. The wee Valkyrie."

Then with all my strength, I helped Jamie to his feet. He swayed and nearly fell a dozen times, both of us sweating and panting in the end, but he managed an arm around my shoulders and a hard, lusty grasp of my arse to steady himself.

The fiend!

And oh, how I loved him so

"I still feel like shite," he groaned into the crook of my neck, breathing deep, the scent of me.

I in turn sighed gratefully, stroking the back of his bloody crown and wrapped my fingers around his thick tangled curls knowing mine were no better and maybe even worse.

"That's a rather small price to pay for bringing you back from the dead."

"Was I?" He asked, lifting his head to knit our brows together.

"Very nearly, my darling."

And then I cried in great gasping rivulets that I couldn't stop as I clung to the heart and soul and bones of the only man I would ever love.

Jamie hushed me lovingly in gàidhlig, thanking me for his life, and cradled my face between the strength of his big hands and kissed away every teardrop until our lips met desperately once more.

"Mo bheannachd," Jamie then whispered, reverently against my swollen mouth, as sparks of embers floated in the air around us, glittering like flecks of gold. "Take me home to your bed and never will I leave thee."

"Promise?"

I dug my nails into the exposed flesh above my husband's sainted heart, the man I knew without doubt would be the very death of me.

And I welcomed it

But not until we were both very old and terribly gray, at each other's side

Jamie didn't flinch even as I broke tender skin, only held me closer in the violet-blue shadows of the night darkening the mountain sky, and sealed his vow with a blistering kiss as our hearts beat as one.

Always and forever and not a day less.

//

A/N:

Going through some miserable grief. Thank you all for your prayers and support.

Wrote some drabble nonsense last night. Nothing extraordinary or meant to make sense.

Very loosely inspired by the Nibelungen story where the hero Siegfried bathes in dragons blood to become invulnerable (except the spot on his back above his heart where a leaf had fallen). But I didn't have the fortitude to write a bloody scene like that.

Also the dragon in this story isn't some massive megladon behemoth thing. I had something more in line with Gustave Dore drawings sooooo like the size of a Charizard I guess but a bit bigger.

I think there's a few quotes from the book here. One about Jamie dying at an advanced age (I think I remember reading that somewhere) and needing to grab her ass for steadiness and another one I either deleted or something cause I can't remember it now.

*Mo bheannachd - My Blessing