#in eating as in most parts of life - every step in the right direction counts

[luxurychristmaspudding]

listen

summary: you’ve been serving frankie and his friends at your bar for months. despite your wishing and wanting, the shy pilot doesn’t work up the nerve to ask you out before santi introduces you to his buddy, joel.

swept off your feet by the sweet southerner, and charmed by pope, the boys come together to show frankie exactly what it is he’s missing.

read part 2, watch, here

grouping: f!reader x joel miller x frankie morales x santiago garcia

rating/warnings: 18+. MDNI. no outbreak (tlou) - but based after the tf mission. softdom!joel, softdom!santi, sub!frankie, sub!reader, voyeurism, exhibitionism, maybe MFM?, sharing the luuuurve, praise kink, one (1) count of spitting in mouth, dirty talk, daddy kink (heavy, sorry lmao), oral (f&m receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it!), creampie, come eating, pussyjob?, so many orgasms i started to lose count, maybe a tiny bit of angst, m!masturbation, light choking, f!overstim, bad spanish, right okay we’re done.

wc: 14.7k. we aren't gonna talk about it.

an: this is fucking filthy. i’m sorry. don’t ask.

When you first started to hang out with them all, Will told you that Frankie was useless with women. What you didn’t expect was for him to be this fucking oblivious.

You had been bartending when you met him at a bar downtown - all industrial steel, burnished mirrors, and low light. Frankie and the boys would come in every so often, and you warmed to them immediately. It was hard not to. The four men were always respectful, always polite. They never overstayed their welcome, or their tolerance, and always asked how you were. 

Of course, it helped that they were also handsome, and you quickly fell into the trap you were sure they wove for all hospitality staff. The lingering glances from their table, the crooked smiles at the bar. The competition they seemed to enjoy amongst themselves of who could lather you with the most attention.

Will and Benny did particularly well. The elder brother saved a special, particularly mischievous smile and a wink for you every time he came to order, and saved a special, bruising elbow to the ribs for his brother every time he caught Benny staring. Benny was always a hoot considering his sore ribs, the air never seeming to have been knocked from him as he chatted away to you across the polished wood.

But it was the quieter two, Frankie and Santi, who piqued your curiosity. Santi - often cool, detached; who offered little information in the way of his life but seemed to want to be wrapped up in yours. Who would watch you over the rim of his glass of whisky, drop his eyes to your lips, dip his mouth in a smirk, and say he’d see you later. And Frankie, who could do almost nothing but watch you from his corner of their booth, his Standard Oil cap sunk low on his brow, both hands around his bottle. His deep swallow when you’d catch his eye. The blush that would crawl up his neck, threading through his cheeks when you smiled.

Over the months they came to the bar while you worked there, the five of you became friends of sorts. Once in a blue moon turned into once every two weeks, turned into every Saturday night. And you made sure you were always there, sacrificing the time you would have spent surfing social media on your sofa for time spent flirting with your favourite regulars. Enjoying their eyes on you. Enjoying Frankie’s blush when you called him sugar as you asked if he needed anything else. 

One day, you hoped he’d gather enough courage to give you the answer you hoped for.

You.

But he never did.

When the time came for you to move on from the bar, you made sure to let them know. Your new job further into the city was a step exactly in the direction you wanted to go, and though the men shared touching groans of disappointment, they congratulated you wholeheartedly. 

They also invited you to their Saturday night drinks. You gladly accepted. 

On your last shift, Will slid you Frankie’s mobile number, explaining that he was the most reliable member, the one most likely to know what was going on with the group at any given time. When you ribbed him about how he must always be on his phone, Frankie shyly admitted it was because he had a daughter. He was constantly on the lookout for updates, sweet little pictures and messages his ex would send over. They had a good relationship, and his kid - Lucia - was gorgeous. They just live a little far away, Frankie had admitted, a sad little frown glazing over his features. 

You had softened to him even more, asking him questions about his daughter over the bar while you poured his drinks, propping your chin in your hand and listening to him as he continued to talk after you were finished. You found yourself trying to make Frankie laugh, to hear his sweet chuckle, to brush a touch against his arm, see the sparkle in his eyes beneath his cap - similar, you imagined, to how your own eyes glittered back at him. 

The conversation only stalled when Benny called for him - Fish, where are those drinks? - earning himself a thump from Will, who muttered something about Frankie finally finding the courage and Benny’s big fuckin’ mouth. Frankie’s cheeks had heated, and he'd cleared his throat, thanking you before gathering all the drinks in his large hands and heading back to the booth.

What you had overheard heated the tips of your ears and rattled around your brain, looming in the back of your mind when you joined them the Saturday after. 

But Will's words must have just been a silly little joke, because no matter how hard you try, Frankie will not bend. No matter what you wear, no matter what you do, the curly haired pilot remains firmly out of reach.

And it’s not like you don’t have fun together. You join them on nights out. You’ve been invited over for poker games and parties. You share glances with Frankie, jokes, tales, hell, sometimes he even puts an arm around you. But it’s always the same. The end of the evening is always frustratingly uneventful. 

Crowded into sweaty bars and packed living rooms, you’re caught in a never ending circle of wanting and longing. Maybe that’s why, one night, you find yourself exchanging heated glances with Santi. 

Frankie never really touches you beyond a hug and a kiss on the cheek when you arrive, and remains a staunch gentleman no matter how much he drinks. Santi seems to strive to do the opposite. He finds you in the kitchen one night, trying to cool off after watching Frankie laugh and lean into another woman’s conversation, feeling foolish, immature, but trying to blink away tears anyway. 

He talks to you like you’re the only interesting person he’s ever met, standing a little too close for a friend, only moving away when you’re interrupted by one of Benny’s buddies searching for a beer. When you return to the living room, Frankie notices. Notices how Santi pulls you in close when you’re near, presses a kiss to your hair, places a casual hand on your knee when you’re sat next to each other. And how you let him do it. 

When Santi drops you off at your house, he looks at your lips for a long time. His eyes are burning as he tucks your hair behind your ear and wishes you a good night. But he doesn’t go further. 

It’s driving you fucking insane.

You were sure you hadn’t imagined the chemistry between the three of you before, so what was wrong now? Whose starting pistol were they waiting for? You can’t help your desperate huffs of frustration every time you close the door at the end of another night - alone, sopping wet, with only your hand to help.

Until one night, when you really believe, truly believe that it might end differently.

Frankie has been sat next to you in the booth all evening, laughing and chatting away. His arm is slung over your shoulder, his thigh against yours, your body pressed into his side. It feels good, it feels right, and he’s looking at you in such a way that you begin to teeter dangerously close to pressing your lips to his in the middle of the bar. 

You and Frankie take the opportunity to talk about anything and everything. Catching up on your jobs, how he’s re-received his licence, your families, future dreams and aspirations. It’s almost funny how perfectly everything seems to realign. You think this is the turning point - this is when you realise how perfect you are for each other, this is when you take the leap. The only hiccup seems to be when Frankie says he’ll be away for the next three weeks - working, and then visiting Lucia. Your heart crumbles a little - just a little - before you try to sweep away thoughts of him dying in a helicopter crash or falling back in love with his ex. It feels like you’ve waited so long for this moment that the universe might just try and be that cruel. Just for shits and giggles. 

But it won’t. Everything’s fine. Everything’s great.

Santi seems to notice. He’s quieter than usual, watching the two of you cosy up together. He looks pleased, if a little put out, and when he thinks you aren’t looking he exchanges a look with Frankie. A raised eyebrow, a dipped head. A fucking finally.

As you move to leave the bar at closing time, Frankie touches your arm.

‘Mind if I walk you home, querida?’ He asks, holding out your coat. You take it and swoop it on over your shoulders, grinning at him.

‘Thought you’d never ask.’ You say.

Frankie walks you home like a gentleman. 

Too much of a gentleman.

You bump shoulders every so often, but he doesn’t move to take your hand. And he’s all bashful smiles and throaty laughter, compliments and flirty asides, but you return them tenfold, wrapped up in a blinding smile.

You’re making it easy for him. Obvious. But he still isn’t taking the bait.

Maybe he doesn’t want you.

It’s an uncomfortable thought, but it bounces around your skull the whole way home. And it rumbles even louder when you get to your door and he pulls you in for a hug, a light hand barely lingering on your waist, before he wishes you goodnight. 

You stand there, a little dazed before your brain catches up and decides to deploy your last ditch attempt. Just to see. Just to find out. 

He’s halfway down your front path when you call out to him.

‘Frankie. Do you want to come in?’

He turns, limbs coming to a clumsy halt. His brows are high on his forehead, mouth a little ‘o’. Then he frowns.

Fuck. You’ve never felt like such an idiot in your life.

‘I - er,’ he starts, and you look down at the floor, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the concrete. ‘I have an early start tomorrow.’ He says. 

You look back up at him.

‘Sorry,’ he continues, ‘Any other time and I’d be - I’d be right there. Y’know. Just - timing, that’s all.’

You try to soften the bite that wants to creep into your words at his rejection, but barely manage it.

‘It’s cool,’ you say, trying to smile. ‘No worries. I just - I bought that film you said you watched the other day. Paddington 2? The one Lucia likes.’ A slow smile lights his eyes. ‘Just wondered whether you wanted to come in and watch it with a beer. But yeah. No worries,’ and then, because you just can’t help yourself, you add - ‘Wouldn’t have been any funny business, just so ya know.’ 

You force out a laugh, and Frankie drops his eyes. Disappointed, confused. You feel bad for a second, but then you remember how embarrassed you feel, how stupid. It makes your skin crawl. Nevermind.

You clear your throat.

‘Anyway. Get home safe, Frankie,’ you say, ‘See you soon.’ 

You rush in and close the door before he can reply.

---

Your phone buzzes with a text early the next day.

You open your eyes with a groan, clutching unseeingly at trinkets on your nightstand until your stomach lurches at the thought that it might be Frankie. You sit up to grab it.

It’s not Frankie. It’s an unknown number.

Hey. Do u want to head to the bar 2night?

You frown, confused, fingers dancing over possible replies before another text flies through.

Got a friend Id like u to meet.

And then another.

Its Santi btw. Cant remember if u have my no.

You breathe out, type a quick sure. Fuck it. What harm could another of Santi’s friends do to your pride? Your sex drive? What harm could a night with Santi do? You follow it up with -

Who else will be there? Are you setting me up?

You chew on your thumb anxiously, waiting for his reply.

Just the 3 of us. Might be ;)

You snort at his reply, shooting back -

God. Am I really such a charity case?

 - before getting out of bed to make breakfast. Halfway through your pancakes, you get a text back.

Nah. Just cant stand seein a good girl like u go to waste.

You put your phone back down on the table, slowing your chewing. Good girl. The two words send a lick of heat curling up your spine. A good girl like you going to waste. 

A slow, smug smile spreads across your lips. You pick up your phone again and begin to tap out a reply. A risky move, one which would surely harm your chances with Frankie, but fuck it - 

If you don’t want me to go to waste, you could always have me to yourself.

You stare at the blinking cursor for a second before deleting the message, instead asking him for a time. No need to be hasty. 

You don’t know what his friend looks like yet, anyway.

As it turns out, Santi’s friend might be exactly who you need to forget about Frankie.

Joel Miller is older, in his fifties. Greying, tall, broad, gorgeous, and a true southern gentleman to boot. The kind of guy - you imagine - who would drive you to work the next day if you couldn’t walk after seeing him the night before.

And it’s going well. Really well.

You, Joel, and Santi chat easily around your little table, swapping jokes, telling stories, brushing touches to each other here and there. Joel works in construction - runs his own company with his brother, Tommy - and has a grown up daughter called Sarah. He’s worked on Santi’s house - actually knows most of the group - but is usually too busy (or too tired, he tells you) to come out and join them. You think about how unlucky it is that he hadn’t come around before you made such a fool of yourself last night. And then you vow not to think of Frankie again for the rest of the evening.

Joel is easy to be around - warm, safe - earthy and masculine. And maybe it’s something to do with the way his chocolate brown eyes crinkle at the edges when he smiles, but you don’t know what’s wrong with you. You can’t seem to stop thinking about what it would be like to run your fingers through his curls, feel the scrape of his stubble between your thighs, what his arms look like beneath his flannel, what his fingers - what his cock - would feel like inside of you. Something about the man is making your toes curl in your seat, and he hasn’t done anything more innocuous than thumb the charm hanging from your necklace. It’s agonising. 

And to make it worse, Santi knows. You don’t know how, but he does. Maybe you’re just that easy to read. 

In the blur of Joel leaving to go to the bathroom and get more drinks, Santi leans over to you.

‘What do you think?’ He asks.

You shrug, trying your absolute hardest to play it cool.

‘He’s nice. I like him. You should bring him out more often.’ 

Santi’s eyes glint with something molten, something teasing and knowing and sharp.

‘You want to take him home.’

You baulk at his words, cheeks flaming in response. You open and close your mouth as he leans in and laughs.

‘I never said that -’ you splutter, but Santi takes your hand.

‘You don’t need to, querida,’ he says, ‘I can see it written all over your face.’ 

You groan, forehead falling to his shoulder. 

‘If it helps,’ he continues, ‘I think he wants to take you home, too.’ 

You look up from his shoulder into his eyes, and they glimmer back at you. You bite your lip.

‘Ya think?’ You ask.

‘Yeah, baby,’ he teases, ‘I do.’

You hum against him before tilting your face further back.

‘You know…’ you say, lips loosened by the alcohol. Santi tips his head to the side, waiting for you to continue. ‘'S not quite how I imagined the night would end.’

His lips quirk in a smile again. Ah, fuck.

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. I kinda thought you’d take me home instead.’

Santi chuckles and looks away around the room. When his eyes settle back on you, they’re black and burning.

‘I’ve thought about it,’ he says, scratching his beard, ‘A lot. But I guessed you were too caught up on Frankie.’

You freeze at his words and sit up straight, clearing your throat.

‘I don’t -’ but Santi shakes his head at you, cutting you off. He says your name softly.

‘I know about last night,’ he says quietly. Your cheeks begin to burn again, but this time for a completely different reason. ‘He told me about it after he walked you home. And I told him he was the biggest fuckin’ idiot I know.’ 

Despite yourself, you smile.

‘I’m not gonna take you home, baby,’ Santi continues as you watch him, curious, ‘Not right now, anyway. My shit is complicated enough -’ Santi cuts himself off with a sigh, and your brows bunch together.

‘What’s wrong?’ you ask, your voice low and kind despite the fire sparking at his words.

Santi looks at you again, and whatever’s in his eyes looks too complex to divulge. He thumbs your knuckles, swirling patterns onto your hand.

‘Nothing,’ he says, but you frown at him again. ‘Just… stuff. Stuff to do with Frankie. It’s - complicated. I’ll tell you about it some other time. But what I wanted to say was - I wanted you to meet Joel. Because I think you’d be great for each other.’ 

Your jaw drops again, but before you can ask any questions, anything about his stuff with Frankie, Joel reappears with new drinks for the three of you. Santi gives you a tight-lipped smile, squeezing your hand before picking up his bottle. But you drop his gaze when Joel places a hand at the top of your back as he sits down.

‘Everything okay, baby?’ He asks. 

Santi doesn’t leave early, but he doesn’t leave late, either. He stays long enough to know exactly where this thing with you and Joel is going, and then bails when he knows he should. Even if you still kinda wish he’d stay. 

Even if you didn’t get the chance to ask him more about Frankie.

You and Joel linger for an hour longer, the ache in your core and the wetness in your underwear in response to him now almost impossible to ignore. Joel keeps a hand on your thigh. He sweeps a palm down your arm, tucks your hair behind your ear. And when the bell for closing rings out, he takes your hand and leads you out into the night.

He keeps a hold of your hand the whole way to your door. 

When you get home, you turn to him on your doorstep. He smiles at you, taking you in through his eyelashes. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

You grip your keys tightly in your fist, the metal leaving marks and almost drawing blood as he leans in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You forget to breathe as his scent crowds your senses, as the scruff of his beard scratches your cheek. You want to lick his neck, find out if he tastes as good as he smells, want to know what it feels like to have him pressed against you, on top of you, under you, behind you -

Joel cuts through your thoughts with a low chuckle against your ear.

‘Breathe, darlin’.’ He murmurs.

You open your eyes, take a deep breath, and sigh a laugh as you look down at your feet. 

He is still unbearably close, and you know, you know you shouldn’t, but you don’t know if you’ll ever see this man again, and everything Santi said at the bar, and the fact that you feel like Joel could make you come with just a flick of his wrist is likely what sparks your tongue to stutter out - 

‘Do you want to come in?’

Joel looks down at you again, a fire alight in his eyes. The heat sends a shiver down your spine.

He doesn’t give you an answer. Just pushes your front door open, takes your wrist, and pulls you inside.

---

Being with Joel is great.

It’s amazing. It’s like you finally have someone who can keep up with you. Your brain, your days, your plans. It’s like someone plopped Joel Miller on earth with a little note saying he was yours.

In the three weeks after you first meet him, you share countless breakfasts and dinners and spend your weekends wrapped up in sheets watching reruns of Golden Girls. It’s so simple to spend time with someone who is so easy to be around, someone who just gets you. 

Joel makes you laugh, makes you feel important, wanted.

And the sex is incredible.

Like nothing you’ve ever had with anyone else. He seems to know what to do, exactly how you want it done, every time - it’s effortless. And somehow, you seem to do the same for him. In fact, the only problems you seem to have found are his size (because he’s huge) and the fact that you can’t be inside each other all the time.

Which is why it takes so much effort for you to peel yourself away from him when Santi asks if you’d like to join him and the guys for drinks on Saturday. You give him an affirmative before promptly being distracted by Joel coming out of the shower.

You see his reply forty minutes later.

Frankie will b there. That OK?

You type back a quick -

Of course :)

 - before getting on with your day.

Drinks are almost the same as usual. It’s surprisingly easy to slot right back into where you were. Laughing, chatting, joking with Will and Benny. What they’ve been up to, who they’ve been with. Questions you manage to dodge with only a knowing smirk from Santi to remind you he knows exactly who you’ve been doing. 

Frankie joins in from across the table. He couldn’t meet your eye when you first arrived, but over the course of the evening and a few drinks, he seems to have relaxed enough to look at you. Really look at you.

Which is unfortunate, because you can still feel Joel’s come from earlier in the day seeping into your underwear.

At some point in the evening, Benny and Will make their excuses - they have a family get together tomorrow they can’t be too hungover for - and it’s just you, Frankie, and Santi left. 

It’s easy for the most part. Santi bridging the gap so effortlessly that it begins to feel like nothing happened between you and Frankie at all. And it didn’t, you remind yourself. Nothing happened. And then you met Joel.

So why are you still thinking about it?

You try to distract yourself, lose yourself in the conversation taking place between the two men. Something about Star Wars, new castings they’ve chosen for a series coming out later in the year. You try to contribute as much as you can, but fail miserably, earning yourself a brief history of the franchise from Santi. Eventually you get him to ease off with a hand to his chest, laughing until he starts to giggle, too. He uses the interlude to get up to use the bathroom and get more drinks, leaving you with Frankie and his soft, brown eyes.

You peer at each other nervously from across the table. You watch as his tongue darts out to wet his lip, as he chews the inside of his cheek before taking a deep breath and meeting your eye. 

You feel your jaw clench.

‘About the other night, a few weeks back,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I was a fuckin’ moron -’ he pauses for a moment, sweeps a hand over his face. ‘I’m real rusty at this. The whole dating thing. I don’t think I even realised what it was you were sayin’ to me.’ Frankie huffs a laugh. A horrible, anxious feeling starts to work its way up your throat. ‘But I -’

He’s interrupted as a bartender floats by your booth, sweeping up some of the empty glasses. You smile up at her and thank her sweetly. 

Maybe you can stall whatever Frankie has to say.

She swats at the air with her free hand.

‘Not at all, sugar,’ she says, ‘Can’t let a thing like empties get in the way of a date like this.’

You smile at her and bite your tongue, feeling hot. A blush begins to claw up your cheeks as she winks at you both and swings away. Had she not seen Santi? And - fuck - now how do you brush this off with Frankie? How do you stop where this is going?

You turn your eyes back to him, and he hasn’t even flushed at the insinuation. Instead, he bites his lip, something which sends a jolt of heat to the space between your thighs. He scratches the back of his neck, and rushes out in a lowered voice that even though he’s busy with work at the moment, he’d like to make it right -

‘I’d really love to take you out this weekend.’

Your stomach plummets to your feet. Fuck. 

Tears of frustration prickle in your eyes. A lump of panic settles in your throat, and you almost feel like you could run out of the bar. Why is he doing this now?

You take a deep breath and try to form the kindest smile, the most apologetic furrow in your brows that you can.

‘Frankie,’ you breathe, and already his face begins to fall. You lean across the table and take one of his massive hands. ‘I’d have loved to, but -’

He shakes his head quickly, trying to draw his hand back.

‘It’s okay,’ he begins, ‘Fuck, I’m sorry. I must have just misread - I didn’t mean - I don’t want you to feel -’

But his interruption only serves to further spark the surge of irritation. You squeeze his hand tighter so he can’t rip it away and utter his name harshly. He stops immediately, his eyes whipping back to yours. Something stirs in you at his immediate obedience.

‘Listen to me,’ you say, shaking off your traitorous thoughts. ‘I’d have loved to. But I - I literally just started seeing someone, and I -’ you break off, groaning in frustration, ‘I don’t know if it’s serious, or if it’s exclusive, but he’s great, and I don’t want anyone - especially you - to get hurt by me being selfish or not knowing where things are at.’ You huff out a breath and meet his eye. He looks disappointed, upset even - but worst of all he looks understanding, almost grateful that you don’t want him to get caught up in this complex knot of wanting. 

‘Frankie,’ you say softly, and try to smile, ‘I mean this in the least… damaging way. If you had asked me three weeks ago, when we were here last, I’d have said yes. In a heartbeat.’

Maybe it does make you an asshole. Maybe it does make you selfish. But it feels important in this moment to make sure that Frankie understands - you like him. You wanted him.

It’s just timing. 

Frankie grimaces.

‘Fuck.’ He hisses. And when he tries to withdraw his hand this time, you let him. But you don’t look away. 

A low light flickers in his eye. Something close to anger, you think - at himself, or at you, you’re not sure.

‘Is it -’ he begins, ‘Is it Pope?’

‘Pope?’ You ask, confused. Frankie shakes his head.

‘Santi. Is it Santi?’

You bark a laugh. You can’t help it.

‘Santi? Your Santi?’ you ask, bewildered. Frankie’s cheeks heat again. You want to put a pin in that, the flush at your, but your brain is suddenly so riddled with dredged up questions you can hardly order them.

‘What do you mean, Frankie?’ you ask, exasperated.

Frankie shakes his head again, realising his mistake, but you are beyond dropping the topic.

‘Frankie,’ you say, stern this time. ‘What do you mean?’

Frankie whips his cap off, runs an agitated hand through his hair, shifts his gaze around the bar for the other man.

‘He - he likes you, too,’ he says. ‘I was worried - worried he’d beat me to it ‘cos I didn’t ask before I went away. He said it was taking me too long to do - to gather the confidence to ask you -’ Now Frankie barks a laugh. ‘But it looks like we were both too late.’

You shake your head, the cogs in your brain turning slowly. How Santi looked at you was no secret. But if what Frankie was saying about how Santi felt was true, why had he introduced you to Joel? And if that was true, had you misunderstood what Santi said about him and Frankie? You feel your mouth open and close, but Frankie takes your silence to ask you another question.

‘Who is it?’

‘What?’

‘Who is it?’

You splutter over your answer, hesitating, stalling -

‘Frankie, how the fuck would you know?’

Because he would. And, rightly or wrongly, that panics you a little.

‘Is it someo-’

You cut him off, holding up your palm.

‘Frankie -’ you press a hand to your throat, feeling your rapid pulse. Fuck it. ‘I thought - I thought Santi was interested in you.’

Frankie chokes on his breath.

He stares at you, calculating something, breathing heavily.

‘It’s not - we’re not -’ he fumbles. You slouch back in your seat. Frankie’s eyes flutter closed. ‘We fuck around sometimes. And sometimes - sometimes other people -’ You groan, your head tipping back against the leather. Your head is spinning. ‘But we wouldn’t - I wouldn’t - fuck. I don’t want you to think that that’s what this is about -’ Frankie splays his hands in front of you. ‘God,’ he says, ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how to explain any of this.’

The room suddenly feels too warm. You cradle your head in your hands, and stare at the way the table swims beneath you. What the fuck is happening?

You glance up at Frankie, but he’s watching you so intensely, so much concern and panic and want in his eyes that it makes you feel claustrophobic.

‘I need some air.’ You mumble across the table, and stumble out of the booth on unsteady legs. From the corner of your eye, you see Santi begin to cross the floor to return to the booth with drinks in his hands, see him watch you trip across the bar. In the back of your brain, you hear him call your name, but your hands are already on the handle of the front door, pushing it open and feeling the cool night air hit your clammy skin.

What the fuck is going on?

You fumble in your pocket for your phone and find Joel’s contact. You want to go home, and you want his help to forget about this. And, you think, you should probably ask whether he had any idea about Santi, or Frankie, or Santi and Frankie. 

The call with Joel is quick, and he sounds appropriately concerned without needing to hear any details. He tells you to stay in view of the bar and to not move a muscle, and that he’ll be there in 10. You hope he can make it in five.

He’s too slow. After seven minutes, Frankie bursts out of the bar, Santi quickly following him.

‘Fish -’ Santi’s calling, but he catches himself when he sees you still standing there. Frankie screeches to a halt, too.

The three of you stare between each other, eyes wide, like you’re waiting for a bomb to go off. 

Frankie says your name before you shake your head - rushing out a not now, Frankie just as Joel’s pickup peels into the parking lot.

Frankie can’t see him with his back turned, but he sure does when Joel comes striding from behind the two men to stand at your side.

‘Everything okay, baby?’ he asks in his low, southern drawl, and you instinctively lift your mouth for a kiss before realising how cruel that would be.

Joel tenses as you withdraw, finally taking in the other two men.

‘Pope,’ he says with a nod, and Santi smiles weakly back at him.

‘Frankie,’ Joel says a little softer, ‘It’s good to see you.’

‘Joel.’ Frankie says through his teeth, realisation burning in his eyes. 

‘How ya doin’, kid?’ Joel asks him, placing a hand on your lower back. Frankie juts out his chin.

‘Fine. Great.’ He says, ‘I was just leavin’, actually.’ Frankie whips his cap off, runs a hand through his hair. His jaw is set, angry. He shakes his head at the ground. ‘I’ll see you guys around.’ He says to no one in particular, turning on his heel and fleeing towards the car park. 

Santi and Joel meet each others’ eyes in some kind of understanding, and you look angrily between them. Being left out of the loop again was not feeling cute.

Joel sighs, wrapping his arm around your waist.

‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you home.’ He murmurs, but you lurch out of his grasp and turn on the two of them. They watch you, surprised.

‘No,’ you say, ‘Nu-uh. We aren’t going anywhere until one of you tells me what the fuck is going on.’

Joel and Santi look at each other, expressions unreadable. 

Santi shakes his head.

‘Come back inside,’ he says, turning back to the bar entrance, ‘We’re gonna need more beers for this.’

---

When you get down to the root of it, the truth isn’t even that complex. That’s the laughable part.

The long and short of it is this. One: Pope knew Frankie liked you. But he knew Frankie moved slow. And he’d gotten tired of watching, of knowing he’d be a dick if he made a play instead. And he cares about you, his friend. Wants to see you happy. Enter Joel. Two: Santi and Frankie fooled around while they were in Delta Force. It’s not a secret, but it’s never really been discussed. Sometimes they still fool around, but it’s been less frequent as they’ve gotten older. As they date other people. Three: Sometimes, when those other people they’re dating are willing, they bring them in, and they all have fun together. 

Something Santi would have been fine with if you were his. Something Frankie was less cool with doing if he’d made his move. 

Santi admits that he’s likely just been a dick throughout the whole thing. You make him promise to do better over another beer. He does. He also now knows not to cock block his best buddy with a mutual friend.

And Joel feels kinda bad about that. Not bad enough to pump the brakes with you, but uncomfortable, sure. He’s had Frankie round for barbecues, he likes the guy. He’s sorry he whisked you away from him. But not sorry enough.

Joel hasn’t been involved in any of Frankie and Santi’s adventures, but it’s something he’s played around with before. He’s had threesomes, but he doesn’t really volunteer more than that. The thought ignites something deep in your belly and you file it away for another day, a different conversation.

Once it’s all explained and you’re laughing together again, everything feels fine. Normal.

Except you don’t see Frankie for weeks afterwards.

You drop him a text every now and again, just wanting to know whether he’s okay, but you hear nothing back. Santi tries to assure you that you’ve done nothing wrong. There’s nothing for you to worry about.

But it still sits uneasy in your gut.

You see Joel almost every day. And Santi once a week. 

The three of you meet for beers in a different bar from the one Santi meets Frankie, Will and Benny in - your bar. And you have fun. 

It never goes beyond touches with Santi, though you find yourself wishing more and more often that it would. He rests a hand on your thigh under the table, his thumb swiping patterns over your flushed skin. Sometimes he has an arm flung around the back of your seat, sometimes rubbing the back of your neck, sometimes tucking hair behind your ear. He watches and stares and smiles and laughs at you and Joel, and you watch back with delighted curiosity. You like the way he makes you squirm while you sit next to the older man. And Joel loves to watch you squirm, too.

He loves getting you home and finding your panties soaked with arousal. He loves swiping two of his thick fingers through your folds with the front door barely closed, his hand shoved down the front of your jeans, your back arched already, a needy whine heavy in the back of your throat. He loves talking you through the things he’d like to watch Santi do to you, how good he knows you’d be for the two of them, how well behaved, how you’d take, take, take it, and how proud he’d be to show you off. My girl. He growls as he fucks into you at night. My girl.

And it suits you, how giving, how generous Joel is. 

Seems to suit Santi, too.

At some point ideas had been swapped between you and Joel - some thinly disguised remark dropped by him over dinner one night had led to you picking at the thread and grinding him down over three days, trying to get to the bottom of it. He liked to share, he’d said. He liked to watch. He liked the control, and the pride, and the possession of it all. And goddammit, you liked the sound of it, too. Because after serious discussion - serious boundaries, limits, run throughs of possible scenarios, you talked through people who you wouldn’t mind trying it with.

And there was obvious one name you both settled on.

Santi.

And well, given his history, it didn’t take too long for you to convince him to join you.

And if it hadn't been for Santi’s suggestion, his knowledge, his understanding of his best friend, there’s a chance Frankie’s name wouldn’t have come up at all. You’re not sure if you’d have dared, considering how things were left. But, lo and behold, it does, and along with it the chance for him to see exactly what he's missing out on. 

---

All the rules have been arranged for tonight, but the most important one, which you must remember, is that Frankie is not allowed to touch you.

At all. At any point. 

You and Joel head to the usual bar to meet Santi and Frankie for drinks. You make sure to wear a dress which clings to your curves, dips at your cleavage, and settles just high enough on your thigh to be bordering on acceptable. And it must be more than acceptable, because Joel threatens to fuck you out of it three times before you leave the house.

It must be acceptable, because Santi cannot keep his eyes or his hands off you when you arrive at the venue, and Frankie from across the table cannot regain control of his jaw.

They both look good - you all look good - Joel with his hair combed back, a deep green flannel on, Santi in all black - and suddenly all you want to do is call the drinks off now and just head back to Joel’s. But the patience, the build up is critical. It’s foreplay.

Instead, you lean back in your chair, sipping on your cocktail as you take in the three men.

The conversation flows easily after a while. Joel is a master at it, weaving questions in and out, making sure to put both you and Frankie at ease. Besides, it’s been a while since you last saw each other. Not that either of you were any less eager for him to be involved. He’d been very keen, according to Santi. 

He’s in dark jeans and a tight navy blue t-shirt tonight, his trademark cap confining his curls. He’s not dressed up, but he’s made an effort, and his shy looks across the table, his kind questions and easy jokes have begun healing the fractures of what happened weeks ago.

It doesn’t hurt that he and Santi had a good, long talk, and that you then shared a sweet phone call. 

All the same, he sits opposite you, unable to touch you for the rest of the night.

Instead, he just gets to watch as Joel presses kisses to your neck, pulls you into his chest, skates his hands over your thighs - anything he can get away with doing to turn you on. And Santi isn’t far behind. Holding your hand on top of the table, bringing your knuckles to his lips, keeping a hand on your knee almost the entire time.

Your brain is a hot, buzzing mess by the time Santi checks his phone.

‘It’s getting late.’ He says, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

‘Eager, no?’ You tease, trying - and failing - to cover the scent of your own desperate need.

‘Of course,’ Santi smirks over the rim of his glass, ‘But I’ll take my time with you.’

You try to laugh but fall back into Joel’s shoulder at his words, and the older man chuckles. He kisses your forehead tenderly. Frankie watches hungrily from across the table, the dark void of his eyes flicking towards his watch, desperate to leave. 

When you do, he walks at a distance behind the three of you. You smile to yourself and sway your hips a little more for his benefit. And you swear you get a low whine as your reward.

---

You’re quiet the whole way home, trying not to clench your thighs too hard or rock yourself against the seat. You're so desperate for friction, for relief, that it’s hard for you to concentrate on what’s going on in the car. Hard for you to think of anything beyond Joel’s warm, heavy hand on your thigh as he drives. 

He leans over to you halfway home, and whispers -

‘You’re quiet, baby. Everything okay?’

You flick a glance to him and find his eyes equal parts concerned and equal parts aflame. You smile.

‘I’m trying to be good,’ you murmur, ‘But you’re making it very difficult.’

Joel dips his chin in a smirk and squeezes your thigh, his fingers drifting dangerously close to your panties. You squirm a little in your seat, and it goads him to drift his hand further until it catches at the lace of the gusset. You gasp at the feeling, a tiny whimper making its way out from your lips, and all conversation in the back of the truck grinds to a halt. Your cheeks heat, and you turn to look out the window again, clamping your lip beneath your teeth.

No one says a word the rest of the way home.

Once you're all home, a silence settles around you. Everybody wide eyed, geared up, on edge. You’re not sure who to look at or what to say until Joel does it for you.

‘Upstairs.’ He commands, and everybody moves to follow him up the staircase. You keep your eyes on his broad back the whole way up, and once you reach the top, he holds his hand out behind him for you to grab. You do.

When you get to his bedroom door, Joel leads you in. You turn just as Santi crosses the threshold, as he pivots to Frankie behind him and says -

‘Kneel.’

Frankie glances at you, swallows, and returns his eyes to Santi. He drops down to his knees in the hallway.

‘Good,’ Santi murmurs, stepping forward to crouch down in front of him. ‘Do you remember the rules?’ He asks Frankie.

The younger man nods, his eyes dropping to the floor.

‘Yes.’

Santi nods once. 

‘Good. Listen. And do not leave this spot.’

Santi straightens, turning his back on Frankie. You can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of him on the floor - small, submissive - and you can’t help the little gasp you let out as Santi steps towards you and closes the door slowly behind him, leaving just enough of a gap so that Frankie can hear everything that happens but watch none of it. 

Joel skirts his fingers down your waist and presses a kiss just under your ear.

‘You ready, baby girl?’ he rumbles. You turn your face to look at him over your shoulder, finding his eyes dark, a familiar power behind them. You nod.

‘Yes.’ you say. He nods, pleased, twisting to kiss your mouth before guiding you towards Santi.

‘Good,’ he says. He turns and moves towards the armchair in the far corner of the room, sitting heavily in it.

Santi steps towards you and gently takes your face in his hands.

‘You okay?’ He asks quietly. You nod.

‘Yeah,’ you whisper, ‘Are you?’ 

Santi nods, his eyes searching yours for a hint of hesitation. You try to open up your mind to show him the excitement, the want you feel. Satisfied, he licks his lips.

‘Can I kiss you?’ He asks. You nod again, and Santi leans forwards, capturing your mouth in hard, slow movement.

Santi means to make a study of you, you think. His tongue is everywhere, his teeth grazing over your bottom lip, his hands gentle and then needy, already figuring out exactly what it is that makes you tick. And to make it even worse, every time you take a moment to catch your breath, he has that fucking smirk on his face. It’s infuriating, and you quickly need to find something  which will wipe it off.

So you begin to undo his belt.

Pope huffs a chuckle against your lips, but doesn’t stop the work your hands are doing. Instead, he matches it with his own fingers. 

With deft movements, he slips a hand under your dress and finds his way to your panties, touching you through the fabric. You groan against his mouth, and he smiles, ghosting over your folds. Not to be out done, you slip your hand into his jeans and palm him over his boxers. He hums against you.

‘Are we racing?’ He asks.

You cock your head to the side.

‘Thought you wanted to take your time?’ You quip back, and something flashes in his eyes. 

He steps back.

‘Take this off.’ He says, tugging at the hem of your dress, and you pout at him. 

‘Does that mean you take these off, too?’ You ask, tugging at his jeans. You’re pushing your luck, you know. But you think this might be easier if Santi undresses with you, if only to really see what you held in your hand. 

Santi raises an eyebrow. ‘We’ll see,’ he says, ‘But you go first.’

You step back from him and glance at Joel, assessing. He nods at you, encouraging, and you pull your dress up and over your head. You stand before them in only your panties, and Santi takes a deep breath, biting his lip, smiling again.

‘Gorgeous, baby.’ He says. And you feel it. The way this man looks at you makes you feel weak, giddy - like your core is on fire. 

Santi steps towards you to kiss you again, making sure his hand returns to where it had been, ghosting over your underwear. You groan into his mouth, impatient now, and his teeth scrape at your chin as he clicks his tongue. In answer, he sweeps your panties to the side, and grazes two digits along your slit. You moan loudly again, and Santi groans up at the ceiling.

‘Fuck, querida.’ He says, before stretching a thumb to your clit and sinking the two fingers deep inside you. You stumble against him as he begins to work you, breathing heavily against his clothed chest. You turn your face so your teeth can nip at his skin underneath.

‘Take - this - off.’ You hiss, and he laughs, slipping his fingers out of you with a groan to oblige. Santi removes his t-shirt quickly and chucks it somewhere across the room before pushing his jeans down and stepping out of them. He hurries to find purchase within your body once more, rocking you against him, curling his fingers deep inside you. His tongue returns to your mouth and you remember his hard cock in his boxers. You reach for it, but he blocks you with his arm. You whine.

‘Tan mojada ya, baby.’ He drawls. Santi removes his fingers from where they were curling inside of you and brings them to your mouth, tapping your lips. You open for him, and he presses them in, allowing you to swirl your tongue over them. You clean off the scent of your heady arousal as Santi watches you. He presses them hard, once, against your tongue, and you open your mouth wide for him. 

He retracts his fingers.

‘Good girl,’ he murmurs, and it goes straight to your cunt. You whimper a little, and he grins, stepping back and out of his boxers. ‘Take those off for me.’ He says, motioning at your soaked panties. You almost trip in your eagerness to do so. He retreats backwards until his calves hit the mattress, and he sits down before laying back, getting comfortable.

Santi watches you from the bed, laid out on his back. His lips curl as you rake your eyes over him - hands folded behind his head, his biceps rounding by his ears, his firm, strong torso spattered with dark hair, and his long, hard cock, bobbing and drooling as he takes you in.

‘Come here.’ He says. 

You begin a slow walk to the bed, hesitating only for a moment as you crawl onto it and towards him. He licks his lips as you come closer, and you bite your lip back.

You feel unsure without being given specific direction, but you know that Joel will put you right if you step a toe out of line. So you place a knee on either side of Santi’s hips, and sink your heat down onto him as he pulls you forward by the back of your neck, searching for your lips.

You start to move, to adjust to try and let him inside, before Joel’s voice cracks like a whip out of the corner.

‘Either of us tell you you could fuck him yet?’ He growls.

You try to draw your mouth away from Santi to give your response, but he clamps your bottom lip between his teeth so you can go no further. You whimper and shake your head.

‘So put your fuckin’ hips back down. Y’ain’t earned it yet.’

Santi lets your lip go and flops back against the sheets with a shit-eating grin. You lower your hips again and place both your palms on his stomach, pushing your tits together. He eyes them greedily, reaching out and flicking a thumb over each nipple. You feel your pout grow, your brows drawn tight together and your bottom lip swollen, jutting out almost comically. Santi catches a glimpse of your face, and puffs out a laugh.

‘Poor baby,’ he coos, ‘Just wanna get fucked, don’t ya?’ You nod pathetically, but don’t dare move. He is achingly hard beneath you, his thick length resting perfectly between your folds. Santi lowers his hands from your nipples until he has them on your hips, and like he’s read your fucking mind, he begins to rock you back and forth.

A wanton, needy moan drools out of your mouth as your pussy wets him, fresh slick leaking out of your clenching hole. You wonder how much of this Frankie can hear. 

Santi groans beneath you, watching the head of his cock disappear under you every time he slides you forwards. The pressure of him just against your lips is heady, and you watch as he guides you forwards just a little more, urges you to lean a little further forward until your clit catches on the head of his cock on every slide. You throw your head back, your fingers scratching at his torso, and he watches you. He whispers that you look so pretty like this, how he can feel you, look at how wet you’re making my cock, baby, can feel you twitchin’ on me already, angel. He guides you back and forth until you feel a heavy pressure begin to settle in your pussy, a burning beginning deep in your gut. Your moans become more frantic as you begin to plead with him, though you’re not sure what for.

‘Use your words, baby,’ Joel reminds you from his seat. ‘Ask Santi. Tell him what you need.’

You release a hot breath of air, biting your lip.

‘Gonna come, Santi,’ you tell him breathlessly, ‘Need to stop. Gonna come.’

But Santi just smiles sweetly up at you, his eyes heavy lidded. You pussy twitches, the knot pulling tighter. He reaches up with one hand and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

‘Why would I want you to stop, angel?’ He asks. You shake your head. You don’t know. ‘Talk to me, baby.’ He prompts.

‘I don’t know. Haven’t been - fuck - told -’ you whimper. He nods, swallows harshly.

‘I want you to come,’ he tells you, ‘I want you to come now, and then I’m going to make you come again, and then as many more times as I see fit, do you understand?’

You groan and nod.

‘Yes, Santi.’

‘Good girl,’ he says. ‘And when I’m done with you, I’m gonna give you back to your daddy, and he’s gonna make you come as many times as he sees fit, too. Okay, baby?’

You clench around nothing, painfully, moving faster over Santi’s cock of your own accord.

‘Fuck. Yes, Santi.’

Santi settles his head back against the bed again, running his hands all over your body, anywhere he can touch you.

‘Go on, baby,’ he says, ‘Use me.’

Fuck, you groan out, tilting your hips to allow your clit to scrape down the underside of his cock at every pass. Without thinking, you lean so far forward that you plant a hand around the base of Santi’s throat to keep yourself upright, tightening your fingers over his pulse point. He lets out a strangled moan, his eyes fluttering closed, and you feel the pressure in your core build heavier and heavier until the white hot heat snaps. You throw your head back, coming with gasps of his name and loud moans, still rocking yourself back and forth, still squeezing over his neck.

Your vision is fuzzy and your breathing still feverish when Santi grabs at your fingers and pries them away from him. You flush at your carelessness, an Imsosorry rushing out as you stare at your hand in his. He shushes you tenderly, breathing deeply.

‘S’okay, baby,’ he says, ‘I like it. Don’t have a problem with it.’ He squeezes your hand, and then fixes you with a wicked, cruel look. ‘Just don’t wanna come yet, that’s all. Only so much a man can stand when I can feel you falling apart on top of me.’

You flush even deeper, leaning forward to bury your face in his neck, laving hot, open mouthed kisses along the hard muscle there. He groans and chuckles against you, kneading your ass.

‘Want me to fuck you now, baby?’ He murmurs into your ear.

You whine against him, lick across his jaw.

‘Yes, Santi,’ you groan. ‘Please fuck me.’

Santi grips the hair at the base of your neck to pull you away from him, and you let yourself be led. He slides you off him, and rests on his knees before you. Your eyes dip hungrily to his bobbing cock, shining with your come, tip an angry red, precum dripping down its length. It twitches under your gaze, and you lick your lips. 

Santi chuckles again, his hand still buried in your hair.

‘Dirty fuckin’ girl.’ He murmurs as he manipulates your body. ‘Turn around,’ he says, ‘Hands and knees, baby.’ You follow his directions, turning on the bed towards Joel before planting your limbs and curving your spine, angling your ass in the air. You’re not sure where you should look until Santi releases your hair and leans over your back, a hand on your hip.

‘Look at your daddy,’ he says into your ear, gripping your chin softly to angle your head. You look at Joel through heavy lidded eyes, only to find his are similar. ‘Keep your eyes on him.’

Joel is still fully dressed in the chair, head heavy against the back of it. His legs are spread wide, a hand on either arm, fingers spread and clenched slightly against the fabric. His jaw is tense, and you can see how his jeans strain over his cock - fully hard by the looks of it. You moan into the sheets as you watch him watch you. Santi kneels behind you, running his hands over your soft skin, as he dips two fingers through your folds, swearing softly.

‘She’s so wet, Joel.’ He whispers, and Joel’s eyes leave yours momentarily to see Santi hold his fingers up to the light, coated in slick. Joel’s hips move slightly, bucking into nothing, and he barely manages to grunt out a response. You wonder again how much of this Frankie can hear behind the door, whether he’s straining in his jeans just as Joel is, whether his ear is pressed against the crack just so he can hear what Santi is whispering to you both.

Pope grips one of your hips, and uses his other hand to line himself up at your entrance. He uses his tip to spread your slick around a little more until you whine again, fisting the sheets.

‘Please, Santi, please -’

And he needs no more encouragement, sinking all the way in on the first thrust. You cry out into the mattress, your sounds coming out choked, overwhelmed as he sets a relentless pace.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he hisses out behind you, neither of you able to get more words out. 

You quickly lose yourself to the feel of him pumping in and out, every part of you wound up tight, hot. You can feel yourself squeezing him already, making his hips stutter. Joel notices, too. You wonder whether he remembers Frankie is outside, as well, because he manages to force out in a low grumble -

‘How does she feel?’

Santi gathers your hair up in a fist, bringing your face up from the sheets just so they can hear you better. He grits his teeth, tries to stutter out his answer -

‘So - fucking - good -’ and at this, a delicious smile sweeps across Joel’s face. He’s proud. You moan even louder and manage to garble out a daddy, which makes him positively grin.

‘Atta girl, baby,’ he says to you, before turning back to Santi, ‘Just good?’

You and Santi both hear the prod in his words, and it shoots another thrill through you to remember just how much control Joel has; how he wants him to tell him what he already knows, to prove that his worth.

‘Not just good,’ Santi groans, ‘Fuckin’ perfect. So tight. So warm. She’s clenchin’ me already, makin’ me feel like a fuckin’ teenager,’ he laughs around a puff of air, before leaning back into you. ‘Tómatelo con calma, hermosa - quiero que esto dure.’ You moan again at his words, as they spark the opposite of their desired effect.

‘Shit,’ Santi chuckles out, ‘God, Joel. Pussy like I’ve never felt. And so responsive, too.’ To prove his point Santi lands a firm smack on your ass and you yelp, pulsing around him, biting your lip. He moans behind you. ‘Don’t know how you ever get anything done,’ he bites out, ‘I’d never be able to leave her alone.’ 

You glow under Santi’s praise and Joel’s warming stare, and push yourself up loosely onto your elbows as Santi returns both of his hands to your hips. You push back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Santi gasps, before reaching around you to rub desperately at your clit. Your moans bounce off the walls, sharp gasps and whines melting into begging -

‘Please, Santi - fuck - oh my god, oh my god, please - ‘m so close. So close -’

‘Gonna come again, baby?’ He coos from above you. You nod furiously.

‘Yes,’ you gasp out, ‘God, please Santi, fuckin’ me so good -’

With a grunt, Santi hauls you upwards so your back is flush against his chest. He fucks into you harshly, fingers still working your clit, his other hand pinching and twisting a nipple as he kisses and bites his way along your neck, you shoulder, below your ear.

‘Good girl,’ he says, and your head dips back onto his shoulder, mouth open in a sob because he feels so good - 

Santi grips your chin again, yanking your face down and towards Joel.

‘Look at your daddy,’ he snaps at you, ‘You look at your daddy when you come for me.’

And you do. You can barely keep your eyes open as your body gives out, loud, broken moans escaping your mouth, Santi and daddy alternating somewhere in there as Santi fucks you through it, fingers still on your clit as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder -

‘Good - fucking - girl.’

And you see even Joel’s eyes close momentarily, his hands clenching to fists on the arms of the chair, a growl of desperation only you can hear tumbling out of his chest.

Santi is relentless as he chases his own release, but you’re so tight around him that he refocuses his efforts.

‘Again, baby,’ he orders, ‘Give me another. I can feel it. Come on. It’s right there. You gotta give it to me, hermosa -’

But you whine against him, twitching, trembling, sobbing through the overstimulation, unsure where the boundary between pleasure and pain is. You shake your head, try to catch your breath.

‘Too much, Santi, too much,’ you cry, ‘Can’t - don’t know -’

‘You can, baby,’ he breathes, voice like steel, and you whimper. That tone so similar to Joel’s, how he knows, how now Santi knows, that you can.

At his insistence, you tumble off the cliff again, weakly calling his name as a gush of arousal spills onto his lap, as you pulse and contract around his cock. He releases a strangled groan, his hips stuttering, his breathing heavy. He peers over your shoulder at Joel.

‘Where do you want it?’ he gasps.

‘Inside her.’ Joel growls, and you moan again as Santi sheathes himself to the hilt and comes and comes and comes. You feel him fill you, his dick pulsing and twitching deep in your pussy, and he sags as he begins to leak out. You both hit the mattress, Santi just about propping himself up on his elbows so he doesn’t crush you. You both breathe heavily for a second, until he moves your hair from your face and touches your cheek.

‘You okay?’ he rasps, throat dry. You chuckle breathily.

‘Yes.’ You sigh. Santi licks his lips and laughs quietly, too, shifting gently to slip out of you. You both groan, trying to catch your breath again. Your limbs are liquid, your body heavy, and somewhere in your dazed state you feel him dip a kiss to your shoulder blade before using his tongue to soothe the bite mark he’d left earlier.

You turn your face towards him as you feel his weight leave the bed. He smiles at you, muttering something about getting himself cleaned up before gesturing to the opposite way you're facing. You turn your head to find Joel, pulled to his full height, standing at the foot of the bed, still fully fucking clothed.

You slowly rise to your knees on the mattress, and Joel smiles at you, lifting a hand to settle against your cheek. You lean into it, turning your head to kiss his palm.

‘You okay, baby?’ he asks softly.

‘Yes, daddy.’ You breathe.

He nods, pleased.

‘Good. On your knees, on the floor for me, baby girl.’ He says.

You pull your languid limbs off the bed and settle on your knees on the floor, waiting patiently for him. You rest your palms on top of your thighs, tingling and relaxed, and wait for your instruction. It comes before Santi even leaves the bathroom. 

‘Mouth.’ Joel says, and you shuffle forward towards him, hungry hands grappling with his belt as he chuckles down at you. ‘My eager girl.’ And you shine a blinding smile up at him. 

You whip his belt off, launch it across the room, and make quick work of the button and zipper, pulling his jeans down his thighs so just his boxers are left. You lick your teeth at the sight of his barely contained cock, the front of his underwear stretched, the tip of his dick peeking from above his waistband, leaking and swollen. You rise up on your knees as you reach for the band, lifting your eyes to Joel’s as you pull his underwear down, smiling again as one of his big hands comes to rest at the back of your head, impatient already. 

His boxers and jeans pulled down, you take Joel into your hand, pumping him gently before pulling the tip to your mouth, blowing on it lightly before pressing a kiss to the weeping slit. Joel sucks a breath in through his teeth, and presses his hips forward, sinking his cock past your lips. You take him gratefully, opening as wide as you can, your tongue soft and firm against him, tracing and twirling as you hollow your cheeks.

‘So good t’me.’ Joel breathes out, pushing a little further, just to hit the back of your throat and hear you choke lightly. You moan around his length, your eyelids flickering shut as he begins to fuck your throat slowly, making sure to feel every inch you allow him access to.

Santi emerges from the bathroom, and he can’t help but grin as he takes in the sight of you on your knees before Joel, swiping a hand over his mouth to try and hide his mirth. You flutter your eyelashes at him, and he shakes his head before crossing the room to sit in the chair Joel was in before. He crosses an ankle over his knee, leaning back to watch you both. 

You hum around Joel and begin to bob up and down his length, using your fist to pump what you don’t have the patience to take in your mouth. Joel tangles his fingers in your hair and groans as he feels your tongue dip into his slit, slip over the sensitive spot on the underside of his head. 

‘Fuckin’ hell,’ he grunts, ‘Putting on a show for Santi, are we?’

You smile wickedly around his cock, before taking him all the way to the base on your own. You hold your head there as long as possible as Joel chokes out moan after moan, and from behind you Santi mumbles -

‘Fuck, Joel. She’s leaking all over the floor.’

Joel huffs out a breath, pulling you off his cock. He peers down at you, eyes dark.

‘Are you, baby?’ He asks.

You wiggle your ass to feel what even you hadn’t noticed, too caught up in sucking his dick. A small puddle of you and Santi has been dripping down onto the hardwood where you kneel. More slick pulses out of you at the realisation.

‘Yes, daddy,' you sigh, and Joel’s eyes roll up into his head. He yanks your hair roughly to bring you to your feet.

‘Get up,’ he snarls, ‘And get on the bed.’

Joel all but throws you back on to the mattress, and it happens in such a rush that you wonder if you’ve done something wrong. You wrack your brain as Joel undresses before you, his eyes scouring your body, taking in the marks, the bruises already forming, how your hair is wet with sweat at the roots, how your pussy still drips onto the sheets - 

And then you get it. Joel is getting off on it - on the thought of you being full, used, wanted, shown off -

Once he is down to just his skin, he crawls over you, lifting and pushing your hips to move you up the bed. He dips his head to lick and kiss and bite at your neck, and your hands flutter around him, touching him everywhere. His back, his arms, his neck, his face, scraping your nails down his exposed skin. He makes his way to your mouth, devouring you - all tongue and teeth until he rears back to look at you, sprawled and gorgeous below him. 

‘So beautiful, baby,’ he groans, ‘So perfect like this. Open your mouth for me.’ You do as he says, flattening your tongue out against your lower lip for good measure. He groans again, and then leans forward to spit in your mouth. You swallow it down hungrily.

‘Thank you, daddy.’ You say, and he leans back down to kiss you again before retracing down your neck, your collarbones, your breasts -

‘Such a good girl, rememberin’ your manners,’ he grumbles, ‘So good, takin’ Santi, look so good when you’re takin’ his cock.’ You whimper as he bites down on each of your nipples, soothing them with open-mouthed kisses. He kisses down your stomach, around your heat, nipping the inside of your thighs, making sure to leave marks, breathing hotly onto your skin.

‘But now you’ve made a mess, baby, haven’t you?’ He says. You mewl at the ceiling, clutching the sheets around you as Joel blows on your clit, hovering just above where you need him. ‘Words, baby.’ He reminds you, with a sharp slap to your thigh.

‘Yes, daddy.’ You cry.

‘And what do we do when we make a mess?’ He asks.

‘Clean it up, daddy.’ You pant.

‘Good girl,’ he coos, ‘Good girl.’ Before he licks a fat, hot stripe from your leaking hole up to your clit.

You gasp at the sensation, your back arching off the bed, the coil in your stomach already wound impossible tight, every part of your body still so sensitive. Joel works with abandon at your pussy, flattening his tongue to lap at you, tasting the mixture of you and Santi, slurping around your opening before focusing his efforts on your bundle of nerves, sharpening his tongue to work it in tight circles, then figure eights. Your hips buck strongly against him, and he secures a forearm against your lower belly to stop you struggling. He hums against you as your hand winds its way into his curls, scratching lightly at his scalp.

‘Daddy, daddy, daddy, so good - fuck - so good - tongue feels so good, baby -’ You babble to him, to yourself, and Joel lowers his mouth, working his tongue inside you, grinding his nose against your clit. Your shoulders shoot off the bed, and you pull his hair now, biting a curse between your teeth. Joel doesn’t let up for a second, just moves his forearm so he can force your upper body back down onto the bed. Your fingers loosen their grip on his hair, coming up instead to scrub at your face as moan after moan escapes you.

A groan echoes from the chair, and you flick your gaze behind you to see Santi watching greedily, palming himself through his boxers. The sight only serves to work you up more, your core tightening and tightening and tightening, an unbearable heat settling where Joel’s tongue is, but you need him deeper -

‘You close, baby?’ He mumbles against you.

‘Y-es.’ You force out, as he pinches your clit between his lips.

‘What do you need?’ He asks.

‘Fuck - your fingers, Joel, please -’ 

Joel obliges, slipping one, and then two digits into your cunt easily, fucking them in and out as he licks again at your nub, swirling and sucking and lapping -

‘Come on, baby,’ he groans, ‘Give me what I want.’

The forearm he has braced against your middle barely keeps your back on the bed as you come, hard and loud against his tongue. Your whole body twitches, so warm, as he laps and laps and laps at you, as you beg him to stop, to let you breathe for just a second - but he doesn’t, he never does, just eats until he’s had his fill, until he’s satisfied. 

When he lifts his head from between your thighs, his beard and cheeks are glistening with your come. He releases his grip on you and begins to crawl upwards again, and you clamp your thighs shut to stop him from provoking anymore overstimulation. He laughs down at you, kneeling back to yank your legs back open with his strong hands.

‘We’re not done with you, yet, baby,’ he coos, ‘I ain’t had all my fun.’

You shake your head at him, pitiful, your lower lip jutting out. He pouts back at you.

‘You don’t want daddy’s cock, darlin’?’ He asks. You can’t even find it in you to hesitate.

‘I do,’ you cry, ‘Just don’t wanna be touched anymore.’

Joel nods at your words, strokes your cheek, kisses your forehead.

‘It’s okay, baby girl,’ he murmurs, ‘I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. Won’t make you come again if you don’t want to.’ Liar. He knows just as well as you do what his cock does to you. But still, he pauses, makes sure you’re looking at him. ‘Can I still have this pussy, angel?’

You blink up at him. Something warm curls in your stomach. Relief, you think, that he’s heard you, understands - that you know - even with Santi and Frankie here - you could stop this at any time.

‘Yes, daddy.’ You say. 

He smiles, wraps you up in a tender kiss.

‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ He murmurs as he lines himself up at your entrance, and begins to sink in.

Joel tugs at the backs of your thighs, hitching them to your chest so he can watch as he splits you open. His eyes flick from your cunt to your face, the glistening slit stretching to accommodate him and the way your jaw falls loose in a silent ‘o’, your brows brunched, your eyes rolling and falling shut. The slip of him is sinful tonight - your orgasms leaving your body like jelly, Santi’s cock preparing you for Joel’s thickness. But he still moves toe-curlingly slow, inch after inch after inch providing a delicious stretch. He groans as he feels you flutter and tense and contract around him, still unable to breathe, unable to speak. Only he can get you like this - not a babble slipping past your lips, unable to do anything but feel him. Joel pants, moaning again as he bottoms out, tip kissing your cervix. He runs a finger over your cheek, letting you adjust further.

‘Talk to me, baby,’ he urges.

He rocks his hips back and forth, no more than an inch, but it punches out the breath you were holding.

‘Fuck, Joel,’ the whisper all you can get out. He smiles at you.

‘Yeah, angel?’

‘So big.’ you breathe, shifting your hips so he can sink even further in.

‘There she is,’ he huffs, pulling out again, ‘There’s my girl.’

Joel rocks forward again, and you cry out around him, the noise setting him off into a languid pace which allows him to hit every single spot inside you. You can’t bear to touch your own body, frightened of sending yourself into the void, but you do touch Joel. You clutch at his biceps, his tight forearms, nails leaving little crescent moons wherever you grip. You tangle your fingers in his salt and pepper curls, swipe the lines on his forehead, the stubble on his cheeks. He twists his head to kiss and suck at your thumb, and you mewl at him, eyes wide and glassy, so full of him you don’t know what to do.

You’re barely aware, even, of the slick sound of skin and Santi’s soft groans as he works his cock in the chair, caught up in the intensity of you and Joel fucking, his chest flushed and shining with sweat. 

There’s still not a noise, not a peep from the other side of the door.

All you can hear is Joel; his deep breathing, low grunts and moans, his whispered praises, and the startlingly wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of you. You can’t stop the contractions that build inside you, and every time one ripples through your pussy Joel’s head drops a little lower towards your chest. 

Your orgasm feels deafeningly close and impossibly strong, brought on by every shift of Joel’s dick. You try to breathe through it, your moans getting louder, soaking the room with sound, but it’s hopeless. 

Joel dips his head to kiss you softly, swallowing your sounds for just a minute. When he pulls away, you teeter on the edge, everything feeling heavy and blurred and blazingly good.

‘Joel.’ You whisper urgently.

‘I know, baby,’ he says, ‘I can feel it. You’re taking it so well, sweet girl. So good f’me. I know it feels good. You can let go. You can do it. Come on.’

You all but scream against him, your orgasm ripping through your body, every muscle on fire. Your legs shake and your arms tighten around his neck as you shiver and twitch around him, and he moans, long and loud, like you’ve never heard him do before. 

As he fucks you through it, the relief, the pleasure catches up with you, and tears swell and pour out of your eyes.

‘So good,’ you sob, ‘So good daddy, God -’

Joel coos back at you. ‘Atta girl, baby. Knew you could do it. Knew you could give me one more. And it was so pretty, baby.’ he grins at you, before picking up his pace. You whine beneath him.

‘’S okay,’ he promises, ‘Where do you want me, darlin’?’ and you huff at him, as if you could ever give a different answer.

‘Inside. Come inside me.’ You say. And Joel crowds you out, pushing all the way in so you’re moaning again, pumping in the deepest part of you as his hips flex against yours, his head in your shoulder. You stroke his curls, breathing deeply as he relaxes. 

‘Jesus Christ,’ he mumbles against your skin. He pulls his head away, blinking. You giggle up at him.

‘Y’alright?’ you ask, and he smiles back.

‘Fuckin’ more’n alright,’ he laughs, ‘Are you?’

‘Yeah,’ you say, ‘Real good.’

Joel slides himself out of you, both grunting at the loss, and he flicks a look over your shoulder.

‘You good, Pope?’ He asks, grinning at the other man. You twist your head to look at him too, giggling again when you take in his fucked out face, exhausted in the corner, his stomach covered in come. Santi can’t help but grin back.

‘Yeah, great.’ he answers wryly, and you giggle even more.

Joel laughs with you, rolling onto his back and pulling you against his shoulder, kissing your hair.

‘Did so good, baby.’ he reminds you again as you feel him begin to dribble out of you.

Santi stands with a groan, and makes his way back towards the bathroom, muttering something about having to clean himself up again. 

You press your face to Joel’s neck with a smile, leaving soft kisses, only coming away when you hear the jingle of a belt buckle. Santi is dressing at the end of the bed, just short of pulling his top on. You frown at him.

‘You’re leaving?’ you ask. He looks up, smirking again.

‘Not yet, querida,’ he says, ‘Just cold. Besides, there’s still someone we need to look after.’ 

You watch him as he buckles his belt with baited breath, curious as to how this will play out. You aren’t sure what exactly will happen next - whether Frankie will come in, or who will… deal with him. Your breath hitches in your throat before Joel answers your questions for you.

‘Go check on Frankie, baby girl,’ he murmurs, stroking your hair back. You bury your face in his chest again, and breathe in deeply. You scrunch the sheets at his waist in your fist, and Santi chuckles at your reluctance to leave the bed. You plant a kiss to Joel’s exposed skin before pulling yourself away to sit up on the bed. Planting your feet and gathering your strength before standing. You pick up Joel’s flannel from the floor and slip your arms into it, bundling yourself against the chill you now also feel as you pad towards the door. You feel Joel and Santi’s eyes on you, silent, assessing.

When you reach the bedroom door, you touch it gingerly, breathing deeply. You feel… nervous. How would Frankie react to everything he’d heard? You knew he’d done things like it before, but you knew you would be so… angry. Jealous and frustrated. You bite your lip, and slowly pull the door back.

Frankie is exactly where Santi left him, on his knees a step back from the threshold. Your breath catches in your throat as you take him in.

At some point during it all, he'd removed his cap. It’s tossed on the floor a few feet away, and his hair is… fucked. Strands stick out on all sides, his curls mussed and frazzled. Sweat is gathered at his temples, and his skin has a warm, glossy sheen to it. All across his face, right down to the hollow of his throat peeking above his t-shirt. His lips are swollen and bitten, wet with spit as his tongue pokes out to lick them again at the sight of you, and his eyes… Eyes so dark they’re almost black, pupils blown so wide they just sparkle back at you. Deep, dangerous, and hungry. 

He’s ravenous as he looks you up and down - your smooth skin, naked thighs, bare pussy - still dripping with come - up to your exposed tits, bitten and bruised, your neck, your face… totally fucked out, swollen lips, smudged makeup, your own blown out eyes. He moans as he takes you in, and you go weak at the knees at the sight of his hands raking up and down his jean-clad thighs. His dick is straining against the denim, against the claw of his zipper, and as you look closer, you see a wet patch much larger than just precum darkening the fabric. Your cheeks flush at the sight, at the knowledge - Frankie had come in his pants just listening to the three of you.

You breathe out shakily and get to your knees, so close to him you're almost touching. You reach a hand out to cup his cheek, and he leans into it, breathing in and out deeply, closing his eyes.

‘You okay, baby?’ You ask him softly, voice low. Frankie groans again.

‘Yes.’ He croaks out. 

You don’t know if you’re allowed, but you figure you’ll find out soon enough. You lean forward, tits spilling out of Joel’s shirt, and place your hands on his thighs. His breathing sputters, and his head drops forward, but not before you can catch his lips in a sweet, soft kiss. Just like you’ve wanted to, for so long. 

He sighs against you, lips seeking yours. But he seems so exhausted, so on edge, that he can hardly pour any fire into it. His tongue searches your mouth, almost like a plea. 

Please. Please.

As though he hears it too, Joel says quietly from the bed -

‘Help him, baby.’

You pull away from Frankie’s kiss and lean your forehead to his.

‘What do you need?’ You whisper. 

He looses a ragged sigh, too turned on to even know himself.

‘Can I touch you?’ He breathes.

You nod, and he reaches out his hands - carefully, gently - to skirt over and up your waist, to touch your stomach, to skate over your tits. You wince, once, as he traces over one of your nipples, and he freezes. You smile shyly at him.

‘It’s okay,’ you whisper, ‘’M just sore.’ He nods, and continues to touch, caressing your neck, thumbing your jaw, your cheekbone, stroking your brow. He’s so tender, so Frankie, that you feel tears well behind your eyelids. As though he can sense it, tell the gravity of the moment, he drops his hands, skirting them along your thighs, drifting towards your hips, thumbs rubbing the sides of your tummy, before creeping towards your heat.

‘Is this okay?’ He asks.

‘Yes.’ You sigh, this time against his mouth, drawing his lips back to yours. 

When Frankie dips one of his hands to sweep through your folds, you both moan. Low and long against each other. 

‘Fuck,’ he breathes against you, stalling. Slowly, slowly, he brings his coated fingers to his mouth, so close to you that you can smell it, the mix of you and Joel and Santi, and he slips the digits between his lips. He holds your eye the whole time, devouring, tongue swiping over every knuckle, every valley, until they’re clean. He releases them with a pop. You groan, wanting him, impossibly, and you ask again.

‘What do you need, Frankie?’

‘You.’ He says. Frankie swoops forward again to kiss you, one hand now at the back of your head, one back between your legs, gathering the mess between your thighs. You rock against his hand as he parts you, feels you, and you reach forward for his belt, his button, his zipper, undoing all three in record time. You slip a hand into his jeans, under his boxers, impatient to feel him, all of him, and he gasps against you, stilling his movements. He groans your name, almost in warning. 

‘It’s okay,’ you tell him, stroking his hair soothingly, ‘You’ve waited so long, Frankie. It’s okay.’

You take your hand out from his pants, and join his at your pussy, just for a moment, just to collect what’s left and what’s already pooling from you again, before returning your hand to his cock, using the combined juices to move your hand easily up and down. Frankie moans brokenly against you, his body slumping forwards. 

You can’t see him like this, but you can feel him - and Frankie is big. Not quite as big as Joel, but thicker and pulsing against your palm, already wet from his come and what you have just provided him. You swipe your thumb over his tip, collecting his precum to spread down his length, and he jerks against you at the movement. 

‘Fuck, baby,’ he whispers, ‘I can’t, I’m not gonna last, hermosa -’

You shush him again, kissing at his temple, his brow, his cheek, before nudging to his lips.

‘It’s okay, Frankie,’ you say again. ‘I want you to come. You deserve to come. You’ve been so good for us.’ 

And it’s all Frankie needs as he moans loudly against your lips, body seizing and relaxing harshly against yours as he spills himself over your fist, over his jeans, over your thighs and the top of your mound. There is so much of him it’s almost comical, and you laugh softly as he finally starts to relax.

He looks up at you shyly, questioningly.

‘Look at you, Frankie,’ you breathe, and he flushes right to the tops of his ears. ‘So good.’ You murmur.

‘All for you,’ he whispers so only you can hear. He holds your gaze, trying to communicate everything he’s been thinking behind that door. ‘All for you.’

You lean forward and kiss him again. Try to forget, for now, the scratch of those unanswered questions, what it could all mean. Later.

‘Come on,’ you say, taking his hand and rising from the floor. He follows and returns your smile. ‘Let's get you cleaned up.’

[choerrypuffs]

fast times.

pairing: co-worker!donghyuck x reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 7.6k

synopsis: throughout the snapshots of your life, lee donghyuck is always there. (or, you realize that you’re in love with the bane of your existence.)

author’s note: i started grad school and it’s literally eating me alive so i wanted to write something short and sweet to de-stress and then it ended up being almost 8k words 😭

warning(s): excessive drinking, family tension

playlist: fast times by sabrina carpenter ― the bottom by gracie abrams ―  stress by taeyeon ― ruin my life by zara larsson ― cruel summer by taylor swift 

ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2022  sun’s up too soon like daylight savings, mixed emotions are congregating 

Liquid courage, as the poets say.

Well, don’t fact check that, but surely Wordsworth or Coleridge or whichever poet that Taylor Swift talks about in the lakes mentioned something about getting shitfaced during a St. Patrick’s Day office party.

Regardless, you’re going to pretend like they did because it’s a lot less romantic (lowercase r, not capital like the movement) if you’re just drunk off your ass at an office party without an artsy-fartsy literary reference to back you up.

You’re one too many shots of tequila deep, swaying to the shitty techno music that someone is blasting from their pretentious Spotify playlist while stumbling past the office cubicles, including yours and He Who Shall Not Be Named’s, on your wobbly trip to the bathroom.

Despite the copious amounts of alcohol in your system, the remaining coherent part of your brain is sounding the alarms that you’re probably going to throw up soon. You wish that part of your brain would just shut the hell up because you don’t want to think rationally right now.

You don’t want to think about He Who Shall Not Be Named and how he’s in love with your best friend. You don’t want to think about how his eyes found her the moment she walked into the office, how his gaze melted into a pool of honey, his head swiveling towards every direction she went like a stupid bobblehead. Not that you blame him; everyone is in love with Karina. It’s not his fault, but you’re mad at him anyways.

Ugh, see? You’re thinking about him again.

Anyways, you’re also grateful for that part of your brain because the poets definitely do not write about spewing chunks in front of your co-workers. You just want to hurl in peace and wallow in your misery with the porcelain toilet bowl by your side.

The poets probably wrote about that.

You finally make it to the hall where the bathrooms are, having steady yourself against the wall as you make your way down because walking in a straight line has become a luxury. However, you only get about five steps (at least you think it’s five, numbers are hard) when someone grabs your arm. You don’t even realize your legs are in the process of buckling until there’s a pair of hands supporting your waist to keep you upright.

“Jesus, Y/N,” someone breathes in relief, exhaling loudly.

You’d recognize that condescending tone anywhere.

He Who Shall Not Be Named carefully leans you against the wall, one hand still on your waist while the other removes the bottle of Jack Daniels that you didn’t even know you were clinging onto from the nook of your arm. With one smooth motion, he tosses the bottle into the trashcan and doesn’t even flinch when the bottle very audibly shatters inside.

“I know you’re a loyal worshiper of mine, but just Y/N is fine,” you slur, not sounding nearly as cool as you’d hope, “though it’d be pretty fucking funny if you washed my feet.”

He huffs and pauses, like he’s debating on whether or not he should say what he wants to say next. And because he’s a piece of shit, he says it:

“For the record, Jesus washed his disciples’ feet. Not the other way around.”

You groan, shoving him hard. He barely budges, so most of the force in your shove kicks back to you. Feeling yourself tip forward, you grab his shoulders out of instinct to avoid busting your head open against the hard tile. In the process, your forehead slams into his chest, and he lets out a soft grunt. His hands grip your elbows, fingertips warm against your even warmer skin.

“I hate you,” you sniffle, burying your face in his shirt. He smells exactly like a fluffy towel that just came out of the dryer. “You’re tactless and you never let me win and you have shitty taste in movies.”

“And you’re drunk,” he replies nonchalantly, “Why do you drink so much when you’re such a lightweight?”

“You don’t deserve Karina,” you continue angrily.

He actually laughs at that. “Okay, young lady. I’m going to drive you home now. Come on.”

You lift your head so fast that you nearly slam it into his jaw; luckily, he sees it coming and steps back before you can knock his teeth out.

“Don’t,” you hiss, poking his chest. “I don’t want you to drive me home. Don’t drive me home unless…”

He raises an eyebrow. “Unless what?”

“Pretty boys can never be trusted,” you hiccup.

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about, but let’s continue this discussion when you’ve sobered up,” he sighs, crossing his arms. “And when you are sober and realize that you don’t want to talk about this anymore, like I suspect you’ll do, I’ll even pretend like this conversation never happened because I am a gentleman.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” you whisper blearily.

You’re wearing a green t-shirt that has “Kiss me, I’m Irish” plastered across the chest in big, bold white letters. You borrowed it from Karina when you realized you didn’t have any green in your closet. Of course, only Karina would look good in something like this, but you really didn’t want to be pinched the entire night. Someone had plastered four-leaf clover stickers all over your face, though you’re not sure how many of them are still on at this point. Your makeup should be intact since you haven’t been sweating, even if you probably have mascara residue under your eyes. You’ve certainly looked better, but this definitely isn’t the worst state you’ve been in.

It’s a stupid question though, really. No matter how pretty you are, he’s already chosen Karina.

When you glance back up at him, he looks like one of those cartoon characters that have two perfect red circles on their cheeks when they blush.

You haven’t seen him this flustered in a long time. He’s always had this smug, impenetrable mask of an expression that you want to punch off his face―like he’s constantly one step ahead of you in something.

You want to take out your phone and take a picture of his expression so badly.

Instead, you hunch over and throw up on his expensive shoes.

VALENTINE’S DAY 2018 my feelings used to be serrated, but you speak in such a perfect cadence

Pretty boys should never be trusted.

That is your ultimate mantra in life.

Especially pretty boys that claim to be “nerdy.” The ones that smell nice and aren’t misogynistic but also like games and anime and know how to code. The ones that wear indie band t-shirts and actually enjoy the band but don't care if you wear the same t-shirt just because you like the aesthetic. The ones that wear rings on their fingers and metal-rimmed glasses on the tip of their noses.

The ones that other girls would claim were “written by women.”

It’s all a trap.

If anything, they’re worse than the obnoxious frat boy chads. At least those are straightforward about what they want. Nerdy pretty boys are professional manipulators, meticulously slicing your heart into thin little pieces to use as a garnish for their own ego.

So when the new intern swaggers into the office, hands tucked into the pockets of his designer slacks, your Pretty Boy senses start to tingle.

He’s wearing a crisp white button-up (not a band tee since he’s at work), and he’s got rings on his fingers and metal-rimmed glasses right on the tip of his nose. His hair is a little curly and falls into his eyes in that messy but charming look. He’s got a round face and pouty lips, looking just sweet enough to disarm someone.

After he walks in, the CEO of the company follows, and now everything makes sense.

“Everyone, this is my grandson, Donghyuck,” Mr. Lee explains, smiling warmly.

Nepo baby, you realize, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“I want you all to know he won’t be getting any special treatment,” Mr. Lee says firmly, “He will have to work his way from the bottom, just like everyone else.”

Right, that’s why you’re personally introducing him to us, you think wryly.

After receiving a load of ass kissing from the employees, Mr. Lee finally leaves, and your team leader points Donghyuck to the empty cubicle right next to yours. He strolls over with an ease as if he owns the building (he technically does) and takes a seat. He smiles at you, though it reads as more of a smirk than a good-natured smile.

“Hi, I’m Donghyuck.”

When he looks at you, he does so with his whole body. His lanky frame is completely angled towards you as he unabashedly drinks in your side profile with his mischievous, twinkly eyes. The way he stares at you with such intrigue makes you jittery, and you keep your line of sight glued to your computer screen, refusing to indulge him even through your peripheral.

He’s deploying his Pretty Boy tactics, you warn.

“I know,” you snap back. You don’t mean to come off that aggressively, but you just know he’s trouble. In an attempt to remedy your curt response, you softly tack on, “I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you.”

“You don’t like me very much, do you?” Donghyuck asks, the quirked grin on his face growing.

You blink in surprise. You were not expecting him to say it so straightforwardly. “I…just met you.”

“You’re not answering the question.” He tilts his head, though he doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it. Rather, he probably already knows the answer.

You’re not sure what to say to that, and Donghyuck doesn’t try to continue the conversation either. Instead, he begins to unpack his stuff and set up his work space. When he turns on his personal laptop, you see League of Legends downloaded onto it.

Yikes.

Like the standard pretty boy, he starts hanging up an indie band poster, along with some anime ones you don’t recognize and―a Twilight poster.

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head when you see it. Men, even the pretty boys who are trying to make themselves as appealing to girls as possible, rarely ever admit to watching, much less enjoying, Twilight.

Okay, so maybe your Pretty Boy tingle got one thing wrong, but it doesn’t change the fact that he checks most of the Pretty Boy boxes―

“Are you Team Edward or Jacob?” Donghyuck asks, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

You have no one else to blame but yourself for snooping, but you still grow hot from your face to the tips of your ears and all the way down your neck.

“I’m Team Charlie,” you reply breezily, sounding pretty calm for someone who’s screaming on the inside.

His eyebrows slightly raise, and he just laughs quietly to himself.

You relish in that tiny victory.

.

.

.

As it turns out, Donghyuck is an extremely fast learner.

And despite being a nepo baby, he puts his money where his mouth is. He picks things up extremely quickly and utilizes everything he has learned efficiently. In fact, he’s doing so well that he’s starting to threaten your position as the office’s favorite intern.

And of course, on today of all days, you fuck up.

Another intern messed up the report, and you somehow overlooked it while you were checking. However, the responsibility falls on your shoulders because it was your job to make sure the report was correct. You get viciously chewed out by your team leader, and you’re guaranteed to have to work overtime to fix everything.

Ultimately, it is your mistake, and you’re not disputing that; you just know that you’re being made an example of so the office can look good in front of the CEO’s grandson.

So, while everyone is gathering their stuff to leave, you’re the only one still at your cubicle, fingers clicking away on the keyboard. Your eyelids are already starting to droop, despite the fact that you have at least a couple hours left of work. Giving yourself a couple of smacks on the cheeks, you try to shake away the brain fog and keep going.

You’re so immersed that you almost don’t notice Donghyuck set down a cup of coffee on your desk.

“I bought two for myself, but I think you need it more than me,” he admits, actually seeming a little sympathetic.

“Thanks,” you say, a little wary but still appreciative. You’re too tired to even question his motives.

He gives you a wave before leaving. Once he’s gone, you turn back to your computer and start to work again. You nearly forget about the coffee until you pause to take a big stretch, noticing it in your peripheral. Picking it up, you notice there’s a message scrawled on it.

happy valentine’s day! maybe i’ll grow on you :)

You smile, but only a little bit. Only because he’s a little cute.

When you finally take a sip, you nearly spit it all over your computer screen.

It’s so bitter that it sends a shudder throughout your whole body. You start to cough, feeling like even a single drop of that coffee getting in your system is going to make your short circuit. You’re not even sure if this poison could be considered black coffee. It might be actual black tar. Frantically digging through your drawers to find some candy or gum to offset the bitterness, you begin to curse Donghyuck in your head.

When you finally find a half-melted caramel cube and pop it into your mouth, it occurs to you that Donghyuck didn’t even have a cup of coffee in his hands even though he said he bought two.

“That asshole,” you whisper.

Cracking your knuckles and rolling your neck, you start to type again with a renewed vigor, thinking of all the ways you were going to make Donghyuck pay to power you through the rest of the night.

ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2022  sun’s up too soon like daylight savings, mixed emotions are congregating

You’re not sure how He Who Shall Not Be Named manages to clean himself up and wrangle you into his car in such a short timespan, but he does it. Most of it is a blur to you, though you do recall him throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carrying you through the parking garage after you started trying to fistfight him.

Now, you’re leaning your head against the cool window, watching all the buildings whizz by, as he drives in silence. Well, not complete silence. Music is being softly played on the radio. It’s that stupid indie band he likes, and you hate that you know exactly what song it is. You remember it from last time.

I’ve only been in his car twice, including now, you think groggily to yourself.

He must really like this song.

APRIL FOOLS 2019 three stories up here contemplating, but what the fuck is patience?

“Is this some sort of sick April Fools’ joke?” you demand.

“Come on, Y/N. Surely, you don’t think a prank of mine would be this lame,” Donghyuck retorts, offended.

The two of you are fighting again. At this point, it’s a daily occurrence in the office. In fact, Karina likes to say that the official work day doesn’t really start until you and Donghyuck start going at each other’s throats. You feel bad that everyone has to constantly deal with your bickering, but Donghyuck asks for it every time.

“You can’t just take someone else’s client,” you say through gritted teeth, wanting to smack that insufferable look right off his face.

“I didn’t take anything,” he corrects haughtily, “I was assigned your client, who is now my client. Take it up with the team leader.”

“The team leader would suck a fart out of your ass if you asked him to,” you hiss back.

He shrugs like you have a point.

“Fine,” you snap, grabbing your bag. “I’ll go talk to my client myself. I’ll get them to request to be transferred back to me.”

Before marching out, you grab the coffee on your desk and down it all in one go. It’s been sitting there for a couple hours, so it’s ice cold. The cold temperature in combination with the extreme bitterness is just the right mixture to light a fire in you.

Unfortunately, that fire is dimmed when you step foot outside and realize it’s thunderstorming heavily. The wind howls so piercingly that it almost hurts your ears, and the onslaught of rain is so strong that you can barely see the cars on the streets. You weigh your options: you have no car, there’s no way you can wait for a bus, and there sure as hell aren’t going to be any available taxis.

Just as you begrudgingly decide to do the walk of shame back into the office and wait out the storm, you hear a loud honk and see an obnoxiously red Ferrari pull up. The tinted window rolls down, and you find yourself staring at nepo baby Lee Donghyuck.

“Need a ride?” he shouts over the pouring rain.

“Not with you!” you holler back, turning to go back inside.

“Are you really going to wait it out?” he teases. “Their office closes in twenty minutes.”

You want to keep walking and ignore him, but your traitorous feet plant themselves on the concrete and refuse to let you take another step.

“Thanks for the new client, I guess!” he continues in a sing-song voice. A car behind him beeps, and you hear his window roll back up as he slowly starts to drive away.

“Damn it,” you mutter. Not giving yourself to think, you whirl around and dash out into the rain. Luckily, he decided to leave at a snail’s pace, so you have time to fling his car door open and slip inside.

Even though you were only in the rain for a few seconds, you’re soaked to the bone. Your pants make a squish noise when you settle yourself into his expensive leather seat. You want to make a joke about ruining his seats, but your teeth are chattering too hard for you to even speak.

Donghyuck reaches over and turns your seat warmer on before also blasting the heater. Your thin blouse has become see-through, and you awkwardly cross your arms over your chest, hoping he hasn’t noticed. Unfortunately, he has noticed, judging by the way he loudly clears his throat and reaches into the backseat to give you his hoodie.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, pulling it over your head before slipping your arms through. The sleeves are too long, so you roll them up to your wrists. His hoodie smells like fabric softener.

“No problem.” His voice cracks.

Neither of you say anything after that, only the sound of the rain pitter-pattering against his car filling in the silence. Eventually, he turns on the radio.

It’s a song you don’t recognize, but you deduce it’s from one of his indie bands when he starts humming along. You’re not even sure he’s aware that he’s doing it, though you don’t really mind. He’s not a bad singer, and you actually enjoy the song.

The two of you spend the remainder of the drive just listening to music, neither of you really feeling the need to speak. It’s a calm, comfortable silence―something that you never thought would be achievable between you and him. Rather, you wish you had more moments like this.

By the time you arrive at your client’s office, the rain has stopped. You assume he’s going to leave after dropping you off because it’s not raining anymore, and especially since the meeting ends up lasting way past the office’s closing, but you see his Ferrari still there when you come back out.

Walking over to him, you knock on the window.

“You didn’t have to wait up,” you say when he rolls it down, slightly touched.

“You have my hoodie,” Donghyuck states plainly.

Well, there goes the moment. You can always count on him to say something to piss you off.

“Right.” Rolling your eyes, you start to take off the hoodie in the street.

“I’m just kidding, Y/N,” he grins, “Come on.”

You let out a small huff, even though you’re smiling too, and you climb in. He turns the radio on again, and the two of you fall back into the ambiance. It occurs to you that Donghyuck’s car smells overwhelmingly like rain and leather and him. When you cross your arms, the scent of the fresh fabric softener from his hoodie wafts back up to you. You feel warm―the kind of warmth that blooms in the pit of your stomach and then melts throughout your body, like when you take a sip of hot chocolate on a cold day.

“How was it?” he finally asks after the song ends.

“Who do you think I am?” you scoff. “Of course I got them back.”

He smiles, and it makes you feel proud.

“You can tell the team leader to suck the fart out of my ass,” you retort.

This gets a laugh from him before he hesitantly adds, “I really didn’t want to take your client.”

You’ve never heard him sound so serious and so…vulnerable before. He says it with a slight desperation, like he doesn’t think you’ll believe him.

“I know.”

And much to your own surprise, you do know.

Now that’s a sick April Fools’ joke.

ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2022 sun’s up too soon like daylight savings, mixed emotions are congregating 

“You don’t deserve Karina,” you mumble, coming in and out of sleep.

He Who Shall Not Be Named laughs again at that, though he sounds a lot more exhausted. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“Don’t think I didn’t see it,” you slur. “You were making those stupid moon eyes at her all night long. Looking like some lovesick puppy. Gross.”

He laughs for a second time, but there’s not a hint of humor in it.

What if it had been me, you want to ask him.

NEW YEARS EVE 2019 tiptoeing past so many stages, but what the fuck is patience? 

You’re not sure what possessed Mr. Lee, probably the fact that his grandson works for the company, but he randomly announced one day that the entire office was getting an all expenses paid trip to a fancy ski resort as a New Years present. Needless to say, everyone was absolutely ecstatic.

But you should’ve known something was going to go wrong when Karina suggested that the two of you leave the bunny slope and move straight into the advanced slope, despite the fact that neither of you have ever skied in your lives until now.

You’d like to think that Karina’s sudden bravery was due to the adrenaline of being on such a luxurious trip. You’re going to blame your lack of judgment on the adrenaline rush as well because you actually agreed to it.

Of course, things derailed almost immediately and literally because the two of you ended up veering off the course due to your lack of steering abilities and somehow found yourselves in a random, remote wooded area off the edge of the slope. Karina also twisted her ankle after landing incorrectly, so there’s that too.

Oh, and there’s a snowstorm.

Well, it’s not really a snowstorm. It’s more of a flurry, but it’s terrifying nonetheless because of your current situation. Karina can barely move, and neither of you have any clue where you are nor do you have any sort of communication device since you left it all at the resort. It’s not like you can leave Karina by herself to get help either. You can really only hope that someone finds you before the frostbite starts settling.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Karina sniffles, her nose redder than Rudolph’s.

You hug her tightly, both to comfort her and to keep the two of you as warm as possible. “Stop crying, you’re going to dehydrate yourself. You can apologize when we get out of here.”

She chokes back a sob.

You want to cry too, but you bite down on your lower lip and just cling onto Karina harder.

“Damn, and I was finally going to follow through with my New Year's resolution of fixing my sleep schedule,” you joke, voice trembling.

Karina laughs weakly at that too. “You say that every year.”

“I know,” you admit sheepishly, “but I really am going to this time. I need to make sure I’m in tip-top condition because there’s no way in hell I’m letting Lee Donghyuck get that promotion over me.”

That’s right, you tell yourself. I can’t die here. Not before that dumbass.

You’re not sure why you’re suddenly thinking about him again, but it makes you feel a lot less scared when you picture his dumb smirk and that sly glint in his eyes when he’s gearing up to say something to piss you off. He always knows which buttons to press on the exact wrong day to press them.

You kind of wish he was here now. He would probably be cracking stupid jokes and distracting you―

“Y/N!”

Blinking the snowflakes out of your eyes, you squint past the sheet of snow and tall trees, trying to make sure you aren’t hallucinating. You see a blurry figure running towards you and Karina, the beam of their flashlight peeking through the darkness. When did the sun start setting?

Speak of the pretty boy, and he shall come, you suppose, because Lee Donghyuck is suddenly kneeling in front of you.

The smug look he always dons is wiped clean from his face, instead, his eyes are wide like two saucers and his hands are trembling. You can feel how tightly he’s clutching your arms even through the thick material of your parka. His hair is damp against his forehead; whether it’s from snow or sweat or both, you’re not sure. His face is flushed, and his nose is red like Karina’s, but you want to reach out and boop it for some reason. You can see his labored breath come out in white puffs due to the temperature.

“I found them!” Donghyuck calls out, turning behind him. A couple of your other colleagues emerge from the trees, all holding flashlights. Then, he reverts his attention back to you. His face is all furrowed up, like he isn’t sure whether to be mad at you for being reckless or collapse with relief.

“Are you hurt?” he eventually asks, voice strained as he helps you to your feet. He brushes the snow out of your hair and lifts your ski goggles from your eyes, scanning your face.

“Karina twisted her ankle,” you reply numbly, unable to feel your lips.

He glances over at Karina, who’s being helped by your other co-workers, before looking at you again. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head.

Donghyuck exhales loudly, and you watch his shoulders relax. Then he says, “What the hell were you thinking?”

You flinch at his sharp tone. He’s never raised his voice at you before. You’ve always been the one yelling at him.  

“You can’t even drive a car, so what on Earth possessed you to try and ski on the advanced slope?” he continues to reprimand you. “What’s the point in being this smart if you’re not going to use common sense―”

You burst into tears.

You cry for many reasons: the sheer terror you’d been trying to keep at bay finally catches up to you, you’re grateful to be alive, you’re upset that Donghyuck is scolding you, you’re happy that Donghyuck is scolding you, and most of all, you know he’s right. He’s right, and you’re glad he’s right. You’re glad that he’s standing in front of you.

“You’re such a dick,” you wail, “I can’t believe you’re yelling at me when I almost died. Why can’t you just comfort me like a normal human with empathy?”

Donghyuck grows quiet, and you see his expression soften. Sighing, he reaches over and swipes the tears from your face. When you sniffle, he takes his expensive cashmere scarf and wipes your nose with it. He doesn’t even blink at the snot on it as he cups your frozen cheeks with his gloved hands. Grinning evilly, he squishes your face together, a mush of tears, snot, and puffiness.

“I’ve never wanted you more,” he teases.

“I’m going to kill you,” you grumble, shoving his hands away. Though you do find solace in the fact that he’s making fun of you again.

Your colleagues call the two of you over for help, and you make your way to Karina, who’s still unable to get up.

“Hyuck, do you mind carrying her back to the resort?” One of them asks, their hands too full with Karina’s skis and their own emergency supplies that they brought.

Donghyuck hesitates for a moment, his eyes inadvertently flashing towards you, before he kneels down and turns his back to Karina as he prepares to give her a piggy-back ride.

“I’m heavy,” Karina warns as she carefully climbs on.

“Don’t worry, I do five pushups a week,” he replies breezily, and despite his joking, he stands to his feet without a problem.

She laughs at that, sounding like an angel descending from the heavens.

He adjusts her thighs in his arms slightly, pausing to ask, “That didn’t hurt your ankle, did it?”

She shakes her head, and he says something else that makes her laugh again.

It’s not that you’re jealous that he’s carrying Karina. After all, she’s injured, so it would be a bit obnoxious to be upset over something that isn’t anyone’s fault. And it’s not like you’re any more special to him than Karina.

No, this feeling isn’t jealousy. It’s…uncertainty.

You’re uncertain that he would do the same for you if you were in Karina’s position. Has he ever reassured you with such ease like he did with her? Has he ever treated you like you were made of glass? Has he ever spoken to you so tenderly like that?

You suddenly feel so cold.

Three.

When you get back to the resort, there’s an ambulance waiting to take you and Karina to the hospital for a checkup. You try to tell everyone that you don’t need to go to the hospital, but your colleagues, Karina, and the paramedics insist on you doing so.

“Your glove is torn.”

Before you can even register his words, Donghyuck is holding your hand and flipping your palm over. The fabric of your right glove is ripped, exposing the tip of your pointer finger. You must’ve scraped it against something in the middle of all the chaos because there’s some dried blood caked around your nail.

“You should go,” he says softly, giving your hand an encouraging squeeze before letting go.

Once Karina is properly settled on the gurney, you’re ushered into the ambulance after her. As the doors close behind you, you catch Donghyuck’s eyes one last time. You don’t get to see what his expression is because you look away almost immediately, focusing your gaze on your finger.

Now that the adrenaline has worn off, it does sting a little.

Two.

.

.

.

Once the hospital finally discharges you and Karina in the middle of the night, the two of you call an Uber back to the resort and clumsily stumble up to your room like two people that just came home after a long night of partying, completely exhausted.

You’re so busy fumbling with your room key and nearly miss the gift that someone has set in front of your door. Picking it up, you realize it’s one of those hot chocolate sets that come with a cute little mug and are wrapped in holographic plastic. There’s also a separate bag of marshmallows beside it.

You don’t really examine it that much, simply handing it off to Karina.

“Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer.”

One.

Karina doesn’t notice the note tucked into the holographic plastic until she’s hobbling to the trashcan to throw it away.

happy new year! maybe i’ll grow on you :)

She turns to you to ask you about it, but you’re already tucked in bed fast asleep. Shrugging, she crumples the note up and tosses it away without another thought.

“Happy New Year,” she whispers to you before crawling in bed herself.

It’s a shame you didn’t get to see the fireworks.

ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2022 sun’s up too soon like daylight savings, mixed emotions are congregating 

“I’m hungry,” you whine, jolting awake and hitting your head against the hard leather headrest on your seat.

“Probably because you emptied out the contents of your stomach onto my Air Jordans,” He Who Shall Not Be Named says wryly.  

You ignore him, getting distracted by the hot dog vendor that you drive by.

“I like hot dogs,” you say absentmindedly.

HALLOWEEN 2021 picturing us in all these places, ahead of myself’s an understatement

You just wanted to get away from the crowd, really.

The party was getting a little stuffy, and it’s pretty easy to get overheated when you’re in a thick Teletubby onesie. You and Karina had the bright idea of dressing as the purple and red Teletubby, but neither of you considered just how hot it would get.

So, that’s why you’re wandering around the dim hallways of the office, munching on a handful of candy―only to end up hearing a conversation you shouldn’t have.

“You are my biggest failure.” That’s Mr. Lee’s voice, hushed but angry.

“More than my mom? I’m honored.” It’s Donghyuck this time. He laughs, a bitter and choked sound.

You nearly yelp when the sound of a loud slap echoes down the hallway. No one else talks after that, and you only hear the sound of footsteps walking away.

Actually, walking away sounds like an absolutely amazing idea, so you turn on your heel to make a quick escape―

And of course, on today of all days, you fuck up.

All of the candy that you had been clutching to your chest slips from your sweaty palms, clattering to the floor. Every single clatter makes you shrink further and further into yourself, and you have no choice but to step out from the corner you were hiding in.

In probably one of the most poorly-timed situations of all time, you have to face Donghyuck while dressed as the purple Teletubby, and he has to face you while dressed as a hot dog―right after you just involuntarily witnessed a glimpse of his strained familial relationships.

“Hi,” you greet awkwardly, gesturing to all the candy that just fell on the floor. “You, uh, want some candy?”

When he looks at you, all the words die in your throat. There’s a red mark on his cheek, and he looks like a little boy again. He stares at you like a deer in headlights, a mixture of horror, embarrassment, and frustration all over his face. He seems so lost and alone, and you don’t know what to do to help him.

“No thanks, Tinky Winky,” he finally replies. He gives you a half-smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“What?” You blink.

“You’re dressed as the purple Teletubby, and you don’t even know his name?” He raises an eyebrow as he sits down on the floor, leaning against the wall.

“I think it’s weirder that you do know his name,” you try to tease.

He doesn’t react to that, and you just stand there. Not wanting to leave him alone, you squat down and start to pick up the candy on the floor to keep yourself busy.

“You should go back to the party,” Donghyuck says quietly.

“It’s too hot,” you complain.

“Y/N.”

“Wanna watch Twilight?” you suddenly ask.

He stares at you for what seems like forever, his expression unreadable as he searches your face. After a bit longer, he just says, “Okay.”

You gather up the rest of the candy before taking a seat on the floor right next to him, brushing your shoulder against his. Pulling out your phone, you open the Netflix app and start to play Twilight.

You pretend you don’t feel him trembling, and you tell yourself he’s crying because he knows Bella will eventually choose Edward over Jacob. The two of you watch in complete silence; he doesn’t explain, and you don’t ask.

Instead, you push your hood off so you don’t poke him in the face with your triangle antenna and lean your head against his shoulder. Then, you lace your fingers through his and hold his hand without a word.

A hot dog and Tinky Winky the purple Teletubby watching Twilight, who would’ve thought?

ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2022 sun’s up too soon like daylight savings, mixed emotions are congregating

“I hate you, Lee Donghyuck.”

He doesn’t say anything to that.

CHRISTMAS 2021 outlines on bedsides, give me a second to forget i ever really meant it

It happened on the last day of work before Christmas break.

You gawk at the opened box in your hands, a pair of fluffy white angora gloves wrapped in fancy wrapping paper staring back up at you. Even though there’s no receipt included, you already know that these gloves cost more than three month’s worth of rent for your apartment.

“Did you steal these? Is that why you’re giving them to me? So you can frame me for your crime?” you ask suspiciously.

“Please,” he rolls his eyes, “as if I’d let you take the credit for any one of my crimes.”

You carefully take the gloves out before tossing the box at him. Catching it deftly and handing it back to you, he pretends to wipe away a tear dramatically.

“I went through the trouble of remembering how your gloves were ripped during the ski trip, so I meticulously picked these out for you,” he whines. “And I can’t believe you’re now questioning my goodwill.”

That makes you pause.

Is he talking about those cheap gloves that you used only once for that disastrous ski trip and then threw out immediately afterwards? The gloves that you haven’t thought about once since then? The gloves that you had to rack your brain to recall when he started talking about them just moments before? You can’t believe he remembered something so random.

Why did he remember?

It’s a question that haunts you on the entire plane ride back to your hometown and follows you throughout all of your family dinners and even when you’re lying awake on your cramped childhood bed.

It’s a question that both baffles and angers you at the same time. You wish he didn’t remember, and you wish he never gave you those gloves in the first place. The company is always generous to their employees around the holidays, and you know that this isn’t anything special, but it makes you feel special. It makes you want to be special. To him.

He is just a pretty boy. A pretty boy that likes indie bands and wears rings on his fingers and metal-rimmed glasses on the tip of his nose. A pretty boy that likes League of Legends and Studio Ghibli and Twilight and that one Hallmark movie you once caught him watching in the break room. A pretty boy that drinks black coffee. A pretty boy that drives a red Ferrari. A pretty boy that gave you a ride in that red Ferrari when it was raining. A pretty boy that looked for you for an hour during a snowstorm. A pretty boy that dressed as a hot dog for Halloween. A pretty boy that gave you expensive gloves because he remembered.

When did he go from Pretty Boy to Donghyuck?

But he can’t be Donghyuck. He can’t just be Donghyuck to you. Because that would be too real, too unrestrained. Because Donghyuck makes Karina laugh, so he can’t make you laugh. There needs to be decorum, after all. If he’s just Donghyuck, then what happens after?

That’s right. He can’t be Donghyuck. From now on, you won’t say his name. You’ll only know him as He Who Shall Not Be Named.

.

.

.

It happens when your mom tells you to take the casserole out of the fridge.

You see it, that traitorous pack of hot dog sausages.

You think back to Halloween, and then―

Oh my God, I like him.

“What the fuck,” you groan loudly.

That gets you a couple of gasps from your elderly relatives and an asswhooping from your mom.

ONE DAY AFTER ST. PATRICK’S DAY 2022 ― PRESENT fast times and fast nights, no time for rewrites

For the record, Donghyuck was not looking at Karina.

And if you’d stop avoiding him like the plague, he would be able to explain that to you.

He honestly applauds your ability to ignore the elephant in the room, considering that his cubicle is right next to yours. You’ve continuously managed to give yourself more work or conveniently slip away to the bathroom during any moment of down time. His patience is honestly starting to grow thin, but you wouldn’t be you if you didn’t wear it down to the wire.

Donghyuck finally manages to hunt you down in the same hallway where you threw up on his shoes. It’s hilariously ironic, and he would normally make a joke about it, but he’s in a bit of a time crunch. You look like a spooked cat, preparing to dart away the moment there’s an opening.

“Surely, someone as smart as you is aware that you can’t just avoid me forever.” He tilts his head.

“Well, if you move, we can find out if I can or not,” you reply, refusing to look at him and trying to walk past him.

“How’s your hangover?” he asks cheerfully, stepping to the side and blocking your way.

“Awful.”

“Do you remember what happened last night?”

“No,” you say instantly. You’re such a terrible liar.

“You said you hated me,” he starts softly. He isn’t sure why he’s saying this. This isn’t what he wanted to talk about first. The order is getting jumbled in his head. “Do you?”

You suck in a wobbly breath. “No.”

It doesn’t hit him until after your answer how deathly afraid he was of you hating him. He has grown so desensitized to the word “hate,” yet it’s only when it comes to the person he cares about the most that the gravity of that word becomes so apparent.

“I like you, Y/N.”

This isn’t exactly the grand declaration of love that he was imagining; he was thinking more along the lines of The Notebook or any romcom from the early to mid-2000s, but it felt like the right time to just say it now.

Your reaction isn’t exactly what he had in mind either.

You’re gawking at him like he just grew another head. He isn’t sure why you’re so surprised; he hasn’t exactly been subtle about his crush on you.

“No, you don’t,” you say in an accusatory tone. Leave it up to you to even argue with him on his own feelings.

Now it’s his turn to gawk. “What?”

“You don’t like me,” you state firmly, but it sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself. “How could you like me?”

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow, and he starts listing off reasons with his fingers. “I start a fight with you every morning because I want to have an excuse to talk to you, I bring you coffee everyday, I drove you to my client’s office in the middle of a storm so you could take back said client, I nearly shat my pants when they said you were missing at the ski resort and also bought you hot chocolate and a huge bag of marshmallows for New Years, and you were the only one I gave a Christmas present to last year.”

“You bought the hot chocolate and marshmallows?” You blink in surprise.

“Is that all you got from what I just said?”

“But Karina―”

Oh, right. He wanted to say this first.

“I wasn’t looking at Karina,” Donghyuck finally confesses, “I was looking at you. It’s always been you.”

That’s right, it’s only ever been you.

The stupid green “Kiss me, I’m Irish” shirt. Your smeared lip gloss that he wanted to kiss right off. The sparkly stickers all over your cheeks that made you look absolutely adorable. The way you buried your face into his shirt. How you fit right into his arms. Even when you threw up all over his favorite pair of shoes, there was no place Donghyuck would rather be.

Do you think I’m pretty? you had asked him.

Yes, you’re pretty. You’re so pretty that he feels like his heart will stop every time he lays his eyes on you. You’re so pretty that he can’t even think about the seasons without thinking about you and how you’re so much more beautiful than autumn, winter, spring and summer and anything in between. There’s never been a moment when you weren’t stunningly, breathtakingly, and heart-stoppingly pretty in his eyes.

“But―But that doesn’t make any sense,” you sputter, “You can’t like me!”

“Why not?”

“Because you just can’t.”

“Do you like me?”

“Yes―no! Regardless, you can’t just suddenly decide you like me―” you begin to explain.

“I’ve always liked you,” he points out.

“We’ve spent four years hating each other, and now all of sudden, we like each other? It’s too abrupt―”

“Y/N.” Donghyuck reaches over and grasps your wrist, his warm fingers against your even warmer skin as his thumb traces circles against the back of your hand. “Will you go out with me?”

When he looks at you, you have the same expression on your face as when he first met you and caught you staring at his Twilight poster. Your eyes dart around nervously, your pulse pounding against his fingertips, and he knows he has his answer.

“Okay,” you breathe.

He sighs, coiling an arm around your waist and pulling your body flush against his. Leaning his forehead against yours, he whispers, “Now was that so fucking hard?”

He kisses you, and you taste like everything he’s ever dreamed of and more.

[supernovaslut]

Chapter 2: No Longer Strangers

Din Djarin x OC

Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: MDNI, canon typical violence, cursing, angst, hurt/comfort, minor character death, injuries, protective!Mando, protective!Astra, Toro Calican is a creep

Previous Chapter ~ Masterlist ~ Next Chapter

The Razor Crest zoomed through space, weaving away from the blaster fire from a bounty hunter trying to get the Child. Astra sat next to Mando, strapped in and looking back every once in a while to make sure the kid was okay.

It had been a few weeks since Astra and Mando decided to work together. They’d left Sorgan a few days ago to Mando’s chagrin and Astra’s delight. They had gone to hide, but when they helped some people reclaim their village, a bounty hunter found them. Astra killed him when she’d found him lurking in the woods aiming to shoot Mando and they decided to leave.

As peaceful as it was, Astra knew they wouldn’t be able to stay there. She knew how resilient the Empire was, like kriffing cockroaches. If they wanted her or the kid, they wouldn’t stop until they had them.

Luckily for her, they’d only run into bounty hunters looking for the Child. Honestly, Astra felt guilty about it. The Child was innocent. Astra was not. Not that Mando knew that, which added to Astra’s guilt.

They’d been prickly with each other for the most part, but they had their moments. Just the other night, Astra had offered him the food she had made for herself and the kid. He accepted, hiding away in his room to eat. It was a step in the right direction, she thought, but then he was cold to her the next morning, passing her without a word and sitting silently in the cockpit for so long that Astra would’ve thought he’d fallen asleep if he wasn’t flipping a switch or checking a reading every once in a while.

The ship swerved, narrowly avoiding another blast as a voice came over the comms, “Hand over the child, Mando.” BAM! A blast hit the ship, knocking Astra to the side. She put an arm out to stop herself from fully flying out of her seat.

“I might let you live,” the bounty hunter added.

“Yeah, right,” Astra muttered as Grogu whimpered. She turned around to make sure he was okay.

“Ya know,” Astra started, turning to Mando, “Not to be a backseat driver, but I don’t think this is going well for us.”

“You think?” Mando asked sarcastically, spinning the ship in evasive maneuvers until one of the engines was hit.

“Hold on,” Mando suddenly said, and Astra didn’t take those words lightly, bracing for whatever the hell he was about to do. The ship spun around and around, making Astra dizzy as the ship was bombarded with shots, taking out the other engine.

“Come on,” Mando said to himself. “We’re gonna die,” Astra muttered, white knuckling the arms of her seat.

“I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold,” the hunter said.

Astra whipped her head to Mando, recognizing that as something Mando had said to her when she was his bounty. Mando ignored the man, pulling back the controls and letting him fly over the Crest, right in Mando’s line of fire. “That’s my line,” Mando said before shooting the hunter’s ship. The last thing Astra heard was the hunter’s scream as his ship blew up.

The ship was silent as it sputtered through space, one engine fully dead while the other barely functioned.

“Well,” Astra said after a moment, “That was exciting. What’d you think, kid?” The Child cheerfully babbled in response.

She turned to Mando, watching him flip switches frantically.

“Losing fuel,” Mando said just as the ship powered down.

“Need any help?” Astra asked, watching him stand.

“No,” he said curtly.

“Well, alright then.”

Mando did something behind her and the backup generator came on, the red lights of the cockpit illuminating Astra’s face. Mando sat back down and flipped a few more switches until the ship came back to life and they shot off towards the nearest planet.

“Where are we headed?” Astra asked. Mando flipped the radio switch and it crackled to life as a man’s voice came over the comms, “This is Mos Eisley Tower. We are tracking you. Head for bay three-five, over.”

“Copy that. Locked in for three-five,” Mando replied.

“Oh, so you’ll reply to him, but not me. I see how it is,” Astra huffed, crossing her arms.

“We’re gonna need to get the ship fixed up. I’ll take a job while we’re there to pay for it. You stay with the kid,” Mando said.

“I’m sorry? You’re prickly with me all day and now you want me to play babysitter?” Astra asked, incredulously, “No, not again. I’m going with you this time. You’re not leaving me with the kid like you did on Sorgan.”

“Someone’s gotta watch him,” Mando rebuked.

“Then you stay,” Astra smiled, cocking her head to the side.

Mando was silent.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Astra nodded, “We can leave him in your room or whatever else you did before I got here.”

Mando sighed as he landed the ship. He stood and walked off, taking the kid, who’d somehow fallen asleep, and closed him inside a hidden panel in the wall.

“You sure he’s safe there?” Astra asked.

“If you’re coming, keep quiet and do what I say,” was all Mando replied, opening the ship’s door.

Astra followed Mando as he stepped down the ramp, shooting at the droids that started to scurry towards his ship.

“Hey!” Peli Motto yelled, coming towards the pair, “You damage one of my droids, you pay for it!”

“Just keep them away from my ship,” Mando ordered. Astra rolled her eyes. She was annoyed at how bossy he could be. She was far more capable than he could ever know.

“Yeah, you think that’s a good idea, do ya?” Peli asked, stepping up close to Mando and eyeing him up and down before looking behind him to Astra, giving her a once over as well.

“Let’s look at your ship,” she said, walking up to the side of the Crest and banging on it in a few different spots. She then listed all the many things wrong with the ship.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in a shootout,” she said, looking back at the pair, saying nothing yet everything.

“Special tool for that one. I am gonna have to rotate that. You got a fuel leak. Look at that, this is a mess. How did you even land? That's gonna set you back,” Peli continued, approaching them again.

“I’ve got 500 Imperial credits,” Mando said. Astra couldn’t contribute since Mando had kidnapped her with nothing but her satchel.

“That’s all you got? Well, what do you guys think?” Peli asked, turning to the droids. They chattered a bit, some nodding and some shaking their heads.

“I’ll get you your money,” Mando promised.

“Hmm. I’ve heard that before,” she said doubtfully, taking the 500 credits.

“Just remember,” Mando started.

“Yeah, no droids. I heard ya. You don’t have to say it twice,” Peli said, waving them off.

Astra followed Mando out, her hand protectively reaching for her satchel as they left the hangar and made it out into the town. Mando seemed to know exactly where he was headed, and all Astra could do was try to keep up.

“So, what’s the thing with the droids?” Astra asked, trying to spark conversation. Mando ignored her. She was coming to realize there were a lot of things Mando didn’t want to discuss. He looked her way, which excited her for a moment, until she realized what he was looking at.

Rows of bloodied Stormtrooper helmets. Astra shuddered, visions of cold hallways, marching feet, a breath, deep and modulated, surrounding her.

“Hey,” Mando called. Astra looked ahead to where he’d stopped to wait for her. She hadn’t even realized she’d stopped walking. “Coming, Shiny,” she called, catching up to him. Mando watched her, her arms stiff and eyes slightly dazed. He had so many questions floating around about her, as she did him.

He didn’t know what to think of her. He’d thought she’d become a nuisance or maybe bolt at the first chance, but she’d chosen to stay. She could have been dropped off on any planet to hide, but she chose to join him, and he had accepted! That was what confused him the most. He wasn’t sure if he trusted her, but then she’d saved him on Sorgan, shooting that bounty hunter aimed for him.

There was something off about her, though. The blaster shot looked wider, cleaner than normal, even for close range. Mando knew he had to keep his guard up, but something about her kept whittling it down.

• •┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ⋆★⋆ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈• •

Mando and Astra arrived at the Cantina, stepping into the dimly lit bar full of a variety of species chatting and drinking away.

“Stay here,” Mando said to Astra, walking up the bar. Astra followed him anyway.

“Hey, droid, I'm a hunter. I'm lookin’ for some work,” Mando said to the bartender droid.

“Unfortunately, the Bounty Guild no longer operates from Tatooine,” it replied.

“I'm not looking for Guild work,” Mando said, leaning closer and lowering his voice a touch.

“I am afraid that does not improve your situation, at least by my calculation,” the droid responded loudly.

Think again, tin can,” a voice said from behind them.

Mando and Astra turned around to see a man sitting at a booth.

“If you're looking for work, have a seat, my friends. Name's Toro, Toro Calican,” Toro said. Astra noticed an air of narcissism about him.

“Come on, relax,” Toro continued, gesturing to the booth for them to sit. Mando and Astra looked at each other. She couldn’t see his reaction, but she hoped her wary look said enough. They sat, Mando ensuring Astra went in first as he stood halfway off the chair, like he was ready to go at a moment’s notice. Toro looked between them, his eyes lingering on Astra longer than she felt comfortable with.

“Picked up this Bounty Puck before I left the Mid Rim,” Toro said, turning on the fob which showed a woman with braided black hair.

“Fennec Shand, an Assassin,” he explained, “Heard she's been on the run ever since the New Republic put all her employers in lockdown.”

“I know the name,” Mando said. Astra thought it was familiar, too. Perhaps something she’d overheard from before. She did a lot more listening than talking back then.

“I followed this tracking fob here,” Toro continued, a map appearing on the hologram, “Now the positional data suggests she's headed out beyond the Dune Sea. Should be an easy job.” Toro looked between the two with a confident smile.

“Well, good luck with that,” Mando said, standing. Astra slid out of the booth, grateful that Mando had turned the man down.

They made it to the door when Toro called out, “Wait, wait, wait, hey. I thought you needed work?”

Mando stopped, to Astra’s chagrin.

“How long you been with the Guild?” he asked Toro.

“Long enough,” Toro said suspiciously. The more the man talked, the less Astra trusted him.

“Clearly not,” Mando refuted, “Fennec Shand is an elite mercenary. She made her name killing for all the top crime syndicates, including the Hutts. If you go after her, you won't make it past sunrise.”

There, Astra thought, now that was the end of it.

“This is my first job,” Toro pleaded, “You can keep the money, all of it. I just need this job to get into the Guild. I can't do it alone.”

Astra and Mando looked at each other again. Astra shook her head, not liking the way Toro stared at her.

Mando turned back to Toro, saying, “Meet me at Hangar three-five in half an hour. Bring three speeder bikes and give me the tracking fob.”

Toro smashed the fob against the wall. Yet another red flag, Astra thought.

“Don't worry, got it all memorized,” Toro said, smiling.

“Half an hour,” Mando repeated and left, Astra already halfway out the door.

“Looks like you're stuck with me now, partners,” she heard Toro call from inside.

Mando walked past her, heading back to the hangar.

“Hey!” Astra called, catching up with him, “I don’t trust that guy.”

“Neither do I,” Mando agreed.

“Then why the hell are we working with him?” Astra asked, baffled.

“Because we need the credits to fix the ship,” Mando said simply.

“Ok, but him? There’s something off about him,” Astra said, trying to get through to Mando.

“You’re welcome to stay on the ship with the kid,” Mando offered.

Astra scoffed, shaking her head, “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Well, tragically for you, I’m not going anywhere. You’ll need someone to cover your ass again, anyway.” Astra smiled mockingly.

“Should’ve dropped you off at the nearest planet,” Mando muttered.

Astra gasped sarcastically, “Rude. Admit it, you need me!”

“I need you?!” Mando asked incredulously, stopping outside the hangar door, “If I hadn’t found you, another bounty hunter would have already turned you in. You weren’t very hard to catch.”

Astra gaped at him, offended. She shook her head and took a deep breath, saying, “Look. We need to work together and to do that we have to trust each other. I have no problem putting my faith in you since I am literally here right now instead of anywhere else, but you’ve been a brick wall since we got here! What’s your problem?” Mando crossed his arms, tilting his head as he looked at her for a long moment.

“How’d you kill the bounty hunter on Sorgan?” Mando asked.

Astra froze, an anxious look in her eyes, “I told you. Shot them with my blaster.”

“Astra,” Mando warned.

“You should check on the kid,” Astra said quickly, avoiding his gaze, “I’ll wait here for Toro.” Mando stared at her for a long moment before entering the hangar, leaving her alone.

Astra didn’t have to wait long before Toro walked over, guiding two speeders with him.

“Hey there,” Toro said, approaching Astra, “Didn’t get your name back at the cantina.” He smiled at her, stepping close.

“No, you didn’t,” Astra said, tilting her head and giving a curt smile, “We said three speeders.”

Toro looked back like he’d only just realized he brought two as Mando and Peli walked out, the latter carrying the Child.

“You know, it’s costing me a lot of money to keep these droids even powered up,” Astra heard Peli say, catching the back end of their conversation.

Mando noticed Astra and Toro, who gestured to the speeders and said, “Hey, Mando, what do you think? Not too shabby, huh?”

“I said three,” Mando said, looking between Toro and an uncomfortable Astra.

“Oh, I could only get two. Don’t worry,” he said, turning to Astra, “We can share.” He tapped the speeder seat, eyeing her.

“I’d rather die,” Astra scoffed, walking to the other speeder. She looked back at Mando expectantly. Mando didn’t know why that made him feel relieved.

He walked up the speeder, checking it out and noticing it wasn’t exactly in peak condition.

“What’d you expect?” Toro shrugged, “This ain’t Corellia.”

Mando sat on the speeder, leaving space behind him for Astra to sit. She settled herself in, unsure where to put her arms, but settled for placing them at his waist, gripping the edges of Mando’s Beskar chest plate.

“You good back there?” Mando said in a low tone, looking back at her.

Astra nodded, “Yeah. Is this okay?”

Mando hesitated, “You may want to hold on a bit more than that.”

Astra’s eyes widened, but Mando didn’t turn away from her until she wrapped her arms fully around him, leaning further into his back.

Just to keep from falling off, she told herself as they sped off, though she couldn’t deny the feeling that ran through her hands and down her body. It was hot and buzzing and wholly unfamiliar to Astra, igniting every part of her that touched Mando.

• •┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ⋆★⋆ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈• •

The trio zoomed through the dunes for a while, Toro and Mando fighting to be ahead of the other, making the trip faster which Astra wasn’t going to complain about. Unlike Mando, she didn’t have a helmet to protect her face from the sand whipping at her cheeks. She pressed her face into Mando’s back, using him as a shield.

Mando could hardly concentrate on his driving. Everywhere that Astra touched sent a jolt through him. He wasn’t used to contact, and he knew it didn’t usually have him reacting this way. Yet another question about Astra added to the ever growing list. Mando held up a fist, signaling for Toro to stop.

The speeders slowed to a stop, Toro removing his bandana from his mouth to ask, “What’s going on?”

Mando pointed ahead, “Look. Up ahead.”

Astra stood on the bike a bit, looking over Mando’s shoulder to faintly see the two Banthas wandering the dunes. Toro got off his speeder and used his binocs to get a better look.

“Tusken Raiders,” he said, “I heard the locals talking about this filth.”

Astra scoffed to which only Mando heard. Makes sense, Astra thought, that Toro would see the Tuskens as the filth instead of the colonizers that stole their home.

“Tuskens think they’re the locals,” Mando replied, “Everyone else is just trespassing.”

“Whatever they call themselves,” Toro said, too engrossed in talking shit to notice the Tuskens that approached, “They better keep their distance.”

“Oh, really? Why don’t you tell them yourself?” Astra asked, sarcastically, following Mando off of the speeder.

Toro turned around, jumping when he noticed the two Tuskens.

His hand went to his blaster, but Mando held a hand up, saying, “Relax,” before signing to the Tuskens. What he was saying, Astra had know idea, but she knew it would be in their benefit.

“What are you doing?” Toro asked.

“Negotiating,” Mando said simply. Astra stood beside him, watching the interaction.

“What’s going on?” Toro asked after one of the Tuskens made a cutting motion at his neck which worried Astra as well.

“We need passage across their land,” Mando answered.

The Tuskens signed again.

“Let me see the binocs,” Mando said, holding a hand out to Toro.

“Why?” Toro asked. Mando just gave him a look and Toro handed them to Mando who handed them to the Tuskens.

“Hey! What?!” Toro protested, making Astra smile. She enjoyed Toro being upset. She truly did not like the man and would rather be anywhere else, but she wasn’t going to leave Mando alone with him.

Mando walked back to the speeder, Astra hopping in behind him as Toro complained, “Those were brand new!” “Tragic. Let’s go,” Astra said, holding onto Mando just in time before he sped off, leaving Toro to catch up.

• •┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ⋆★⋆ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈• •

Mando stopped them again, the two speeders slowing. Mando hopped off before it’d even stopped, ducking behind a dune and looking over.

“Get down,” Mando ordered. Astra listened, following Mando’s lead. Toro fumbled before following suit.

“Alright, tell me what you see,” Mando said, asking Astra.

“Dewback. Looks like the rider’s still attached,” Toro said, turning to them, oblivious to Astra’s look of annoyance and the equivalent to one from Mando.

“Is that her? Is that the target?” Toro finished.

“I don’t know,” Mando said, turning back to the Dewback, “I’ll go. Astra, stay with Toro and cover me.”

He turned to Astra directly, making sure she was paying attention, “Stay down.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Astra said, giving him a mock salute as he ran down the hill.

She opened her satchel, pulling out her blaster. Toro watched from beside her, catching a peek of something cylindrical and metallic. Astra turned back to see Mando, keeping an eye on the surrounding area.

“So, how does a girl like you end up with a Mandalorian?” Toro asked Astra.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring him.

“How’s it going, Shiny?” Astra called down to Mando as he approached the body.

“It’s a bounty hunter,” Mando called back, crouching.

“You don’t look like a bounty hunter. So, what is it?” Toro pressed.

“Do you ever shut up?” Astra groaned, watching Mando examine the body.

“I’ll shut up if you tell me why you’re traveling with him?” Toro asked, a dangerous look in his eye.

Astra sat up, glaring at him. Why does he want to know so bad? Astra thought.

Before she could speak, Mando yelled, “Get down!”

Astra turned, watching a blaster shot hit Mando, knocking him to the ground.

“Mando!” Astra yelled, standing and then ducking when another shot whizzed past her.

“Mando!” she yelled again, shooting haphazardly in the direction of the shot.

Mando crested over the hill, getting another shot to the shoulder which sent him tumbling down again. Astra yelped, reaching out as Mando righted himself and laid beside Astra.

“Are you okay?” Astra asked, her eyes frantically scanning him for injuries. Mando froze as she put a hand on his gloved one. Toro noticed, an eyebrow quirking as he watched the pair.

“Fine. It was a sniper bolt. Only an MK-modified rifle could make that shot,” Mando answered, turning to look out across the sands.

“How’d you not die?” Toro asked dumbly.

“Hit me in the Beskar,” Mando said, “and at that range, Beskar held up.”

“Wait, I don’t wear any Beskar,” Toro said.

“Nope,” Mando said, a hint of petty amusement in his tone which made Astra smirk.

“Well, so what do we do?” Toro asked.

“You see where that shot came from?” Mando asked Astra.

“Yeah, it came from that ridge,” Astra said, pointing.

“Okay, we’re gonna wait until dark,” Mando said

“Well, what if she escapes?” Toro asked him.

“She’s got the high ground,” Astra spoke up, “She’s gonna wait for us to make the first move. That’s what I would do.” Mando gave her a look, “Yeah. I’m gonna rest. Toro, you take first watch.” He slid down the dune, setting up by the speeders.

“Gonna keep me company?” Toro asked, winking at Astra.

“You’d like that, huh?” Astra said, sweetly. Toro nodded which prompted Astra to drop her smile and slide down the dune to join Mando.

“Maybe later?” Toro called.

Astra ignored him, sitting by Mando.

“This guy gives me the creeps,” Astra said lowly so only Toro couldn’t hear.

“Only have to deal with him a bit longer,” Mando replied, his tone equally low.

“There’s something … weird about him,” Astra said, “He kept asking about me and why I’m traveling with you.”

Mando cocked his head to the side, “You think he knows about your bounty, too?”

Astra shook her head, “He’s been annoying all day, trying to get me to talk to him. But, he seemed oddly interested in why I was even here. I don’t think he knows about the target on my back, because then he’d probably know about yours and the kid’s, too. I just think he’s trying to pull one over us … in some way.”

“We could shoot him and finish this ourselves,” Mando offered.

Astra laughed, “Stars, I’d love that, but he’ll be useful as bait later and I don’t want that to go to waste.”

Mando chuckled, watching Astra try to keep her laugh quiet.

“Ya know, I’m starting to think I made the right choice in letting you catch me,” Astra said.

“You let me catch you?” Mando asked in a mocking tone.

“Yeah,” Astra laughed again, “I did, and I think it was a great decision.”

“And why’s that?” Mando asked, looking into Astra’s eyes. She couldn’t see them, but she could feel his eyes on her, looking her over.

She bit her lip, staring at where she suspected his eyes were, “There was … a feeling about you. So far I haven’t been wrong about it.”

“You seem to have a lot of feelings about people,” Mando said, referring to her suspicion about Toro.

“Call it intuition, I guess,” Astra said, avoiding his gaze. She wasn’t lying, really, but how could she ever really explain it to him? What would he say? Astra would rather not find out. She liked not being alone anymore, and she knew the second he knew what she was, he’d leave her … or worse.

• •┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ⋆★⋆ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈• •

It was dark out now and Astra had fallen asleep, her head resting on Mando’s shoulder.

“All right, suns are down,” Toro said, standing and walking over to Mando and Astra’s peacefully sleeping forms.

“Time to ride, guys. Come on, wake up,” Toro said, to no response. Not even a twitch from either one. Mando was wide awake, watching him from the secrecy of his helmet. Astra was wary of the man, but all Mando saw was an idiot. Mando didn’t think about how idiots could still be dangerous.

“Look at you. Asleep on the job, old man,” Toro smirked, pulling out his gun and aiming at Mando a few times like he was in a standoff.

“You done?” Mando asked, alerting Toro that he was awake.

“Yeah. I was just, uh, waking you guys up. Come on,” Toro said, feigning innocence. Mando turned his head carefully to Astra who was somehow still asleep. “Astra,” Mando said, gently nudging her side, “Wake up.”

“Hmm. Yes, sir,” Astra muttered in her sleep before waking suddenly, shaking her head as she sat up, “I wasn’t asleep.”

Mando chuckled, “Come on,” and reached out a hand to help Astra stand. She gladly took it and followed him to the bikes.

“Get on your bike,” he said to Toro,” Ride as fast as you can towards those rocks.”

“That’s your plan?” Toro scoffed, “She’ll snipe us right off the bikes.”

“Then be faster,” Astra snidely remarked. Toro narrowed his eyes at her.

Mando tossed something at Toro, “It’s a flash charge. We alternate shots, it'll blind any scope temporarily. Combine that with our speed and we got a chance.”

“A chance?” Toro and Astra both asked in shock.

“Hey, you wanted this. Get ready,” Mando said to Toro.

“Mando-” Astra started.

“It’ll work. Take this and shoot it when I tell you to,” Mando said, handing Astra a flash charge and peeling off.

The two bikes flew over the hill, slamming onto the sand before zooming through the dunes.

“Astra, now!” Mando called over the wind.

Astra sat up and reached over Mando’s shoulder, shooting a bright light towards where Fennec was hiding. Fennec shot back and Mando swerved out of the way. Astra kept steady by holding onto Mando’s shoulders, finding a better grip under the Beskar plate to his shoulder, nothing between them except Mando’s flight suit.

“Now!” Mando yelled louder to Toro. Toro shot the flash charge as Mando swerved from another shot. Astra wobbled, gasping as she held onto Mando tighter.

“You okay?” Mando asked, keeping his body rigid so Astra wouldn’t knock them both off of the speeder.

“I’m good,” Astra said.

Toro shot again, the light bouncing down the path. Before Astra or Mando could do anything about it, Fennec shot again, hitting their speeder dead on. They flew off the speeder, Mando thudding face first into the sand as Astra rolled across the dune, arms protecting her head until she slowed to a stop a ways away from Mando.

“Astra!” Mando called out to her, scrambling on the sand to reach her.

She groaned, barely picking her head up as she reached an arm out and shot another flash of light, letting Toro slip through. Before Mando could reach her, Fennec shot him square in the chest, knocking him back.

“Mando!” Astra screamed, crawling towards him. He laid motionless in the sand.

Astra reached him, examining the black blaster mark on his armor, noticing the shot didn’t go through. She gasped when Mando shot up suddenly, feeling his chest plate to come to the same conclusion Astra had only a moment before.

“Guess Beskar holds up at close range, too,” Astra joked.

“Guess so,” Mando said, looking at her, “Are you alright?”

Astra laughed, “You just got shot in the chest by a sniper bolt and you’re asking me if I’m alright?”

“You did fly off an exploding fast-moving speeder,” Mando added. “So did you,” Astra pointed out, smiling, “Are you alright?”

Mando paused, staring for a long moment at Astra’s mouth, quirked up in an amused smile. He followed her lips to their points, finding two dimples hidden in her smile, like a treasure map. Her smile betrayed her eyes, which showed concern as she raked them over Mando’s body, searching for any injury. They were each so engrossed in each other that they didn’t realize that the other was doing the same thing.

“I’m okay,” Mando finally said.

“Great. Let’s go keep Toro from kriffing this up,” Astra said, standing. She held a hand out for Mando who took it, though Astra wasn’t much help in lifting the heavily-armored man.

“Maker, that Beskar weighs a ton. I don’t know how you run around in that,” Astra huffed as they made their way to where Fennec and Toro were.

“You get used to it. Feels weird when it’s off,” Mando replied, shrugging.

“Well, since you never take it off, I’m sure you feel weightless without it. Like you could just fly, untethered to gravity as you float up into the stars,” Astra said, her hand trailing up into the sky imitating her imaginary flying Mando.

Mando shook his head and said in a humorous tone, “Yeah, something like that.”

Mando and Astra made it up the ridge, their movements hidden under the sounds of Fennec and Toro fighting. They came up behind them as Fennec caught Toro in an armbar hold.

“Nice distraction,” Mando said, aiming his gun for Fennec’s head.

Fennec sighed, letting go and holding her hands up in surrender. Toro got to his knees, moaning in pain as he held onto the arm Fennec had overextended.

“Yeah. Good work, partners,” Toro groaned from the ground.

“Cuff yourself,” Mando ordered, dropping the cuffs at Fennec’s feet.

“Why don’t you go find your blaster?” Mando suggested to Toro who nodded and walked off.

“A Mandalorian. It's been a long time since I've seen one of your kind. Ever been to Nevarro?” Fennec asked, trying to rile Mando up, “ I hear things didn't go so well there, but it looks like you got off easy.” Astra looked to Mando. She remembers him mentioning a fight in Nevarro to save the Child.

“You don't have to worry about gettin’ to Nevarro, or anywhere else, once we turn you in,” Toro said when he found his blaster, shaking the sand off of it, “You know, I really should thank you. You're my ticket into the Guild.”

“You're welcome,” Fennec deadpanned, being led down to the speeders by Mando.

“Uh-oh. Looks like two of us have to walk,” Fennec joked mockingly.

Mando pushed her down to sit on a rock, “Or we could drag you.”

“All right, so what is the plan?” Toro asked Mando as they and Astra stepped away from Fennec to talk out a plan.

“I need you to go find that Dewback we saw,” Mando said to him.

“And leave you here with my bounty and my ride? Yeah, I don't think so, Mando,” Toro scoffed, ignoring the fact that three of them still wouldn’t fit on one speeder.

Mando scanned the dunes, finding the Dewback’s heat signature with his helmet.

“Okay, Astra and I will go. Watch her, and don't let her get near the bike. She's no good to us dead,” Mando ordered, walking off.

“Wait?! You’re gonna leave him with the speeder and the bounty?” Astra asked, incredulously.

“Oh, you wanna spend time with me that badly?” Toro asked, winking at Astra.

She scoffed, turning and catching up with Mando. “Mando, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He kept walking, ignoring her protests. Astra looked back at Toro and Fennec and huffed in annoyance before following Mando.

• •┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ⋆★⋆ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈• •

“What’s up with you?” Astra asked after about 20 minutes of walking. They’d already made it out of Toro and Fennec’s sight, yet who knew how much longer it’d take to reach the Dewback.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Mando deflected.

Astra scoffed, “Yeah, right! You don’t trust me! I saved your ass on Sorgan and this is how you treat me. You go from being mostly bearable to colder than a Chistori. What is it?!”

Mando stopped, stepping close to Astra, “You want me to trust you. Fine. How did you kill the hunter on Sorgan?”

Astra swallowed, eyes narrowed in anger while her heart beat wildly in her chest from fear.

She shook her head, “Why does it matter?”

Mando came close enough to Astra’s face that she could see her reflection in the black slats, saying, “Because you’re hiding something, and until I find out what it is, I can’t really trust you, can I?”

“Oh, and like you’ve given me so much to trust, yeah?” Astra asked, sarcastically, getting equally in Mando’s face as he had to her, “I get there’s a lot of secrecy about you because of your Creed, but I know nothing about you. Maybe that’s why you’ve really been alone all this time. You push away anyone who wants to try to get to know you.”

“And what if I don’t want you to know me? Don’t forget that you asked to join me, not the other way around,” Mando said harshly.

Astra narrowed her eyebrows, taken aback by his tone.

She nodded, looking down, “Alright, Mando. Then, I guess you can figure this out yourself. I’m leaving.” She turned and started walking back to the village.

He went to follow her, but then looked back to the Dewback walking off. Mando looked between the retreating Dewback and Astra walking in the opposite direction.

“Dank Farrik,” Mando muttered, chasing after the Dewback. He planned to pick Astra up on the way back to town after he’d gotten Toro and Fennec. She wouldn’t be able to walk the whole way back.

• •┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ⋆★⋆ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈• •

“Kriffing nerfherder. That’s it. I’m going back to Coruscant. Actually, they’ll probably find me there. I’ll have to hide somewhere else. Outer Rim? Well, wherever it is, it wouldn’t be far away enough from you, Mando!” Astra yelled, turning around to yell out into the empty sands, the suns coming up in the distance. She’d walked all night and frankly was starting to feel delirious. She didn’t realize how far they’d traveled.

As Astra debated with herself on whether to head back and hopefully meet them halfway or keep going, she heard the sound of a speeder. She turned, watching the speeder get closer and closer until it came to a stop a few feet away from her. Toro got off the bike, walking towards Astra.

“Toro? Where’s Mando and Fennec?” Astra asked, confused.

Toro looked back the way he came, “Oh, uh, his ride is a bit slower. Told me to go ahead and pick you up.”

Astra hesitated. That was unlike Mando. Despite their fight, she knew Mando wouldn’t have trusted Toro alone with her. That’s why he’d told Astra to go with him to get the Dewback. Astra took a step back as Toro took one closer.

“Toro, what did you do?” Astra asked, a hand on her satchel.

Toro cocked his head to the side, smiling, “I’m gonna be a legend.”

He jumped, launching himself on her before she could reach her weapons. They slammed to the ground, Toro on top of Astra as he tried to pin down her limbs. Astra screamed at him, banging on any part of his body she could land a hit while her other hand reached in her satchel and pulled out her lightsaber.

Before she could ignite it, Toro grabbed it, holding it out so she couldn’t use it on him. He pushed his arm into her neck, choking her as he reached for the saber, ripping it from her grasp.

She cried out in protest and, without even realizing what it was, Toro smacked the saber across Astra’s head, knocking her out. He stood over Astra and looked at the object he took from her. He smirked as he examined it.

“Oh, now that’s interesting,” he chuckled darkly.

He picked her up and put her on the speeder, zooming off back to the village.

• •┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ⋆★⋆ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈• •

Mando had just gotten back to where he expected Toro and Fennec to be waiting for him. Instead, all he found was Fennec’s lifeless body crumpled on the sand, a blaster shot to the chest. He sighed and then froze. If Toro left with the speeder, he thought, he would’ve run into Astra. Mando booked it, jumping on the Dewback and making it go as fast as he could get it to go, which wasn’t very fast, but still better than walking. At this rate, he wouldn’t make it till sunsdown, but he had no choice.

• •┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ⋆★⋆ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈• •

Astra groaned, her eyes slowly peeling open to see that she was back at Peli’s hangar, the suns high in the sky. She looked up, seeing her hands cuffed to one of the hydraulic poles of Mando’s ship door.

“Oh, look. She’s waking up,” Astra heard, turning her head to see Toro holding the kid with a blaster pointed at Peli.

“Toro. What the hell are you doing?” Astra asked, trying to shake the pounding out of her head. When she creased her eyebrows, she felt something stiff and flaky on her face. Blood from when he knocked her out with- Astra’s eyes widened in realization just as Toro raised the saber in the air.

“Looking for this?” he asked, smirking. Astra only looked on in horror.

“I know there was something weird about you,” Toro smiled, handing the kid to Peli, “Hold … this. And don’t try anything or I’ll have to kill you.”

He walked up to Astra, keeping Peli in front of his blaster just in case. He waved the lightsaber in front of Astra’s face.

“Ya know,” he started, “I thought your kind were all wiped out. Both by the Empire and the Jedis’ own foolishness.”

“I’m not a Jedi,” Astra said simply, her eyes following the saber.

“No, I didn’t think you were. You’re worse than that. Sith, they called ’em, yeah?” Toro smiled as Astra gulped.

“I’m not that either,” Astra said again, narrowing her eyes in anger at Toro.

“Oh, really? Then explain this.” Toro turned on the lightsaber, red plasma shooting out to its full length, humming with energy.

“I don’t have to explain anything to the likes of you,” Astra said defiantly. She looked over to the Child and Peli, who looked worriedly at Astra, not giving a Bantha’s ass about the implications of her owning a red lightsaber.

Toro held the saber out, the tip just inches from Astra’s neck as she raised her chin to avoid it. “Then we’ll just see how your Mandalorian feels about it, won’t we?”

Astra clenched her teeth, her face twitching in a mix of fear and anger. If Mando found out, Astra thought, she’d be doomed.

• •┈┈┈┈┈┈••✦ ⋆★⋆ ✦••┈┈┈┈┈┈• •

Mando finally arrived at the edge of the village as the suns disappeared over the horizon. He found Toro’s speeder parked outside of Peli’s hangar. He pulled out his blaster, carefully walking into the hangar, ready for anything.

As he stepped in, one of the droids zoomed past to hide with its friends in the control booth, startling him.

“Took you long enough, Mando,” Mando heard Toro’s voice.

He rounded a stack of crates to see Astra cuffed to his ship, a towel tied to her head as a gag. Mando thought the red hot anger coursing through him at the sight of the dried blood down the side of her face couldn’t be topped. Then Toro appeared, pushing Peli out with the gun as he held the Child in his arms.

Toro smiled, “Looks like I'm calling the shots now. Huh, partner?”

Mando didn’t answer, his calm stance betraying his pounding heart.

“Drop your blaster and raise ’em,” Toro ordered. Mando slowly followed his commands.

“Cuff him,” Toro said, pushing Peli with the gun. She grunted and walked over to Mando.

“You're a Guild traitor, Mando. And I'm willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape and pretty little Astra is the runaway Imp they also wanted,” Toro smiled.

Mando cocked his head, looking at Astra. He never got any info when he’d gotten her tracking fob and he never asked because then he’d be expected to reveal things about himself in return.

“Oh? You didn’t know?” Toro asked, feigning surprise, “Astra here is full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Astra cursed him out, but it became unintelligible through the gag. She turned to Mando, eyebrows pulled together as she shook her head as if to say, don’t listen to him!

“And the best part is right here,” Toro said, lowering the gun to get the lightsaber out of Astra’s satchel that he’d stolen.

Mando took the chance to press the flash charge he had in his hand, stunning Toro who shot blindly in Mando’s direction. Mando snuck up from the side of the ship and Astra ducked as he shot at Toro, hitting him square in the chest. He spun and fell off to the other side of the ramp.

Mando and Peli ran over with Mando warning Peli to stay back just in case Toro was faking it. Peli pushed on anyway, finding the kid coming out from behind a crate.

“Is he okay?” Astra asked through her gag, unable to see. Peli picked him up as Mando turned to Astra.

“He’s shaken up, I’m sure, but he’s fine,” Peli called out to Astra before focusing on cheering the kid up. Mando walked to Astra when he was satisfied with the Child’s safety. He kneeled in front of her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, taking out the gag before moving to undo the cuffs.

“I’m fine. He- He found me walking back, knocked me out, and I woke up tied here,” Astra said, looking down. Astra’s arm dropped when Mando hit the release. He reached up to her temple. Astra winced when he rubbed his finger along it. He pulled his hand back, the will to kill Toro again rising through him.

“Shiny, really, I’m good,” Astra comforted, standing before Mando could reply. She walked down the ramp, towards Toro’s body.

Mando was watching her until Peli spoke up, walking up the ramp and handing him the Child.

“So … I take it you didn’t get paid?” she asked.

Mando pulled out a small satchel and dumped a bunch of thin gold bars into Peli’s outstretched hands.

“That cover me?”

“Yeah. Yes, this is gonna cover you,” Peli nodded gratefully.

Mando turned and walked up the ramp. Peli looked at Astra who gave her a wink and a short nod as if to say, your secret’s safe with me. Astra smiled gratefully and turned, following Mando into the ship, her satchel tucked safely to her side, all of its contents within.

Astra held onto the wall as they took off and then shot into hyperspace. Mando walked into the cargo hold from the cockpit, having set them on their path on autopilot.

“Let’s get that cleaned up,” he sighed, motioning her to follow him. They walked into his room. Astra hesitated at the door. She hadn’t been allowed in here. It was one of his rules. She entered, feeling oddly giddy about the fact that he’d invited her in, like another layer had been pulled back, further exposing the strange man to her.

Mando had her sit on the bed as he went to grab the medkit from the fresher. She wanted to tell him she could do it herself, but she didn’t want to risk him shutting himself off again.

Mando walked back into the room, setting the medkit down beside Astra. He opened the kit and took out bacta spray and a small towelette. Astra looked up at him as he grabbed the side of her face, angling it so he could see the cut at her hairline. He cleaned it with the towelette, silent as ever.

Astra didn’t know what to say. Mando didn’t know where to start. Astra knew they would need to talk. Toro told Mando she used to work for the Empire, there was no way Mando wouldn’t bring it up. She was just scared as to why he was being so caring and kind when he should be kicking her out of the airlock.

Mando grabbed the bacta spray, pushing Astra’s hair out of the way and spraying the cut. Astra’s face twitched in discomfort. She knew her head would be throbbing in the morning and there’d be a bruise for a while at the very least.

“There,” Mando said, putting the spray away and closing the medkit, “How’s that?”

Astra nodded, “Better … thank you.”

Mando nodded, “Good,” and then stepped in between her legs, reaching his hand out. He held her by the chin, pulling her face up to look him in the eye. He didn’t know how she always managed to find them, like she could see right through the helmet.

“I’m going to ask you a question … and you are going to tell me the truth. Understand?” Mando asked, his tone even, which only frightened Astra more.

She nodded. “Say it,” he ordered, tightening his grip.

“I understand,” Astra whispered shakily. She felt hot, but from fear or … something else, she didn’t know.

“How did you kill the bounty hunter on Sorgan?”

Astra screwed her eyes shut. She’d hoped he’d ask why Toro called her an ex-Imp. She could’ve dodged the truth a bit longer, but fate wouldn’t have it. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

“I used this.” She moved slowly, pulling her satchel to her lap and opening it, her eyes never leaving Mando’s. She pulled out the lightsaber, holding it out in the small space between them. He looked at it, then at her, then back at it, and at that moment he was grateful for the helmet. His mind raced through all of the millions of possibilities of what this meant: who she was and could possibly still be.

He took the lightsaber out of her hand, letting her chin go. He took a step back and Astra stood, hoping she could get him to understand.

Mando pulled out his blaster, aiming it at her, “Explain. Quick.”

Astra put her hands up in defense, her eyebrows knit together in disappointment.

“I,” she started, but couldn’t get the words out, “I … am not that person anymore.”

“What person?” Mando asked, cocking his head, “Why is there a bounty on you?”

“I’m like the kid … in a way,” she started, “I was taken by the Empire when I was a child because of it. They … raised me to be what they needed.”

“What did they need?” Mando asked slowly, fearing the answer.

Astra took a shaky breath, looking at the ground, “A murderer.” She looked back up, wishing she could see Mando’s face, understand what he’s feeling. All she had was the cold metal of his helmet, watching her dead on.

“They were a few of us, trained from the moment we were taken to be their hunters. They thought controlling us from a young age would make us more loyal, less … ourselves,” Astra explained, eyes hazy and far away.

“I’ve done horrible things, Mando,” she said, her eyes glued to the saber in his hands, “Things they made me do because if I didn’t, they—” She met his gaze and froze, the words freezing on her tongue.

Astra shook her head, willing the memories away, “But I left. First chance I got, I ran and ran and I haven’t stopped running for three years. The people who want the kid, who want me, they want to use us. They want to tear us apart until the only thing left inside is dark and twisted, just like them.”

Astra stood straighter, looking Mando dead on, “But I’m not the monster they made me anymore. I haven’t willfully used the force. I couldn’t if I tried. I killed the bounty hunter with that lightsaber because he was going to kill you and I couldn’t let that happen. But, if you want to get rid of me, I understand. I just ask that you don’t turn me in.”

Mando could only stare. He’d felt like the floor had glued his feet in place and the air had been sucked out of the room. In all honesty, he had no idea what he wanted to do. He was having trouble wrapping his mind around the fact that the girl who’d saved his life and protected the Child had once been an Imperial bounty hunter.

“Why did you keep it?” he forced out. This question mattered. Why, if she wanted to leave that life behind, would she keep the weapon she killed with?

“I don’t know,” she frowned, “I tell myself it’s because I need it for protection or because I want to remember what I was so I wouldn’t be that again, but I don’t think I’m that righteous.”

She shook her head, “I can’t get rid of it. No matter how much I try, something is telling me to hold onto it. I think it’s because, deep down, I liked feeling powerful, and I don’t know if that’s just a part of me or if the Empire stuck their fingers down my throat and put the idea there themselves. Wouldn’t be the first time. But, I know I need it. For what, I don’t know, but I feel it. I just hope it’s for a good reason.”

Astra looked at Mando in anticipation. She didn’t know why she wanted to stay with him so badly. She’d managed running for this long on her own, but after a few weeks with Mando and the kid, she couldn’t imagine bartending on an Outer Rim planet, looking over her shoulder, and fending off drunk patrons.

With Mando, she could see the galaxy in a way she never had. Before, people would cower in fear at her arrival. Now, she could explore and learn other cultures, and she’d have Mando and the kid and suddenly, she had no idea how she’d spent all those years alone.

But that was all over now that Mando knew what Astra was. That’s why he was putting his blaster down … and handing her the lightsaber. Astra furrowed her brows at him.

“I was taken in by the Mandalorians after my parents were killed during the Clone Wars,” Mando said, taking Astra’s hand and placing the lightsaber in it, “I know what it is to be a child of war.” They stared at each other for a long moment, his hands still holding one of hers.

“We’ll be landing on Orillia for supplies. Get some rest.” Mando pulled away, leaving the room. He sat in the pilot seat, watching space zoom by.

He heard a shuffle behind him and then Astra appeared, sitting in the passenger seat. She crossed her legs on the chair, getting comfy.

“What?” she asked, noticing Mando’s look, “I’m not tired. Spent enough of the day asleep against my will. Thought I’d keep you company since the kid’s asleep. Is that alright?”

Mando nodded, Astra smiled, and they sat in comfortable silence, no longer strangers.

Taglist: @elinedjarin

[wanderinginksplot]

Gar Cabur Chapter Seventeen

Continuation of my Alpha-17 x fem!reader fic

Word Count: 4,600

*Strong warnings this week! Please read!*

Warnings: Self-deprecation, attempted physical assault, unwanted sexual advances, brief description of a physical altercation, mentions of medical setting and situations.

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

Solus (Alone)

It had been eleven days and four hours since Alpha had last spoken to you. Damn Jango's genes for making him track that number, no matter how little it interested him.

But he was determined not to think of it - of you - anymore. He was a captain in the Grand Army of the Republic, an army that was currently locked in war with an enemy who wanted to wipe him and his brothers from the galaxy. He had more important things to focus on.

So why did Alpha’s mind keep wandering back in your direction anyway? Well, for one, you were seated directly in his line of sight. 

For the first few days after he had left you in the mess hall, Alpha had avoided that space like it would infect him with something nasty. He had eaten ration bars to sustain himself, but the physical activity of ARC training partnered with the metabolism needed to fuel his increased size meant that he was always hungry no matter how many ration bars he ate. Besides, after Drift had made Alpha’s new position with you a matter of public knowledge, there was no need to avoid the mess to keep from scaring you away.

At the time, he had been filled with a sick sense of amusement. All of the bad situations you had seen Alpha in - having Limit fix his nose, threatening a group of Kaminoans, breaking your leg - and the only thing that ended up scaring you away was Alpha himself. 

But then you had surprised him. The first time he went back to the mess, you weren’t sitting in your typical place. The table you two had shared for so long sat empty, conspicuously so. He had tried to play it off like he wasn’t concerned, but Alpha had puzzled over your absence while he got his food.

When he settled at a new table, Alpha was surprised and dismayed to find you sitting directly across the mess. Your new places were so perfectly in-line that it looked intentional… and it was going to be awkward.

As it turned out, he shouldn’t have bothered worrying. Unlike your original table, the new one was never empty. Alpha watched you surreptitiously almost every day, and he had never seen you sitting alone. The kids came to eat with you when they were in the area, Limit sat with you more than once, and most of Alpha’s ARCs-in-training made at least one appearance each day.

Everyone in Alpha’s life seemed to have decided that they liked you more than him.

Alpha couldn’t blame them.

Even as he watched, you tipped your head back with easy laughter at something Faie had said. Faie. Faie wasn’t even funny. His lack of humor was his most notable trait. But you weren’t the only one laughing. The other ARCs and Limit were laughing, too - though that could be because your laugh was so contagious. 

That laughter faded only slightly when a cadet stepped hesitantly to the table and started to speak. Alpha tensed, ready to intervene, but you simply heard him out with a kind look of patience on your face, then politely declined whatever offer he had made. Alpha was too far away to hear much of the conversation, but by the way the cadet took a seat at the table, you must have invited him to join your group for the meal.

That interaction made a wave of interesting and unwelcome feelings wash through Alpha’s gut. He was proud of you, absolutely so. You had listened to the cadet instead of turning him away immediately, but you had replied with a clear no without any signs of hesitation and still felt comfortable enough that you invited him to stay.

At the same time, Alpha was incredibly depressed. He had shut down your friendship with him, done so swiftly and decisively to minimize the pain for both of you. It had been the right choice and he stood by it… but some part of him had thought that, if you ever got to a place where friendship was the right choice, that there would still be room for him in your life. Now that you weren’t lacking in friends, your job was secure, and you didn’t need anyone to keep the cadets away, he wasn’t so sure. You didn’t need him anymore.

“Trying to use the Force?” a female voice asked, her slight hoarseness almost hiding the amusement in her tone.

“Not kriffin’ likely,” Alpha replied with a snort, recognizing her comment as a reference to the fierce frown that he had been wearing. “What do you want, Trem?”

“What do you want, Alpha?” Trem countered, taking a large bite of her lunch. She ate, as always, with gusto. You had always picked halfheartedly at your food, doing your best to avoid the taste and texture. Trem was like Alpha - they had both been trained to think of food as a fuel, nothing more than an energy source. They had gone without in the past, and ate like they were still worried someone would take their food from them. You were used to better things, deserved better things.

Alpha growled low in his throat when Trem didn’t seem motivated to expand on her question. “Right now, I want to be left alone.”

It wasn’t true, of course, and Trem didn’t believe him for a moment. With one scaled eye ridge raised, she hummed skeptically. “Do you, now? So you can stare at that poor girl without someone telling you how stupid you’re being?”

“I don’t need advice from a Weequay,” Alpha told her, hoping the barb about her species would be enough to make her walk away.

Of course, Trem never backed down from a fight. She snorted at him. “You don’t? I have more than fifty years of wisdom packed away in here,” she said, tapping her temple. “That gives me about… forty-five years more than you, right?”

“Clone humor. Clever.” Alpha tossed his fork disgustedly at his plate, finished pretending to eat his meal.

Trem didn’t pause a moment, scooping the remains of his food onto her own plate. “About as clever as you chasing off your only chance at happiness.”

Alpha sighed deeply, allowing himself to close his eyes for a moment. Why was everyone so determined to interfere in his life all of a sudden? He could count the number of times he had been given advice about his personal choices on one hand. He had tripled that number in the past two weeks.

“Never would have guessed you were such a romantic, Trem.”

“Romantic? No. Observant.” Trem ate another forkful of her meal. “Do you know how many times I’ve seen you smile? About four. All of them were with her. There’s romance and then there’s happiness. They overlap sometimes, sure, but they aren’t the same thing. Even if you aren’t looking for a partner, there’s no reason you shouldn’t keep your friend.”

Alpha considered that in silence. “So you think we should be friends?”

“Oh, kriff, no.” Trem’s denial was so immediate that Alpha did a double-take in her direction. “You’ve been lost for that one since you met her. If you’re the one who chose to cut things off before they could get started, you’re the biggest di’kut I’ve ever met.”

“Have you even spoken to her?” Alpha asked, trying to move Trem’s laser-sharp focus away from himself. 

“I met her in passing,” she said with an easy shrug. “It’s enough to know she’s too good for you.”

“Thanks,” Alpha said dryly, feeling something in his chest tighten as he acknowledged the truth of that. You were soft, delicate. You had a better life than this back on Coruscant, and you would have a better life again when you finished your report. All he was doing was holding you back, whether it was as a friend or as… 

“Hard truth.” Trem finished her food, licked the fork, and let it clatter noisily to the empty plate. “But the point is, if she’s willing to give you a chance, you should grab it with both hands.”

“Wait a karkin’ minute,” Alpha said sharply. “How do you know any of this? Who’s talking to you about my personal life?”

“To me? No one, but you know my background. I listen when people talk,” she said with a pointed smile. It was true - she had somehow managed to be one of the few Weequay with a background in intelligence collection. “Besides that, I’m not an idiot. I can see through the gaps of that idiotic story you’re both telling to explain away how everything is going.”

“Both?” he repeated, suddenly ravenous for information about you and what you had been doing for the past eleven days and four and a half hours.

“Both,” Trem confirmed. “But that’s not the point. The point is that you need to change things before it’s too late.”

Too late… Was he already too late? 

Alpha glanced past the Weequay female across from him, watching as you stood from the table. Bacara handed you your crutches, and you slid them beneath your arms with the ease of long practice. You said something to the table, something that left them calling goodbyes or offering a small wave. You must have been getting ready to leave.

Sure enough, his gaze tracked you as you made your way steadily to the door of the mess hall. Wherever you were going, you would be unaccompanied. Maybe this would be the best chance he had to- to… to do what, he wasn’t sure. But this would be his best chance.

Without a word to Trem, Alpha stood from the table and followed you from the mess hall. He would figure out what to say on the way. Behind him, Trem called a sarcastic farewell, but he ignored her. 

This was more important.

---

Someone was following you.

It was a little odd, but you weren't really concerned. You were in the middle of the training complex, surrounded by people who would surely help if you needed it. More importantly, you were just outside the medbay. Limit would come help if you called him.

In fact, he would check on you if you didn't show up in the medbay soon anyway. You had an appointment you were both looking forward to.

The cast on your leg had been in place for slightly over six weeks. During your last scan, Limit had finally told you that the injury had healed enough to get the cast removed. You had grown used to it and considered yourself extremely adept with your crutches, but you had been longing for this day since you woke up in the medbay. 

With your newly healed leg, you would be free. Maybe not free of Kamino, but more capable of taking care of yourself than you were with the piece of plaster on your lower leg.

At least it only covered the lower half of your leg, too, you reflected gratefully. You didn’t even want to consider how uncomfortable it would be if Limit had to remove a cast that went from the sole of your foot up to your groin. One or both of you would die of embarrassment, and you weren’t honestly sure which one. It was strange - you hadn’t had nearly as strong a reaction when Alpha had been examining your leg, and that had been without anything more than a few layers of fabric between you.

But you pulled your thoughts away from him. Thinking about Alpha only left you feeling sadness and intense regret. If only you had managed to keep quiet about your feelings, you wouldn’t have lost your closest friend… Even so, you were determined not to linger on that mistake. If Alpha had been driven away by your honesty, maybe it was best that he wasn’t entrenched quite so firmly in your life. 

That didn’t mean you didn’t miss him, though.

It was hard not to, especially with him sitting directly across the cafeteria from you. You got the sense that he thought you didn’t see him - why else would he continue to stay so close to someone who made him uncomfortable? - but he stood out in the sterile white room filled with men engineered from the same genetic material. His stature alone made him different, but added to the scars and the heavily-worn armor he favored wearing even at meals? You always had a clear sense of where Alpha was.

Even without any of those things, you would have known him. Because, despite the genes he shared with the other occupants of Kamino, you knew him. You had seen his eyes bright with laughter - usually at your expense - and you knew the way his chin crinkled when he was trying to hide his pain. You knew when he was impatient, or cheerful, or violent, all based on minor nonverbal cues. You missed his teasing, the occasional smile he would send in your direction, the way he slowly melted and allowed you to see through the cracks in his ultra-tough, ARC captain facade. 

Getting to know Alpha had been one of the most rewarding experiences of your life. You respected his decision to cut ties with you after your confession, but that didn’t mean you weren’t still mourning your friendship. When you let yourself think about it, of course. Honestly, your attitude toward the situation was complicated and ever-evolving.

Someone behind you called your name. Dimly, you recognized that the voice was familiar and that it was coming from the same person who had been following you from the cafeteria. You turned to find Doni Pender strutting up to join you.

Doni was one of the bounty hunters brought in to train the cadets. He claimed to have been here from the beginning, part of the original one-hundred members of the Cuy’val Dar chosen by Jango Fett to teach his clones. You had been politely skeptical when Doni had told you that, but now that you had the chance to talk to some of the older cadets, you knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was lying.

Doni Pender had been hired just after the First Battle of Geonosis. From what you understood, the moment news of Jango Fett’s death had spread through Kamino, most members of the Cuy’val Dar had resigned and had scattered across the galaxy. A few remained on Kamino since the instruction jobs were simple and lucrative, but the vast majority had taken their final credits and departed for other places, missions, or people.

By all accounts, Doni didn’t have a natural talent for instruction. He had a tendency to make his lessons far too easy for the men he was instructing, but still refused to take part in the training exercises himself. You thought of him as a harmless irritant, but he was still arrogant and lazy, far too impressed with himself. You hadn’t been able to find any proof that he had been a bounty hunter, either. If he was, he certainly wasn’t a prolific one.

Unfortunately, he had taken quite an interest in you. 

“Mr. Pender,” you greeted politely, half-turning so you could see him without facing him fully. You didn’t want to encourage this conversation to be any longer than necessary. The fact that your new position put your back toward the wall outside the medbay was just an added benefit.

He smiled at you brightly, the expression exposing teeth that had clearly received chemical assistance to reach that particular shade of white. “I’ve told you before, lovely, call me Doni.”

With effort, you fought your grimace at his oily tone into a weak smile. “I think I’m more comfortable calling you Mr. Pender.”

His eyes sharpened and you were instantly on-edge, even before he took a step closer to you. “I can work with that. Maybe you’d be even more comfortable calling me ‘sir’.”

You frowned at him. “Mr. Pender, I don’t think-”

“There we go again,” he said gleefully. “I think you’re exactly what I’m looking for on this horrible planet - someone to take my mind away from here, focus on more pleasant things. It’ll take some time and work, but I can shape you into my perfect partner. And, in return, I’ll be everything you’ve ever dreamed of and more.”

“What are you-?”

He interrupted again before you could finish asking a question that would have turned out stunningly rude - though you felt you were justified in this situation. Worse, he stopped your question by putting his fingertips against your lips, following when you jerked your head back to get away from his touch.

“Shh, lovely,” Doni soothed, trying to ease the disgust he must have mistaken for nerves. “I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

“I’m not interested,” you said quickly, taking a step backward until your shoulder blades met the wall. You instantly felt better there. The last thing you needed was for him to hold you close to him by putting an arm around you.

And then you internally edited that statement as the bounty-hunter-turned-instructor got closer once more, caging you against the wall. “That’s fine, everyone has their resistance fantasy. You say no and I don’t listen, but we both get what we want in the end. So much pleasure we can't even think through it. I’m going to guide you through all of this. We’ll be perfect together, a patient instructor and his beautiful student…”

You turned your head away in disgust as he got even closer. You didn’t want Doni kissing you - didn’t want any of this, clearly, but sharing a kiss somehow managed to top the list of your immediate concerns.

Somehow, he seemed encouraged by that. “You have great natural instincts. We won’t kiss, not until I’ve decided that you’ve earned it. But we can start on something else even here.”

Suddenly, you remembered that you were within shouting range of help and opened your mouth to do just that - even through the semi-soundproofed doors of the medbay, Limit would be able to hear you and would come to pry Doni away from you… but you choked on the medic’s name as Doni’s hand landed on your lower belly and started traveling determinedly downward. 

Your head snapped back toward Doni, who was concentrating wholeheartedly on your chest as his hand worked lower. Abruptly, all thoughts of calling for help left your mind. Instead, you grabbed the crutch you still held loosely in your dominant hand and swung it at Doni with all of your might. 

The angle was bad. He was too close to you, you were pressed against the wall, and the crutch was made of a lightweight metal alloy. You didn’t hit him very hard, but the collision made a satisfying clunk and it was enough to make him glance up at you in shock. 

“Get away from me,” you hissed. Surely that left no room for interpretation?

Doni grinned, and the expression was menacing. “So that’s how you want to do things? I didn’t plan on introducing contact play into our little game so early, but…”

His fist came out of nowhere. Even if you had the training to do a proper block, you wouldn’t have had the chance to. 

The first thing that occurred to you, oddly, was how undignified it felt to be hit that way. The collision of his knuckles against your cheekbone knocked your head to the side, leaving you feeling off-balanced and confused about the suddenness of the brutality. Then the pain set in, taking up the majority of your concentration. By the time the all-encompassing sensations began to fade even slightly, Doni had set back to work. When you checked back in, he was starting to lift your shirt.

Even then, you were hopeful that you would be able to get Limit’s help, and you turned your head back to the side with the intention of calling out for him.

And then Doni was planted against the wall between you and the medbay doors.

It felt like you had an eternity to stare at him, frowning at both his presence there and the look of abject fear on his face. 

“You have two seconds to give me a reason I shouldn’t kick your shebs,” Alpha spat into Doni’s face.

“I- I just-” Doni stammered, immediately before Alpha’s fist plowed into his face.

It was a hard hit. You recognized that as if it were happening on a holofilm. Your cheek throbbed in sympathy born from your recent experience with the same thing. Of course, since your experience had happened at the hands of the newest recipient of a punch to the face, you were less than sympathetic.

Alpha seemed to be in the same frame of mind, watching dispassionately as Doni slumped to the floor. And then Alpha’s attention turned to you, studying you with those familiar, warm brown eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asked, one of his massive hands lifting to cradle your face, one thumb brushing with infinite care over the sore spot on your cheekbone. 

You were lost in it for half a second, staring at him with longing filling your chest. As your gaze traveled over his face, though, your mind summoned an image of him just after he had told you that you shouldn’t have feelings for him at all and you blinked like he had tossed water in your face.

With a swipe of your arm, you knocked his hand away, picked up your crutches from where they had toppled to the ground, and limped into the medbay. “Limit!”

Limit appeared from the corner where the small medic’s desk sat. “Finally! I thought you were- thought you weren’t coming af- after all… What happened?”

“Doni Pender.”

The simple explanation, given in a foreboding tone, didn’t come from you. Your shoulders tensed a bit at the realization that Alpha had followed you into the medbay, but you pointedly didn’t turn to look at him, determined to ignore him.

Your ever-evolving attitude about the situation with Alpha had reached the point of decision, and you had landed on a result: decisive anger.

“He hit me,” you summarized blandly. “It wasn’t fun, but I’m not in overwhelming pain.”

“I still need to do a scan,” Limit told you, already fumbling for the medscanner. “Being hit in- in the face can have a lot of other effects. You could have a concussion or dam- damage to your teeth. There are even arteries in your face that can add risk of c-complications.”

“That’s fine,” you agreed, obligingly following along as Limit guided you to the nearest bed and held still while he took a scan of your face, centering on the spot across your left cheekbone.

When he had finished, he studied the results on the small screen. “It looks like you- like you’ve avoided the worst of it. There will be s-swelling and some pain, but nothing that can’t- can’t be treated with ice and pain meds.”

 “Am I still able to get my cast taken off today?” you asked, cutting to your greatest concern. You had guessed the rest of Limit’s findings. Your cheek already felt hot and throbbing painfully, the skin pulling tight as the area began to swell.

“I don’t see why not,” Limit agreed eventually, his eyes flicking to an oddly specific spot behind you. He was looking at Alpha, you guessed. “Let- let me just get my supplies.” 

And then he stepped away, leaving you in the rapidly thickening silence between you and Alpha. You kept your eyes on a chart across the room from you, studying its depictions of the human body. Maybe you should include an image of that chart in your report, just as a treat for those who believed the clones were anything other than human. Maybe it would be a little tongue-in-cheek, but what were they going to do? Find someone else to complete the report? Unlikely.

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna get the cast off today.”

You snorted softly at the question from behind you. “Because I’ve had so much interaction with you over the last week, right?”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to know what’s going on with you.” This time, he sounded slightly closer to you. You still didn’t turn around.

“I hate to break it to you, but that’s what happens when you stop talking to someone.”

“You have to understand, nev-” Alpha cut himself off when you shot a disbelieving glance in his direction. He moved around you as he continued, easing the strain on your neck. “I was just trying to do what was easiest for everyone.”

“That’s the strangest way I’ve ever heard anyone say they’re a coward.” Alpha stiffened at the insult and you sighed, immediately overtaken by guilt. “Okay, that wasn’t entirely fair. I’m sorry for that.” And only that, you mentally finished.

"You don't believe me?" he demanded, and he was starting to sound angry. Not nearly as much as you were, but enough for you to hear it.

"Not especially," you informed him, idly watching Limit's progress. He had gathered a tray of tools and was adding pieces into a small machine. A hint of nerves buzzed in your stomach. 

Alpha made an offended noise, breaking your concentration, and you glared at him. "I hope you know that you could have just told me you aren't interested in me that way and I wouldn't have pushed it. We could have kept going as friends and nothing more." 

"Is that what you think?" he demanded, his voice low and hard.

"I don't think anything; I know it," you snapped back, nettled at the idea that he didn't think you capable of controlling yourself even after he had set a boundary? "I would never have forced my feelings on you, Alpha. Do I look like Doni Pender to you? But you never even gave me the chance."

Alpha's look of frustration was ridiculous, considering how much of the situation had been caused by the way he had immediately cut you out of his life, like you were something cancerous. But whatever he had intended to say went unsaid as Limit returned.

Limit began setting his supplies on the small table by the side of your bed, explaining each piece to you - round-tipped scissors to cut the fabric around your leg, a tool to pry the plaster apart after the initial cut had been made, a gentle wipe to clean the exposed skin, and the med-scanner set to check your injury one final time without the barrier of a cast to block the reading even slightly. Even the frightening piece of equipment turned out to be a blunted blade that vibrated to gently cut through the cast. The tubing that was connected to it provided gentle suction to collect any remnants of the plaster as it was removed.

When he had finished with his explanation, Limit looked uncomfortable, glancing between you and Alpha. "Is… is the captain staying for the cast removal?"

"No," you told him, shaking your head.

"Yes," Alpha said firmly at the same time.

"There's nothing else to say," you told Alpha, looking directly at him for the first time in several minutes. "You can leave now."

"I'm staying."

You looked at Limit, who looked like he wanted to run away from the choice here. You took pity on him, gritting your teeth. "I suppose he can stay."

Beside you, Alpha relaxed slightly at your reluctant agreement that he could stay while you had your cast removed.

---

Author's Note - Sorry for the abrupt ending! This was originally connected to the next chapter, but it ended up being way too long and this was the only semi-okay place to cut it. Thanks for reading!

You can find other works on my masterlist or sign up for my taglist here.

Taglist: @rexs-wife @sugarpuffsstuff @stargazingthenightaway @just-some-girl-92 @kimageddon @ladysongmaster @carodealmeida @adriiibell @nomercyforthewarrior @boomtowngirl @quietplaceinthestars @bitchylittleredhead @blck-omen @hrk-fic-recs @lackofhonor @captxin-rex @literallydontlook @kaorikoizumi @salaminus @mothmanbelievesinyou @archivedreading @lucyhelena @tooka63 @808tsuika @ladykatakuri @coruscant-commander @echos-gal @shawtyitsyou @louise-12 @butterbug14 @skyguy-snips @fan-fic-favs @panda2artist @frietiemeloen @tsedeshgishnii @buddee @justanothersadperson93 @leotatombs @mavendeb @misogirl88 @rain-on-kamino @itsagrimm @dancingwiththeplanets @hummellchen @theclonesdeservebetter @cyarinka @wolffeswife @ladyemxo @maulslittlemeowmeow @murder-of-crows-1 @dsburnerblog @ollovaemisc @rosmariner @staycalmandhugaclone @marennial

[medievaljedi]

I’ve been thinking about the Bicameral Mind and AI and I think Joyce is on to something, sort of. Which is to say that the noticed pattern is there, but he doesn’t interpret it quite right.

What I see in these stories that are used to describe a “bicameral mind” is something a bit more interesting. The stories themselves are extremely interesting because they seem to take everything that happens *literally*. Ares doesn’t just show up as a voice in some person’s brain. He isn’t just heard. He’s not even just seen and heard. He participated in the battle to the point of not only killing people, but being wounded and bleeding. Abraham doesn’t just hallucinate god, but makes god a literal meal that he (and his companions) eat. Zeus is literally born, is literally a baby who cries and who can be killed.

Even heaven and the afterlife are extremely literal. Hades is underground, and in fact can be visited through caves. Olympus is a mountain. The gods and the spirits of the dead eat and drink. Plato actually warns followers not to drink from the well of Lethe so they can remember who they were when reborn. Persephone is condemned to hades for every seed of a pomegranate she ate in Hades.

The people writing this stuff are taking everything that happens in these stories quite literally. The gods literally eat and drink, get wounded, live in physical bodies in physical places. The dead likewise live underground (where they were buried) in a place that, being underground can be visited through caves. This is very concrete thinking, and the beings thought about are concrete beings.

So my thought is that it doesn’t have to be a hallucination at all. It’s simply that in the era when these stories were first recorded, the people writing them cannot fathom anything beyond actual physical realities of life on earth. They cannot think abstractly. Life after death is literally that — a continuation of exactly what happens on Earth, complete with eating and drinking and in a physical world that while underground, isn’t that much different than life above ground. They write their gods as physically showing up because they can’t really conceive of a being that doesn’t audibly speak, and can’t comprehend one that doesn’t have a physical body much like a human does. They can’t understand the idea of an abstract reality where god or the gods are simply spirits that don’t have real bodies. They can’t conceive of a dead sprite who is just floating around.

What I think people miss is just how much our understanding of the universe has changed even since then. Our minds have learned to think about abstractions, and then to think about abstractions abstractly. When we still worked with machines directly, the idea was create a device to directly do one thing. A machine to make one type of part. Later we created a machine that we could give direct instructions to so it could do lots of things (and most people use a pocket version to play candy crush). AI is a step farther into meta cognition— not only are we not directly creating the thing, nor are we building something to create the thing, we’re not even creating a device we can give instructions to to make the thing. AI is creating a thing that we teach to understand things and thus it can figure out for itself how to make things.

In the year 1000 BC, everything was on a very low level, directly experienced by sight, smell, touch, etc. You raised sheep, and your idea of math was counting sheep adding new lambs and subtracting those eaten by lions. There was no need for a deeper understanding of that. Real things do real things. Once you get into having a government, you need to think abstractly, begin to use numbers to keep track of taxes, people, goods, and so on. As society gets more complex, you need to be able to think more and more abstractly. Not just taxes paid, but anticipating trends like weather, military activity, trade. Eventually as science answers more questions, you not only need to anticipate but shape events.

[continent-of-wild-endeavor]

I was reading a post about dipping baby carrots in ranch, and it reminded me of what I've previously described as an Additive vs. Subtractive approach to nutrition.

The Subtractive view looks at all the things you're currently eating, or might eat in a given day, and sees a pile of Bad Stuff, with probably some Good Stuff mixed in, which would be better if only you could clean off and remove the Bad. The Unhealthy, the Fattening. So this outlook sees the carrots as Good, and that ranch is Bad, so in order to eat well, the thing to do is remove the ranch.

(I fear I've gotten in too deep with capitalizing Things for Emphasis, so I'm going to back off on that now. You get the point - foods are not *actually* fundamentally good or bad, they are just categorized that way.)

Dipping carrots in ranch is not a healthy food choice, because the ranch is unhealthy. The ranch has "cancelled out" the carrots, by adding all that fat and processed sugar & stuff, so it would be better not to have eaten that at all. Subtractive nutrition is very concerned with lessening the Bad things: calories, fats, trans fats, processed ingredients, carbs, sugar, salt, meat, non-organic foods - whatever their current trend of "healthy eating" says will kill you.

On the other hand, the Additive view (which I think is more sensible) looks at the carrots & ranch snack and says, you ate some carrots! Carrots are objectively good for you, and you got that nutrition into your body. Good job! Sure, you also ate ranch, which nobody thinks is a health food, but a) the carrots are still definitely in there, nourishing you, and b) the ranch made you more likely to eat them, and enjoy them, and so eat them again in the future. Ranch also provides essential nutrients, regardless of whether it's the ~optimal~ way to get them.

Additive nutrition looks at your day and sees what nutrients you consumed, any that are helpful. Any good choices you make, regardless of if there are also bad ones. What's good, and maybe let's not go overboard on "Bad" stuff if we're really worried about it, but what did you eat that helped you? Eat food that serves you, and if you can put in more good things that's great! But if you have ice cream afterwards, it doesn't rip the kale out of your stomach. It just means you had ice cream today, and also you had kale.

And while Additive thinking helps with motivation, because it gives you little mental gold stars for lots of things, and doesn't take any away or call for shame if you do eat all the nachos, it really comes into play in decisionmaking, and weighing options. Subtractive thinking says, don't eat broccoli with cheese sauce, the sauce is bad for you. Just eat the broccoli, plain, steamed, with maybe a little low-salt seasoning mix. But let's be real - you're not going to do that. Or at least, not very often, not if you're starting from "I don't like broccoli unless it's covered in cheese sauce". Subtractive thinking says take ALL the bad stuff out, and make only the Correct choices, and then you're being healthy. Otherwise you might as well not have bothered.

Additive nutritional thinking says the broccoli with cheese sauce is adding broccoli to your diet where it would not otherwise have been. It's not a choice between plain broccoli and cheesy broccoli, not really. Really the choice is, do I add some broccoli to my diet today, along with tasty sauce, or do I not eat broccoli at all, because that's what I would be doing otherwise?

[no-droids]

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

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

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

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

Day 5–11:13am:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s here… isn’t he?

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

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

This… this is a taunt.  

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

“You okay, Nerida?”

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Din.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

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

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

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

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something catches your eye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

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

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

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

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

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

—Bong—

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

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

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

One o’clock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes you a second.

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

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

“Ma—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Commotion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The crib—he forgot the crib—

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

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home.

***

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

[erodasfishtacos]

#HendallReunited

prompt: request was to write broad but to write something angsty

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: language, sexual content, angst

Harry always had issues with saying ‘no’ to people. He never quite grew out of his manners even when he should have.

He said ‘yes’ to way too many things- signing autographs for rude fans and paparazzi, and agreed to way too many things Jeff suggested.

Saying yes to everything didn’t make his life any easier is the thing. Especially when it came to his wife. She was usually left with the aftermath of him being too nice.

The media painted Y/N in a negative light occasionally and so did the fans because she would stand up for Harry and not let him say ‘yes’ to every single request.

She would tell disrespectful fans he’s not signing autographs because of the way they were screaming and interrupting his work.

Harry wished he could do it himself - admired that his wife didn’t give a fuck what people thought about her. He cared entirely too much what the world would think.

The couple didn’t fight about much - no, not really. Normal couple stuff for the most part. But this was the exception, this is where Y/N found most of their turmoil.

Every few months it would rear it’s ugly head and they’d find themselves in the same position over and over again.

This time - it was really fucking bad.

The couple had been staying in their Los Angeles home for the last few months whilst the singer finalized his album and began promotion.

It was boring meeting among boring lunch outings to get all their ducks in a row. Jeff - his manager the main orchestrator.

He was a great manager and a good friend, but it was also business too which Harry didn’t always comprehend.

At the end of the day, Harry was making Jeff millions upon millions of dollars. But Harry didn’t think that way.

**

Harry was in a stuffy conference room at the The Late Late Show to work on the script and ideas for the show. Promo had been nonstop.

He was a bit tired as it was nearly just hitting eight in the morning and he had been up late with you - having some late night loving in the hot tub.

“As for guest - Kendall Jenner,” James Corden’s producer states. All the men agree but Harry is taken aback.

“Why...why would we have my ex-girlfriend as one of my guests?” Harry interrupts, confusion knitting his brows.

Kendall and him didn’t end on a bad note - not at all. They hooked up a few times after their ‘break-up’ but once he’d met Y/N she was understanding when he cut it off.

Y/N wasn’t necessarily jealous of the model, but didn’t love when they’d run into each other at events. She was still overtly flirty with Harry without much shame. 

Harry also didn’t have an desire to see her or host her as a guest on the show. She was nice but he wasn’t interested in being friends with her. They didn’t have much in common and he was head over heels for his wife.

“The media will eat it up, dude. Harry Styles and Kendall Jenner reunited on a show after four years?” Jeff smiles, the others nodding in amicable agreement.

This is one of this times where Harry needs to say “no,” that it’s disrespectful to his significant other to use an old flame for promo for his album.

He already knows ‘hendall’ will be trending within minutes and he can’t imagine how that would make his parter feel.

“I just...this doesn’t seem like a good idea?” Harry begins hesitantly, making it sound more like a question than a statement. 

“Why not?” Eric, one of the writers asks.

“Y’know, I’m married. I don’t think m’missus would appreciate if I did somethin’ like that just for promotion,” he states, scratching at his jaw uncomfortably.

“Look Styles, we’re not asking you to fuck the girl. It just a interview, c’mon,” The executive producer gruffs - wanting those guaranteed views.

Harry swallows - looking at his manager and then at everyone else at the table looking at him for an affirmative answer.

“Uh-sure,” Harry fumbles, feeling anxiety rise into his throat. Fuck, he’s such a god damn pushover.

He’s trying to find his voice to go back on his agreement but the meeting wrapping up and people are leaving with final handshakes.

**

Harry doesn’t know how to tell Y/N what is going on. He’d been keeping in stored in the back of his mind, not ready to have a blowout.

He never found the perfect time to bring it up and now it was too late. It was the morning of the show and he was due to be at the rehearsals this afternoon.

Harry had finally decided he was going to tell her this morning over coffee but forgot that she had a girl’s day planned with a few friends.

She was already out to breakfast with them when he woke up. His phone had one text from you.

Hi baby. I’m out with the girls. See you at the show tonight. I’ll meet you there around six! Love you!

He was fucked royally and he had no one to blame but himself. Maybe it’d be okay, maybe she’d roll her eyes and tell him he’s an idiot.

Realistically he knew that was just a sweet dream at this point.

—

Harry was fidgety and kept mucking up his lines during rehearsal as it got closer to the showtime and his missus arriving.

Kendall had arrived for hair and makeup without seeing her ex-boyfriend yet. He dreaded seeing the model.

Kendall and Y/N had met a few times at different events. It was always cordial. Kendall was always casual - their relationship was never more than a couple fun dates and sex.

They were kind to each other when they met but he couldn’t deny how much harder his partner kissed him on the mouth afterwards.

Before he know it, his wife is hugging him from behind as he talks to a producer about which cameras to look at.

Y/N noticed the way he tensed up at first and thought about how unusual that was for him. Normally, he’d lean back into her with his full weight causing them both to stumble and laugh.

He slowly, cautiously turns around and his face  relaxes a little bit but not completely. “Hi baby,” he hums, leaning in for a kiss.

“You look so handsome,” she replies, admiring his brown pinstriped suit and her pearl necklace that he’d snagged awhile back. She thought it looked better on him anyways.

“You look even better, s’fuckin’ pretty, love,” he gushes, coming back in for another kiss - a little too sensual for the setting.

She was donned in a cropped white shirt, showing of the smooth expanse of her tummy. An oversized blazer of Harry’s, ripped jeans, and heels. 

Harry thought fleetingly he couldn’t wait to fuck her after the show. Then remembered that mostly wouldn’t happen.

Reggie, the musical lead, slides up to you two. He smiles wide at you, saying, “Can’t believe you agreed to the guest this evening.”

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, Harry’s raise nearly to his forehead, but when she opens her mouth to ask him to explain they’re interrupted.

“Harry!” The leggy model trots over to the little group. Dressed in an interesting one-piece suit that has sewn in heels. She looked beautiful as ever, of course she was a model.

Both of them turn towards the oblivious girl, “Kendall,” Harry replies with a twinge of anxiety - eyes repeatedly looking at his significant other’s profile as multiple emotions flash.

“Hiya, you’re Y/N right?” Kendall smiles kindly, offering her manicured hand.

She accepts, “Yeah, uh-good to see you again.”

Harry knew she had connected the dots quickly in her head. The hurt, confusion, had hit her eyes before narrowing into full-blown rage at her partner.

“I promise I’ll go easy on him,” Kendall jokes before pinching at Harry’s cheek teasingly. The model was a natural flirt with everyone she got along with.

“Oh, sure,” she replies lamely, attempting to not let her feelings burst out in that moment with her husband . She knew it wasn’t Kendall’s fault.

“I’m going to go grab a bite to eat. I’m probably gonna puke when we do ‘spill or fill’. See you guys soon,” the model waves before trailing off with her assistant.

“Did you kn- of course you knew she was your guest,” Y/N seethes, turning to fully face the guilt-stricken-singer.

He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact, “I did.”

“How long have you known for?” She demands to know, keeping her voice at an angry whisper to not draw attention.

Harry wasn’t going to lie to his love, “About two weeks.”

Y/N replies with a laugh, “let me guess, you let Jeffrey talk you into this bullshit, again.”

His silence is all she needs to know it’s true.

“For Christ’s sake, of course,” She huffs bitterly, “what’s even worse is you didn’t fucking tell me. What the fuck?”

Harry bites his lip, not able to rasp out anything but a pathetic, “m’sorry, love.”

He wasn’t usually good at taking responsibility during a fight. He was stubborn at best but he couldn’t deny his way out of this.

“You will be, you-“

They were cut off by the staff, the audience was trailing in and Harry needed to get mic’d up now.

“This conversation isn’t over,” she points her finger at his chest before storming off to the side of the stage where she’d watch from.

Fucking shit.

**

Harry was a performer. It’s easy for him to push things to the back of his mind so he can entertain a enamored audience.

But tonight, he was struggling. Eyes flicking over to the teleprompter more than usual, his demeanor not as vivid and carefree.

Not when his wife was glaring daggers at him from stage right. Her hand constantly at her mouth, biting at her nails - a nervous tick of hers.

“Next up, the one, the only, the beautiful model and one of my good friends, Kendall Jenner!” Harry introduces when she walks out and waves at the crowd.

They hug and when they pull apart they step over to where they were playing the game. Either answer the question or eat a nasty food picked out by the other.

They weren’t allowed to see each other’s questions before the game started- both going on blind which put Harry more on edge.

“Okay, Kendall. Rank the members of One Direction on most to least attractive or you will be eating...” Harry spins the table, “Cow tongue.”

She flinched at the disgusting plate, smirking up at Harry before considering her course of action, “I think I can answer this one.”

He wasn’t looking forward to her answer. Neither was Y/N by the way she nearly shaking her foot off her leg.

“Okay, I got this. You - the most attractive, then uh- Zayn....Louis...Niall...Liam,” she laughs, “but all of you are hot!”

Harry fake laughs and acts like he’s impressed by her answer as the crowd roars and cheers. 

When Kendall picks up her notecard - she laughs in surprise at the question before looking at him with bright eyes.

“Okay, um, bull penis!” She giggles before starting the question, “I’m dying to know this answer. So...your first album HS1 was released four years ago, correct?”

He nods, apprehensive.

“Which songs were about me? Especially was only angel?” She laughs at Harry’s pale expression before without another thought he shovels the rancid food into his mouth.

Harry looks off to the side to see that his missus is no longer sitting there. Just Jeff - who gives him a thumbs up.

**

The first thing he did when the show ended and the lights dimmed was bolt off to Jeff - ignoring Kendall who was about to say something to him.

“Where’d Y/N go?”

He thought she might have went out to get a breathe of fresh air but for the next hour and a half he hasn’t seen her once.

“She said she wasn’t feeling very good. She told me to tell you she’d meet you at home,” Jeff shrugs unbothered.

“Damnit!” Harry curses loudly, ripping out of the microphone and the little pack in his back waistband.

“Harry,” Jeff scolds at his unprofessionalism that was abnormal for him.

“No! Don’t fucking ever ask me to do shit like this again. You fucking knew what questions were on those notecards and you said it wasn’t anything about our previous relationship.”

“Harry-“

“Don’t fucking talk to me. You’re a real shit manager sometimes, you know that? Do not contact me tonight or tomorrow for that matter, you douchebag,” Harry barks before storming off towards the dressing rooms.

All the employees were standing around in shock, staring at the popstar as he ignored everyone around him.

Harry was famously known for being a kind, amicable guy. So it took everyone by surprise to hear him speak like that. Even Jeff was shaken up a little.

—

The house was pitch-black as Harry pulled up. The house’s first floor was lined with large, bay windows and not a single light was on.

He could find one room illuminated which was your bedroom. A dim side lamp must have been flicked on. He imagined her purposely turning off all the lights on the trek up the staircase.

Harry didn’t want to admit how much he was trembling with awful nerves and anticipation as he slowly turns the knob of the shared bedroom.

Y/N wasn’t laying in bed as he expected but found the bathroom door shut tightly. He noticed a little yellow bag with tissue paper off to the side by a dresser.

He knocks on the oak door, not daring to enter without permission.

“What do you want?” Y/N answers, tone flat and emotionless. 

“Can I come in, baby? Please...” He wasn’t ashamed to beg for forgiveness at this point. Hearing the emptiness in her tone scared him shitless.

“I really could care less,” She replies coldly from her spot in the scalding water decorated with bubbles.

Harry had never felt more unsure in his life as he enters the bathroom.  Y/N had gotten proper pissed at him or vice versa before - right before a concert, an award ceremony but she’d never left without him.

Her head was laying against the foam headrest and her body was covered by the soap water. She looked tired and her eyes were puffy from crying.

Harry kneels next to the tub, “look at me, please pet.”

 Y/N takes a moment before turning her head and opening her eyes. They were distant, disappointed in the man in front of her.

“I should have told you about Kendall. I should have put up more of a fight to get someone else on instead,” Harry admits, his hands desperately wanting to reach out for her.

She shakes her head with a heart-wrenching sniffle, “it’s not just tonight, Harry. We’ve had this conversation continuously for three and a half fucking years. You try to please everyone, despite them giving no fucks about you.”

“Are you that much of a pushover? You let your ex-girlfriend flirt with you in front of millions. Do you know how embarrassing and unfair that it to me?” She wipes at her eyes to stop the tears spilling over.

Harry hadn’t thought of it like that - to be honest. But he agrees, it wasn’t fair and downright cruel to do that to her.

What? All because he couldn’t say ‘no’ because he didn’t want people to be mad at him? It was pathetic and ridiculous.

“I-I won’t let it happen again, lovie. I mean it, I truly do,” Harry whimpers reaching over to cup her cheek and wants to cry when she pushes him away.

“You’re a broken record. You’ve said that a million times before but don’t change,”  Y/N points out, eyes boring furiously into his wife’s.

“I’m goi-“

She cuts him off with a sharp edge in her tone, “Just leave me alone, get out.”

The man’s face crumbles and for a second, she wants to just end the fight and makeup but then nothing would change.

“Baby-“

“Get out!” She finally bellows, tears streaming down her face steadily.

He obliges, head hung in defeat as he closes the door behind him. He stands there’s blankly for a second before going to the walk-in closet.

He’s pulling out a fresh pair of cotton underwear and a large sleepshirt for his partner, laying them neatly on the bed.

Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself while he waits so he pulls out his phone to mindlessly scroll.

He throws it against the wall when he sees #hendallreunited is trending number one on Twitter at the moment.

The singer strips down to his briefs and sits with his back against the tufted headboard, staring blankly at the wall.

His eyes catch a neon pink pair of his swimshorts tossed carelessly on the decorative vase in the corner of the room from the night before .

“Fuck, baby - no need to rush,” Harry groans into Y/N ‘s mouth as she pushes him until he’s sat on the edge of their California king.

She reaches impatiently for the tie on his neon pink swimshorts and yanks them off his slim, peach-fuzz thighs before throwing them onto the vase without a care that it was worth over twenty-thousand pounds.

After edging her in the hot tub with his fingers and mouth, she wasn’t waiting any longer before clambering onto his lap, pulling her swim bottoms to the side, and sinking onto him.

He felt guilty when his cock twitched at the thought of it. But when reality set back in, the arousal with the memory evaporated.

It isn’t much longer until the door is pulled open and  Y/N’s padding into the room with a towel secured around her.

She looks at the clothes Harry set out for her and pointedly walks past them to pick out her own nightwear. 

That really shouldn’t make his eyes tear up as he watches her slide on a similar pair of panties and an oversized shirt. Spotting a purpling bruise on her upper in thigh from his mouth.

 Y/N silently walks past the bed and to the bedroom door, looking back before bleakly stating, “I’m going to sleep in the guest room.”

He frowns, wrinkles appearing on his forehead, “You can sleep in here, love. I’ll take the guest room.”

Harry doesn’t get a reply as she just shakes her head and closes the door loudly behind her. 

It’s just - he’s never seen her this upset. She was usually fantastic at communicating her feelings and hashing things out.

She wasn’t one for the silent treatment or ignoring the topic. It had his chest rising faster than usual with anxiety. The serious of it overwhelming him.

He states at the wall for a very long time without wiping the fat tears brimming over his trembling lips.

*

He couldn’t sleep - it was half past three and he hadn’t even laid down or clicked off the lamp.

Harry accepted sleep wasn’t coming so he begins to tidy the already clean room. He picks up the shorts and tossing them in the hamper.

He refolds some joggers he’d carelessly shoved in a drawer and when he went to move the little yellow bag - curiosity got the best of him.

There was no card and he wasn’t sure who it was for or if it had been a gift already give to Y/N that she had returned home with.

Harry really shouldn’t - but he does. Gently tugging out the paper and reaching in to feel fabric.

Pulling it out, it takes him a minute to identify what it is - two baby onesie. Who was having a baby?

He lays them in front of him, eyes widening in surprise as he reads what is printed across the black cotton.

The first one was the colors and font of his upcoming tour merch with the photo he used on his tour announcement with the heeled boot and white pants.

Love on Tour - Due Date: September 2025

With Special Guest Appearance from Baby Styles

The second one was simple and read across the chest:

I’m having your baby (and it is your business) with embroidered kiwis all of over it.

He frantically reached back into the bag to pull out a bundle of pregnancy tests tied with a silk bow.

They weren’t necessarily trying for a baby but they’re weren’t not trying either. Harry wanted a baby as soon as his missus was willing to give him one.

“No, no, don’t one,” she’d whined into his mouth when he’d reached over to grab a condom off the nightstand.

“Oh sweet thing, you want me bare? Fill you up?” He croons happily, coming back to grip at his thick base and tease at her entrance.

“Ye-yeah, H. Please,” (Y/N) whimpers, bucking her hips in the hope he’d slip inside her.

Harry hums, “Might give you a baby though, y’want me to knock you up?”

“Want it, wan-“

He cuts her off with a hard, blissful kiss as he thrusts all the way inside before pulling out to do it again. 

“Gonna give it to you, whatever you want, lovie,” he promises.

The two had never used protection afterwards. It had start about seven months ago and from his knowledge she’d still been getting her periods regularly.

Occasionally, he would palm at her flat tummy and pout, “Haven’t put a baby in you yet, ‘ave I?”

He was so ecstatic but disappointed in himself for ruining everything and pleasing everyone other than who he should be.

Harry needed to fix this. He didn’t want Y/N to lose the excitement of having their baby over a dumb choice of his.

The man’s out of the room and not knocking before entering their guest room. His now pregnant love is laying on-top of the covers.

One hand subconsciously on her belly - which she removes and places next to her when her wife walks in.

The television was on but the volume was low and Y/N wasn’t watching it in the first place anyways.

Harry sits on the edge of the bed, “I opened the yellow bag.”

She looks at him with wide eyes, a little taken aback. she was going to surprise him tonight and forgot to store it away for another time after the fight.

Harry has happy tears dribbling down his cheeks, “you’re having my baby?”

Y/N nods, running a slight hand through his curls. She still had a nasty knot of anger and uncertainty in the pit of her stomach.

It pains her, wanting to share this moment of excitement with Harry but she just couldn’t. The uncertainty of whether Harry would put everybody’s needs before his own baby.

“Come back to bed, want t’talk and celebrate. M’so bloody excited,” Harry murmurs, a large smile decorating his face as he smooths a palm over the expanse of her tummy.

His wife shakes her head and places a hand over his, feeling the cold metal of all of them. “I want to be left alone.”

The twinkle in Harry’s eye diminishes to devastation as he realizes that he’s fucked up so badly that she doesn’t even want to celebrate.

“Pet, can...we just forget about it tonight and be happy ‘bout the baby?” Harry asks selfishly, knowing it was unlikely she’d agree.

She didn’t, a firm expression on her face, “no, I have a lot to think about.”

“Like wha’?” He asks anxiously, unknowing of quite the reason she was so furious.

“Like how you say yes to everything and everyone. We talk and talk about how you need to say ‘no’ and do what’s best for you - for us. You agree to and never follow through”

She takes a shaky breath and continues, “it’s affected our relationship before when you’ve had to cancel our vacation away from all this for a charity concert you’d agree to perform at last minute, dinner reservations because you told your friend we’d be at their art showing they wanted you at.”

Harry knew she was right. He did those things. He wanted everyone to be happy with him - to a fault.

“Tonight was just icing on the cake, you allowed your manager to talk you into hosting your ex on that show. Out of all the people in the world - her. With flirty questions and jabs from her. You let that happen. You care about making everyone happy but in return you don’t care how it affects me. That’s pretty shitty.”

“I’m...I’m really fucking scared you’ll do that even when we have the baby. I need you to put them first and right now...I’m not sure if you’re going to. You can’t put the person you want to spend the rest of your life with first now, how do I know you’ll do it with the baby?”

Harry chokes out a sob as he presses his forehead against the bed, his broad shoulders shaking. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried this hard - years ago maybe. He felt like his wife didn’t have any faith in him and he was to blame.

He looks up at her with swollen eyes - at a loss for what to do or say. He loved her so much and was over the moon that they were going to have a baby.

“How do I fix this, darling? You’re right, I really fucked up. M’sorry,” Harry cries, grabbing at her hands and she allows it.

“Just saying you’re sorry won’t fix it,” Y/N replies flatly, letting Harry squeeze and kiss at the backs of her hands.

“Then what do I bloody do to fix this?” Harry raises his voice in frustration, staring in bewilderment at his wife. 

Y/N narrows her eyes at him, “Do not raise your voice at me, Harry. Actions speak louder than words.”

Harry swallows harshly, pressing one finally kiss to her hand. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She repeats.

“I love you, I’ll fix this,” he promises with conviction. He knew what he needed to do and do it tomorrow. So he and his wife could enjoy her new pregnancy.

“I need space tonight, I just...please”Y/N says quietly, rubbing at his shoulder.

It wasn’t the first time they’ve slept in separate rooms because they weren’t getting along but they normally found their way back to each other before sunrise.

Harry nods, lip still tremble with the residual anxiety of the conversation. She allows him to press a soft kiss to her mouth before leaving the room.

—-

Cafe Habana was busy - but no one was paying much attention to Harry and Jeff. It was the morning after and Harry had demanded a meeting over breakfast with his manager.

“Y/N pregnant,” Harry states bluntly after their drinks arrive.

“Oh? Congratulations, dude. That’s exciting!” Jeff leans over to pat him on the shoulder, a big smile.

“The baby is due in September. My next tour starts in next July. The baby will be about nine months. I want to be at home with them for the first year.”

Jeff doesn’t look pleased, “what are you getting at Harry?”

“Reschedule the July and August tour dates. Tack them on to the end of the tour,” Harry lays out flat. 

He hadn’t talk to his wife about this but he knew this was how he could prove that he could say ‘no’ and not be a pushover.

“No Harry. Look I get you’re excited about the baby - but that will be such a fucking hassle,” Jeff frowns, sipping his mimosa.

“I’m not asking, Jeff. I’m telling you that’s what needs to happen,” Harry replies firmly, tone strong and unwavering.

Jeff is definitely taken aback by his client’s conviction. 

“While we’re on the topic, do not ever put me in a situation like you did yesterday. It affected my wife and I. And I will choose her over this career any day.”

The manager nods in surprise, “Harry, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not asking for an apology but if you ever pull something like then I’ll be looking for a new management team. Are we clear?” 

Jeff once again nods, unsure of where this is coming from but at the thought of losing his biggest client would be disastrous so he’d do whatever to accommodate him.

“Consider it done,” he tells Harry before clearing his throat in a slight panic.

—

Y/N woke up to an empty house. She was restless, she asked Harry to prove to her that he could be what she needed. However, it was a bit unfair because she didn’t know how he could do it.

It’s just…she had a baby to think about. They both needed to be put first and if it took a gnarly fight for Harry to realize it...so be it.

“Baby? Love, where are you?” She hears Harry echo through the whole house. She was sat in the kitchen, on a stool by the island, idly sorting through mail.

“In here!”

Harry jogs in, panting like he sprinted from the garage up to the kitchen. He comes to stand in front of the love of his life.

“I might have not completely fixed everything but...I tried,” Harry tells her, cradling her face in his large palms. “ I just got back from lunch with Jeff. I told him about the baby.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I rescheduled tour dates so I can be with you guys at home in London for the first year. Then...maybe you guys can join me after?”

“Harry…” she’s at a loss for words.

“And I told Jeff that if he ever puts me in a situation like that again, I’m firing him.”

Y/N stares at him, in awe and admiration of the man she chose to marry and keep forever. His face was so sincere and vulnerable.

Harry didn’t know whether it would be enough. If it wasn’t he’d keep trying but all he could do was hope. He waited with bated breath as she processed his words.

“Baby, you-for me?” She murmurs as she stands up and crowds into his space. He instantly wraps her up into a tight hug, missing her touch.

“Of course, pet. I’d do anything for you, I mean it. I’d quit this whole career if you wanted tha’,” he tells her truthfully - lips brushing her forehead.

“I love you, so so much,” Y/N murmurs, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“We’re havin’ a baby,'' Harry sighs dreamily into her mouth, tongue sliding against hers. A large hand came to palm at her belly.

“Yeah, m‘having your baby,” She giggles as he begins to trail the kisses down her jaw and neck - pressing her into the marble countertop.

“Should we name it Kiwi?” Harry rasps as he slides the tank top strap off her shoulder so his lips can meet the cap of her warm shoulder.

“We are not going to be that celebrity couple who names their baby something weird,” Y/N groans as he grounds his hips into hers with intent.

THE END

[helpimhyperfixating]

Help! - Jotaro x Reader P2

Where you get turned into a wolf by an enemy Stand user.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

-

Word Count: 4420

Jotaro had left about ten minutes ago for the supermarket. Neither of you really knew what was and wasn’t okay for you to eat and so he decided to just go and buy steak. Maybe not the most conventional of breakfasts, but it would hopefully do the trick.

You were left behind in the room while he did so, for you both knew there was no way Jotaro would be able to smuggle you back up again, lest he get kicked out of the hotel completely.

After making sure you were alright and putting the ‘do not disturb’ sign up, he had closed the door and now here you sat in the bedroom, having put your snout under the curtains so you could look outside at the hustle and bustle of daily life in Morioh.

Of course you just had to have transformed into a wolf. You couldn’t be dog, or a puppy, no, no, it had to be a gigantic wolf.

The uses of this particular Stand still baffled you. You wondered what the benefit of transfiguring your enemy into an animal would be but when you tried summoning your Stand earlier, you found yourself unable to do so. So maybe, it was specifically effective against Stand users. But then again, transforming into a wolf all of a sudden had left you pretty disoriented and defenseless.

No matter how strange or dumb it may seem on first glance, never underestimate a Stand ability.

You huffed a little as your thoughts raced, your head mindlessly following the cars that drove by when you weren’t people watching.

The click of a door suddenly sounded and you wiggled your head out from underneath the curtain, tripling over to the bedroom doorway so you could look into the main room and see Jotaro.

Only, you didn’t see Jotaro.

In the doorway now stood a cleaning lady. You immediately dropped down low, crawling backwards back into the bedroom before frantically looking around. She somehow must have missed the ‘do not disturb’ sign Jotaro put up, or purposely ignored it. Either way, she was in the room and you had to hide somewhere.

As fast as you could, you ran behind the bed, lowering down as much as you could before crawling under it. Your back bumped into the bed and you cringed, hoping the lady didn’t hear it.

You were slightly panting as you heard her shuffle about in the main room and you tried to get your breath under control, worried about all the noise it was creating.

The woman then entered the bedroom and your heart rate spiked. With every step she took, you shuffled a little more towards the wall, trying to use the noises she made to mask the noises you were inevitably making. After a little bit you had finally reached the wall and you pressed yourself completely against it, now practically boxed in between the wall and nightstands, shrouded in the shadow and just silently waiting under the bed.

And just in time as well, since the cleaning lady took that moment to bend down and look under the bed.

Her gaze turned left and right for a second but not far, only really glancing under the frame before she concluded there was nothing there and stood up.

She walked away over to the cupboard and, while you wanted to release the breath you were holding, you didn’t.

The sound of the cupboard opening and the cleaning lady humming reached your ears and you turned one of them in her direction so you could hear better. Some steps sounded as she walked back into he main room and a few seconds later you heard the phone horn in the room being picked up. The lady punched in a number and a few dials later it was picked up on the other side.

“Hello? Yes, I am in that room but there is no sign of a dog or big wolf here. ...No, I understand. Yes I checked everything. Can I continue on my schedule now? This room is not scheduled to be cleaned until this afternoon and whatever guest was here explicitly put up the do-not-disturb sign.”

There was a small silence as the person on the other line seemed to be talking but soon the lady piped up again.

“...No I do not care. Listen, young man, I have worked at this hotel for over twenty years, a whole lot longer than you have, and I have a system. Next to having common decency as well. Instead of making me sneak around, why don’t you just ask the customer when they get back? ...aha? Well, I need to get back to work, bye.”

With that, the cleaning lady hung up the phone before quietly grumbling to herself about asshole management these days and grabbing her cart. You listened to the squeak of the wheels as she shuffled back towards the door of the room, pausing for one second to presumably look back into it before walking out completely and shutting the door behind her, turning the lock and leaving, leaving you alone once more.

- - - -

Jotaro sighed as he walked back into the room. Going up, he had gotten the most vile glare from one of the employees, presumably someone from management. He assumed the boy from last night had indeed informed his manager but why this guy was glaring at him was a mystery to Jotaro. Not that he cared much of course.

“Y/N, I’m back.” He called out into the hotel room as he closed the door behind him, locking it before stepping further inside, putting the grocery bag on the kitchen counter before looking around. There was no sign of his friendly-wolf-wife and his brows furrowed a bit. “Y/N?” He spoke as he walked towards the door leading to the bedroom - since he didn’t see her in the main room.

As he stepped in however, he was met with a marvellous sight. Your head was sticking out from under the bed, front paws as well, trying to drag yourself out but failing.

You were stuck.

“Yare yare, what on earth are you doing?” Jotaro sighed and you sadly looked up at him.

You had stayed under the bed just in case someone else came into the room but when you heard it was Jotaro, you had tried to get out, only to find you couldn’t.

Heartbreaking whines left your throat and Jotaro sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. He was already done with today. “Alright, hang on.” He stepped towards the bed and put his hands on the underside, lifting the thing with only a little bit of effort and allowing you to escape its deadly clutches.

“Why were you under there?”

You opened your jaw but then closed it again, having absolutely not a single clue how you were going to explain it. Jotaro seemed to notice and just grumbled for a second, motioning you to follow not a moment after.

You gingerly followed in his steps as he walked to the kitchenette, pulling out the steak from the grocery bag while getting bacon and eggs for himself.

Not knowing what else to do, you just sat down about two meters away from him - trying to stay out of his way yet close by - and let your husband get to work making breakfast.

The moment he took the steak out of the plastic, the smell hit you and you practically started salivating. Jotaro noticed your ears perk up in happiness from the corner of his eye and smirked a little to himself, happy that it turned out to be a good idea.

Just to be on the safe side, he cooked the steak, adding no spice or other flavours, just letting it simmer while he worked on his own eggs and bacon.

It wasn’t too long before it was all done and Jotaro took his time to cut the steak into edible chunks for you, putting it on a plate once it was cut nicely. Needing some room, he put it on the table behind him before going to plate his own food.

As he did however, your nose and hunger got the best of you - cause that steak just smelled so good - and you cautiously walked over to the table. It was way too high and you couldn’t even see the plate, but that wasn’t going to stop you.

You got onto your hind legs, putting your front paws on the table as you were finally able to see the plate, and leaned towards it but just then, Jotaro turned around and quickly grabbed the scruff of your neck, holding you back from putting your face in the food.

“No, don’t eat standing up.” He scolded and slightly pulled you back despite you trying to still lean forward to eat it. “Y/N, for God’s sake, don’t.” Jotaro grunted when you tried to pull forward again but his words had no use, with you continuing to pull and tug in an attempt to go forward.

Genuinely feeling strain in his arm from you, Jotaro suddenly tugged on your scruff a little more roughly.

“Y/N!” That seemed to snap you back into the here and now and you shook your head, no longer fighting Jotaro and gingerly putting your front paws down on the floor again.

Cautiously, Jotaro let go of your scruff, still hovering his hand over it for a few seconds until he was sure you wouldn’t lunge for the food again. His eyes were a little narrowed and he picked up your plate, you eyeing it all the way as he walked over to the couch and coffee table.

“Just sit in front of this, we’ll eat here.” Jotaro spoke and you nodded, walking past him and sitting down. He stopped right behind you but didn’t put the plate down yet. “Did you do that on purpose just now?”

Tilting your head to look back at him, you shook your head no guiltily, making Jotaro click his tongue. You didn’t know what came over you and the both of you had the same thought: ‘were there more effects to this Stand than just changing appearance?’

It was no use discussing it now though and Jotaro placed the plate in front of you on the table. It smelled really good but this time you refrained from digging in(or trying to dig in), and waited for Jotaro to sit down as well, holding his fork and plate in his lap.

Seeing that he was seated and ready to start eating, you gingerly leaned down, sniffing the steak for a second before opening your maw and taking one of the chunks. It was now between the front of your teeth and you lifted your head upright.

So... now what?

What the hell were you supposed to do with it now? Jotaro was eyeing you in amusement, seeing you so confused on what to do, but you were too focused on the task at hand and didn’t notice luckily.

Using your tongue, you moved the block of meat into your mouth and shut your jaws.

Sooo... now you just had a meat chunk in your mouth, you couldn’t swallow it like this, it was too big, you had to chew.

Deciding fuck it, you just opened your jaw again and tried to get the food between your teeth on the right side and chew. It succeeded for about a second before it fell out, half of it back on the plate, the other half on the coffee table.

This was a lot harder than it looked.

And so the entire breakfast time was figuring out how to chew and keep the food in your mouth while Jotaro looked on in amusement and mock disappointment. More than not, the steak kept falling but despite that, it tasted very good. You had to give props to Jotaro for that, even if he used literally nothing on it and simply cooked it.

Either way, breakfast was eaten and it was time to head out.

- - - -

Walking next to Jotaro on the sidewalk, you curiously looked around. It was strange to see the world from a different height. You were used to having to look up to people - living with Jotaro and all - but never like this.

People pretty much stayed clear of the intimidating man and giant dog - was it a wolf? - opting to preserve their lives over sating their curiosity for what the strange duo was doing.

Jotaro and you had been out for about two to three hours now, having gone back to the alley where you first woke up in - where you found your wedding ring and bag laying on the floor yet nothing else - to the path you ran in a panic, all the way to when you ran into Jotaro, hoping to find some sort of clue as to the Stand user.

Jotaro was crouched down, inspecting the sidewalk for the hope of any sort of clue but it seemed futile. You were just calmly sitting next to him - once again not really knowing what to do - when a noise reached you. You looked to your right and spotted a couple walking their dog. You would have dismissed it and gone back to watching Jotaro, but something in you refused to look away from the dog and everything suddenly turned black.

-

Jotaro lifted his head when he saw you stand up from the corner of his eye, waiting to see if maybe you had found something. What he saw instead, was you, your eyes focused solely on one point as you slowly started stalking forward. Your ears were flat against the back of your head as you got low to the ground, baring your teeth yet making no sound as you started moving.

He followed your gaze to where you were looking and saw the same couple. For a second he wondered if one of them was the Stand user but then he noticed how your eyes were trained on their dog. Except, those weren’t really your eyes. No, the eyes trained on that dog were dark, menacing and dangerous, not your usual sweet, caring or shy look that you held even as a wolf.

“Y/N?” He spoke, trying to get your attention but not even your ear twitched in acknowledgement that you heard him. Getting up from his crouched position, Jotaro furrowed his brows at you and then, before he had a chance to walk towards you, you bolted.

On all fours, the short distance to the couple would take no more than three seconds and Jotaro watched in horror as all the muscles in your body contracted, getting ready to pounce.

“Star Platinum: The World!” Jotaro activated his Stand and sprinted over towards you. You were frozen mid-pounce, hind legs still on the floor to give you that momentum while the couple looked terrified, the dog frozen in fear as well.

Jotaro got there as fast as he could and, at the absolute limit of his time, he managed to extend Star Platinum’s arm and grab the scruff of your neck with it, using the five meters extra range that his Stand gave him to grab on.

Time started moving again and Star Platinum nearly lost his grip on you from the force of your pounce, yet he succeeded in holding you back. You were barking and growling, terrifying the couple even further as you fought against the Stand’s grip. Just then, something more solid took hold of that scruff in your neck.

“Y/N, calm down!” Jotaro yelled out, attempting to pull you back and away from the couple frozen in fear but it did nearly nothing as you fought to attack their dog. “Y/N!”

Despite that, you seemed to completely ignore him, just continuing to attempt to lunge at the smaller creature in front of you.

Having had enough, Jotaro just used his weight and Star Platinum to yank your legs out from under you and push you down onto the ground and pin you there.

Almost immediately, you turned on him and bit at the arm still holding the scruff of your neck but Star Platinum was faster. The purple Stand clamped one hand over your jaw, forcing it shut and keeping it shut while his other arm grabbed your front legs and pinned them down, stopping them from scratching at the man in white. Using his own arms, Jotaro finally released your scruff and instead used it to push your head to the ground, using the other to push on your main body, keeping you completely pinned down. Your legs just weakly tried to kick at him but he had positioned himself in such a way that you couldn’t reach.”

“Y/N, STOP.” He commanded and the tone of his voice finally seemed to break through something in you, though not enough just yet.

“Sir, get that mad thing under control!” The woman to his left screeched out and Jotaro snapped his head towards her, directing all his anger at her.

“What the fuck do you think I’m doing, woman?!” He yelled with the nastiest glare and she immediately shut up. Jotaro then turned back to you and loosened up his hold a little, seeing you try to get up as he hoped you would, giving him leeway to slam you back down on the ground, the shock of the contact forcing all the breath out of your lungs.

“Y/N, snap out of it!” He commanded once more and his voice, paired with the force of the body slam, finally made you do just that. The anger and feral look in your eyes left and you immediately stopped kicking your legs.

The haze lifted and you looked around in surprise and slight fear, unsure what was going on. Jotaro was on top of you, holding you down with his arms while Star Platinum held your jaws locked shut.

Your breathing sped up and Jotaro noticed, seeing the familiar look return to your eyes. He slowly lifted his hand from your head, relieving the pressure for you and allowing you some movement. “You back?” He gruffly questioned and you nodded your head, comically tugging Star’s arm up and down with said motion.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Jotaro released you completely and sat back on his haunches, making Star Platinum let go of you as well. Given the returned freedom, you pushed up a bit until you were sitting sideways and stretched your jaw a bit before turning your head towards Jotaro. You had no idea what just happened but given the glare he was sending in your direction, it wasn’t good...

“Don’t just let it go! It will attack again!” A male voice sounded from up ahead and you turned your head from watching Jotaro, to the voice, seeing the couple you saw before looking angry and scared. Your gaze drifted down and landed on the dog that sat there, lingering for a second. It was adorable.

Jotaro eyed you warily as you looked at the dog but when you innocently averted your gaze and turned your head to him looking all sad and confused, he allowed himself to relax a bit, easing up on his glare.

“You should muzzle it and put a leash on it or something!”

The shout from the man made the glare return however and Jotaro angrily got up. “How about you mind your own fucking business?” He spat before looking at you. “Come, Y/N.”

With that, Jotaro started walking, passing by the couple without sparing them a single look as he just took large strides and walked past, you on his heels.

Five minutes passed and Jotaro suddenly held out his hand, a sign for you to stop walking. You did just that and looked up at him, seeing his brows furrowed down as he looked at you.

“Do you know what just happened?” Shaking your head, Jotaro clenched his jaw. “You lost control and tried to attack that couple, or- their dog at least.”

A distressed noise left you and Jotaro crouched down in front of you.

“You didn’t harm anyone, I got to you before you could.” He reassured and you looked at him worried, Jotaro immediately understanding what you meant. “You didn’t harm me either.”

A sigh left him as he looked to the side for a second before looking back at you. “It was a close call though. I barely managed to reach you in time and as much as I don’t want to say, those idiots may be right. I need a way to quickly hold you down.”

- - - -

Walking through the pet shop, Jotaro scowled a bit at all the items. From all the places he wouldn’t be allowed to bring you inside, a pet shop was one of the last places he would expect. He wasn’t allowed to bring a pet into a pet store. It was fucking stupid.

Finally reaching the leashes, Jotaro quickly bypassed the collars and instead walked over to the harnesses. If he had to use it specifically for holding you back when needed, he did not want to choke you out with a collar around your neck.

Picking one of the bigger ones up, it was black with silver rings for attaching a leash and Jotaro looked at the door for a second. He had no idea what size he had to buy.

“Can I help you sir, you look troubled.” A woman walked up to him, already sporting a small blush and Jotaro’s lip quirked in annoyance. “Buying a harness for your dog?” Jotaro didn’t really want to answer but just grunted, at least trying to be polite. “How big is your dog, maybe I can help.”

“Big.”

Taken aback by the rude answer, the employee darted their eyes back and forth for a bit. “Uhm, try this one then, it is nearly the biggest one we have. It should fit right?” She grabbed a different one from the one Jotaro was holding from the rack and handed it to him. “Anything else you need?”

“It needs to fit.”

“Sir, that is one of the biggest ones we have and it is adjustable so it can fit on a somewhat smaller dog as well, I’m sure it will fit.”

“I’m not.”

The woman just blinked a few times. “How big is your dog?”

“She’s right outside.” Jotaro grunted and the employee furrowed her brows.

“Sir, I can’t just let you take it without paying.”

“Fucking watch me try them on then. I’m not going to steal it, it just needs to fit.” Jotaro grumbled, getting incredibly annoyed by the employee but brushing past her all the same, grabbing the biggest harness he saw from the rack as he went past her.

Warily, the employee followed him, almost helicoptering around as he walked through the door.

The light hit his eyes and Jotaro looked right, feasting his eyes on the sight of Star Platinum absolutely smothering you in pets and cuddles. He had left his Stand out just in case something happened but here he was, just absolutely smothering you in affection.

Pulling his hat over his eyes, Jotaro tried to hide the small blush he now sported. Maybe he should stop thinking about how soft your fur looked and was, it started affecting his Stand.

“Y/N.”

Just the small mention of your name made you snap your eyes open from the previous expression of bliss you held and your head perked up. Trotting over to Jotaro, you sat down and looked up at him happily.

“T-This is your dog?” The employee looked on in bewilderment as Jotaro crouched down in front of you, humming in response as he brought in Star Platinum.

“Put your paws forward a bit.” Jotaro murmured as he held one of the harnesses on your back, looking at how big it was on you. You did as he asked and Jotaro slid the thing over your head, reaching under your legs to grab the clips so he could click it into the main part of the harness.

“It’s uh, very well trained.” The employee spoke but Jotaro had enough of being polite and just ignored her, looking at the harness. Even when he loosened the straps as much as possible, it still looked a little too tight for his liking and he released the clips, taking it off of your head and replacing it with the biggest one he picked out earlier. By pure coincidence it held a pattern of light and dark blue stars on a dark grey backdrop and Jotaro couldn’t help but smile a bit to himself when he fastened it.

It had to be on the loosest setting but it seemed to fit alright. “Is it comfortable? Walk around a bit.” Jotaro sat back and motioned with his hand for you to walk around and you quickly turned on your axis, starting to stretch down low before hopping around a bit, seeing how it felt.

It was a strange feeling at first but it was not that much different from a tight or thick mini jacket wrapped around your torso. After jumping up and down one more time, you were satisfied that it didn’t hinder any mobility and walked back over to your husband.

Seeing you were happy with it, he hummed and took it off, gathering the other two harnesses as well before walking past the employee without saying a word, bringing out Star Platinum again as he walked through the door and left the Stand with you again while he gathered the last needed items and paid.

Just three minutes later he walked back out, putting the harness on you and clipping a thick black leather leash on the back of it. Should worse come to worst, it should be sturdy enough to hold your weight and power.

“Yare yare daze, what a fucked up scenario this is.” Jotaro sighed as he wrapped the leash twice around his hand and looked down at you. “We’re going over to Josuke. The old man is visiting him there while his mom is away and perhaps the geezer can take a picture of the Stand user who did this to you. Any clue should help.”

You nodded at him and just like that, the two of you were under way again.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

@writing-in-a-hoodie You were asking about a part 2 so I thought I’d tag you 👉👈

[watchmegetobsessed]

Failed, Faked, Fallen - Harry Styles

a/n: this story was a pain in the ass, not gonna lie and i really thought i would just end up deleting the whole thing but I MADE IT TO THE END YAY so now please take the time to read bc it literally made me want to jump off a cliff lol

special thanks to @pastequeharry​ for putting up with me throught the writing process, she is the reason i didn’t just delete the whole thing haha

pairing: Fratboy!Harry x Reader (fake dating AU)

word count: 16.6k

masterlist

Tonight has been in the making for ten years. Every fiber in your body is protesting against it, but you just can’t carry this massive secret around any longer. You need to tell your best friend that you are in love with him, have been since middle school when you first met him. It’s a scary thing to come clean about your feelings for someone, but you feel like it’s now or never.

Your friendship with Oliver has been always a little… blurry. You were just regular friends when he was dating someone, but whenever he was single, he seemed to seek comfort and intimacy with you. It always starts with him getting a little more touchy and cuddly with you, then comes the kissing and hugging, his hands wandering to places friends shouldn’t explore and you somehow always end up in a bed…  

Then it would immediately change once he got himself a girlfriend and you figured he has just been confused about his feelings for you. It has to be that, right? These past few weeks the situation was the same. He broke up with this girl he was seeing all summer before you all came back to school and you think this is the perfect time to finally talk about what’s really going on between the two of you.

Your roommate, Sandra has helped you with your makeup for tonight’s frat party and now you are deciding on the dress. You want to look your best so when Oliver confesses his love for you tonight, you’ll look as dreamy and pretty as you always dreamed about.

“The black one is fucking mint,” Sandra points at the black bodycon dress lying on your bed. “I can give you my red leather jacket,” she offers, finishing up putting her hoop earrings in.

“The red jacket?” you eye her in surprise. Sandra loves that jacket more than her own life. The two of you have been sharing your clothes since you became roommates last year, but the jacket has been off limits always.

“I know how important tonight is for you. The occasion deserves the red jacket,” she chuckles, stepping to her wardrobe to get the jacket. It’s the most badass leather jacket you’ve ever seen, looks so perfect on Sandra every time she wears, you feel honored she is letting you take it for the day.

“Oliver won’t be able to keep his eyes off of you,” she smiles at you excited once you’re all dressed. The jacket looks amazing, pulls the look together perfectly, you can’t deny that.

Soon enough, the two of you leave the dorm and head in the way of Kappa Chi, that’s only a fifteen minute walk away from your dorm. They are having a party almost every other week, those boys would celebrate the stupidest shit just to fill their house up with people and booze as much as possible. You and Sandra have been attending their parties since first year, it’s always a great way to unwind after a tiring week at uni.

“When is he coming?” Sandra asks over the music once you two arrive and head to the kitchen for a drink.

“Um, he texted me ten minutes ago that he is about to leave soon. He’ll be here shortly,” you tell her and thank her when she hands you a beer in a red solo cup.

The house is packed, just like always. Most of the football players from school are member of Kappa Chi, so naturally, all girls want to be around when they are throwing a party. You could say they are the popular guys, but it’s not like in the movies. They are just some particularly handsome guys living together, attracting a lot of girls. They are not at all unreachable, you are kind of friends with a few of them as well even without being a sorority girl yourself.

Standing in the kitchen you get into a conversation with a few girls from your dorm, that’s when you see Harry Styles storm through the house, Naomi Saddler following behind him, seemingly very much in the middle of a fight he doesn’t want to take part in. You know Harry, but you couldn’t say you two are that close. You did a group project last year together and he is actually a really smart guy despite the gossips about him just being a dumb womanizer. He surely is a ladies’ favorite, but you wouldn’t say the description fits him. You haven’t actually seen him with more than three girls since freshman year, unlike some of his other teammates that hook up with a different girl every weekend. He and Naomi have been in this on-off relationship for a few months now, but you don’t know much about them. You don’t run in the same groups to know the details.

The two of them disappear upstairs and you are pulled out of your thoughts when someone asks you a question, so you forget about Harry and Naomi in a blink of an eye.

An hour passes and still no sign of Oliver and you start to feel anxious. You shoot him a text, struggling a little with the typing thanks to the alcohol you’ve been consuming to keep your cool. Surprisingly, he answers right away.

Oliver: Be there in 3. Meet me outside?

Y/N: Sure!

“Alright, wish me luck,” you tell Sandra as you fill your cup again and head outside.

Kappa Chi has a nice backyard with a decent sized pool, some beerpong tables and lots of lounge chairs. You walk past the beerpong games, paying no attention to them at all as you go for an empty lounge chair. You sit down, fix your dress nervously and wait while you try to think through what you’ll tell him.

You can’t believe you are finally telling him how you are feeling. Your teenager self would be peeing herself is she knew what you are planning to do now. All those years of pining and crying whenever Oliver had a girlfriend in the past, now is your chance to finally be that girl and you’re actually quite convinced he’ll say he feels the same way about you.

Fidgeting with one of the zippers on Sandra’s jacket, you nervously wait for Oliver to show up. You look in the direction of the backdoor right when he appears from the crowd inside. Your heart skips a beat as you stand up quickly, a smile tugging on your lips. You are just about to wave in his way to catch his attention when you see some brunette by his side… holding his hand. And then she kisses him shortly right before they step out of the house.

What the fuck?! This cannot be true. Who is she? And why do you know nothing about her? Did Oliver keep it a secret that he is dating someone? But why?!

For a moment you actually feel like you are about to faint. Blood rushes out of your head as you see the couple walk their way around the beerpong tables, Oliver obviously looking for you, but you can’t bring yourself to move.

“Y/N! There you are!” he beams happily, pulling the brunette with him when he finally spots you. You need a moment for yourself to get over the first wave of your shock.

“Oh, yeah! Hi!” you smile awkwardly, eyes meeting with the girl’s. She is so pretty and actually seems nice. You hate her for that.

“Y/N, I want you to meet Lexi,” Oliver introduces the brunette. “Lexi, this is Y/N.”

“I’ve heard so much about you, Y/N!” she smiles, pulling you into a hug that catches you off guard for sure.

“Wow, I… wish I could say the same,” you bitterly reply, eyes meeting Oliver’s once Lexi lets go of you. He is clearly uncomfortable at your comment, but tries to mask it quickly.

“Yeah, I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to tell you about Lexi. But it’s kind of new.”

“How new?”

“We’ve been going out for about three weeks,” she answers your question, her hand finding his pretty quickly as she smiles up at him with so much adoration.

“Oh,” is all you manage to get out for a moment. You still haven’t completely processed that your plan just went straight out the window and that once again, Oliver chose another girl over you.

But then, the more you think about it, the angrier you get. You are tired of this stupid game you two have been playing, but you also have no idea what to do about it.

“I thought that Y/N, if you have a boyfriend, we could maybe go on some double dates! Would be so much fun!” Lexi suggests, but her words make your stomach churn. You have always wanted to go on double dates, but with Oliver being your date. Not someone else’s…

“I uhh… I don’t…” You are so frozen, you can’t even think of an answer, you just want to leave as soon as possible, so you can cry yourself to sleep. Oliver brings an arm around Lexi’s shoulders, looking down at you as if he wasn’t cuddling you just not that long ago. As if he wasn’t preaching your beauty a few weeks ago, making you feel like the only girl in the world. This is so not fair.

“Y/N is not a fan of double dates.”

Suddenly, an arm swings around your shoulders and a tall body stands next to you, pulling you to his side. Turning your head you are shocked to see Harry standing there, smiling at Oliver and Lexi as if this discussion was completely his business.

Oliver seems just as shocked as you are. He is staring at the football player by your side with wide eyes.

“Wait, you two are… dating?”

“It’s pretty new, but yeah. Y/N and I have been going out for a while. Right, baby?” He squeezes your arm, glancing down at you and when your eyes meet, he gives you a look that says ‘just go with it, I’m saving your ass’ and you decide to play your part.

“Oh, umm, yeah. We’ve kind of reconnected when we got back after the summer,” you nod, hoping that your voice doesn’t give you away.

“That’s amazing!” Lexi cheers, clearly eating up the impromptu lie, but as you glance at Oliver, you can tell he is sceptic.

“I didn’t even know you were friends in the first place,” he comments, eyebrows furrowed a little as he eyes Harry’s hand on your shoulder.

“We were! We had a great time working on a group project last year and then later I asked for her number. But the summer was so busy for both of us, so we kind of fell out, but then we met again in September and I finally manned up to ask her out.”

You are impressed by how easily Harry is lying. If you didn’t know it wasn’t true, you would eat it up just as easily as Lexi is doing right now. Especially because his body language matches up with what he is saying so well. He is keeping you close, fingers dancing on your upper arm and shoulder, anyone would think he actually has a thing for you, but you know that’s not true. You two are barely even friends.

“That sounds so nice. We definitely should meet up sometime, the four of us!” Lexi suggests again and you stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“We’ll see about that. But I’ll have to steal Y/N away now, I have something to show her.” Harry bids his goodbye quickly, pulling you away before Oliver could even say a thing and you just blindly follow him inside the house.

You don’t even process what’s happening. Harry takes your hand, pulling you through the crowd and you catch Sandra’s gaze who is still standing in the kitchen, her eyes widening when she sees you with Harry. You just shrug in confusion, following Harry upstairs until he leads you into a room that, you assume, is his.

When he shuts the door closed, the noises of the party gets muffled and you look at him with probably the stupidest look ever.

“Alright, let me explain myself,” he breathes out. “I’m sorry if I stepped over some boundaries, I just… I was outside and heard the conversation. Thought I would help you out.”

“But what made you think I needed help?” you ask. The conversation was very innocent for an outsider. He couldn’t know what you were planning to do, so why did he think you needed his help?

Harry gives you a tight-lipped smile, cocking his head to the side.

“Y/N, we might not be close friends, but I’ve seen you around with Oliver. It’s written on your forehead that you have the fattest crush on the guy.”

“What?!” you snap, feeling your cheeks heating up. “Is this really that obvious?!”

“Don’t worry, seems like he is one of the few that don’t seem to notice it. I saw how uncomfortable you were when he introduced the girl. Seemed like you needed the help.”

Nodding you take a few seconds to process everything that just happened. You shouldn’t have drunk that much, because now your brain has to work even harder to put the picture together.

“Alright, but… now they think that we are dating. Lexi will want to meet up with us and it will look stupid if we never even show up again together.”

Harry nods, his lips rolling into his mouth and you know just from his look that there’s more.

“Yeah, about that. I might have had some selfish reasons behind my actions as well.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry walks past you, over to his bed and sits on the edge, leaning forward to rest his arms on his thighs. You’re not sure what to do with yourself, if you should sit next to him or somewhere else, he has a few beanbags in the corner of his room, but you decide to just keep standing.

“So, I don’t know if you know this but I had this thing with Naomi Saddler.”

“Harry, everyone knows it.”

“Right, yeah,” he chuckles awkwardly. “So the thing is, we have broken up a long time ago, but she keeps coming after me and I’m just so over it. So when we were fighting earlier today I told her that I’m dating someone else so I would appreciate if she left me alone.”

He doesn’t need to say more, you finally see the whole picture. He helped you because he felt sorry for you, but also because he thought it would benefit him as well. You could be his new girlfriend so Naomi would finally let him be. You have to admit, it’s a lucky coincidence, but still, the situation is a little absurd for your liking.

“So… what are we supposed to do now?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. Harry looks up at you, seemingly surprised you haven’t snapped at him.

“Well, I know it sounds crazy, but I think we both would benefit from it if we just… pretended to be a couple,” he clears off.

“Like, a real couple?”

“Well, obviously not real, but it would look real to others,” he chuckles, standing up and taking a few steps closer to you. “I know it sounds stupid, but I’m convinced we could pull it off.”

“We barely know each other.”

“We’ll have plenty of time for that, won’t we?” he asks with a boyish smirk. “Look, we just have to appear together here and there. I’ll pick you up sometimes, we can go for lunch or dinner sometimes, and I’ll get you tickets for some of my games. That’s it. People will see us out together and that’s gonna be perfectly enough. Or do you actually hate me? Now is the time to tell me.”

“I don’t hate you, I don’t know you that well,” you reply with a soft chuckle. “But I’m not convinced enough this is a good idea at all.”

Harry sighs and walks closer until he can rest his hands on your shoulders. You look deep into his green eyes as he smiles at you warmly.

“Let’s make a deal. You can use me as an excuse whenever Oliver and Lexi wants to hang out with you, or if they actually force you to meet them, I’ll go with you so you won’t be the third wheel. And you’ll just have to say that I’m your boyfriend and spend some time with me so Naomi believes I’m dating you. I think it’s a fair deal for the both of us. And you can call it off anytime, I don’t want to force you to do anything you don’t want to.”

You chew on your bottom lip, thinking hard to figure out what to do. Judging from this short conversation with Lexi, you’re sure she’ll try to keep you around often, but you are not in the mood to watch Oliver be all lovey-dovey with someone else, so you could actually use a solid excuse, which Harry just offered you on a silver plate. You just have to spend some time with him in exchange and tell people he is your boyfriend. It’s not that horrible and you always thought Harry is nice company, you two just never was in the same friend group to get closer. You can’t really bring up anything against his plan.

“Okay,” you finally nod, Harry’s eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“Really?”

“Why are you so shocked? Your points were valid, I’m willing to give it a try.”

“Yes! Thank you!” he cheers, arms wrapping around you as he hugs you tight in excitement. “I’ll be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had, you won’t be disappointed!”

You want to say how it’s easy to be the best because you’ve had none so far, but you decide to keep this information to yourself.

“We need to get our story straight though, so we don’t mess it up when someone asks.”

The two of you go over an elaborate timeline of your nonexistent relationship so you’ll be able to tell the same story. It’s the same he told Lexi and Oliver outside, you just agree on the details, like when you started dating, how he asked you out, what you’ve been doing as a couple lately.

When you leave his room a little later you’re still a tad bit shocked where this evening ended up heading. You really thought tonight would be the turning point for you and Oliver, but now you are in a fake relationship with Harry Styles, ready to fool everyone around you.

Walking down the stairs Harry takes your hand and laces your fingers together. You agreed on no kissing on the lips for now, but other touching is allowed, you’re just not used to have someone other than Oliver touch you like this.

“Want another drink?” he asks as the two of you walk into the kitchen. You’ve already caught some wide-eyed look upon your arrival, but you’re trying your best to ignore them.

“I surely need it,” you nod, making Harry chuckle.

Sandra and the other girls are still in the kitchen and she immediately pulls you to the side when Harry lets go of you to get drinks.

“What the fuck?!” she snaps, clearly a little drunk, but not enough to ignore the fact that she has seen you now two times holding Harry’s hand.

“Sandra, don’t freak out, I’ll explain it all when we go home, alright? But… as far as you know, Harry and I are dating.”

“You what? You better fucking tell me everything when we get back to the dorm!” she demands right when Harry appears, two cups in his hands, giving you one of them.

“Here,” he smiles warmly.

“Thank you. Harry, this is Sandra, my roommate.”

“Hi, I think I’ve seen you around, but we just never met.” Harry holds out his now empty hand and Sandra shakes it with a dramatic smile, clearly still confused about the situation.

“Yeah, but I guess we’ll be… seeing each other more?” she implies, telling Harry she knows something is up without using those words.

“Ehm, I guess,” he nods, a little uncomfortable before he turns to you. “Alright, I’ll get out of your hair. Let me know when you want to go back to the dorm.” “Sure,” you nod, Harry squeezes your hand gently before moving away.

Sandra is dying to know what the situation is with Harry, but you don’t really have the chance to talk in the middle of the party, so it’s postponed to later. You and Harry do your own thing through the rest of the night, occasionally interacting whenever you cross paths. When that happens he makes sure to touch your arm or face, have a few words with you so people see that the two of you have a thing going on.

It’s a little past one am when you and Sandra decide it’s time to head home. As promised, you shoot Harry a text that you’re planning to leave and he replies with one saying he’ll meet you outside at the front. By the time you and Sandra step outside, he is already there waiting.

“Ladies, let me walk you home,” he smirks charmingly, offering his arm for the both of you, so this is how you head home: you, Sandra and Harry walking side by side with linked arms.

“Mm, Harry, I hope you know you won’t be spending the night in our room,” Sandra sighs, clearly a little too lost in her drunk thoughts. Harry chuckles, finding it amusing that Sandra is so blunt.

“Weren’t planning to.”

“Good. I’m not gonna listen to you guys have sex all night.”

“Sandra!” you snap at her, gasping. It’s funny how she also believed the little act you and Harry put up tonight.

The walk back to the dorm is short and it’s mostly filled with Sandra’s babbling about whatever catches her attention. Arriving to the building Sandra says her goodbye to Harry, heading up to the room on her own so you can have a minute with Harry.

“I’ve had at least ten people coming up to me tonight, asking about you,” Harry tells you, an excited sparkle in his eyes.

“Really? And what did you tell them?”

“What we agreed on. That you’re my girlfriend.”

“Sounds so weird,” you admit with a chuckle.

“You’ll get used to it,” he nods smiling. “Well, I’m gonna head back. I’ll talk to you later, okay? We’ll discuss the dates and all.”

“Very romantic,” you point out smirking, but Harry just laughs before he gives you a quick hug.

“Good night, Y/N. Or should I say, baby?”

“Bye!” you sing waving in his way as you walk into the building.

It’s no surprise that Sandra is already out when you walk into the room. Her clothes are in a pile next to her bed, but she managed to throw on at least a t-shirt before she passed out. You just smile at her before doing your quick night routine and go to sleep yourself.

“So… you are fake dating Harry, because Oliver introduced you his new girlfriend and also because he is trying to get rid of Naomi? Am I getting this right?”

Sandra narrows her eyes at you over her morning coffee the next day, though it’s already past noon. Waking up was a little painful for the both of you, but especially for her, the two of you decided to treat yourselves for a very late brunch while you tell her everything she needs to know about last night.

“Yeah,” you nod, taking a bite from your waffles. “I know, it sounds stupid, but… it can easily work great for the both of us.”

“I can’t believe he just came up with it. You guys are not even really friends.”

“I know, I was shocked when he appeared all of a sudden and called me baby. Almost fainted,” you chuckle.

“I hope you know you’ll be one of the most envied girls in school if the news spread and I’m sure it will, because even I heard people talking about you and Harry last night.”

“I know, but there’s not much I can do about that,” you shrug.

“I feel like it’s the plotline of some teenage rom-com,” Sandra huffs. “Just be careful, Y/N,” she sighs, finishing off her coffee.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that pretending can easily turn into reality. If you’ll spend so much time with Harry, there’s a chance you’ll develop real feelings for him. Just make sure you won’t end up with a broken heart.”

“That’s silly, I won’t fall for Harry. I…” You cut your words, thoughts wandering over to Oliver right away, and how you felt when he introduced you to Lexi.

“I hope you’re right,” Sandra tells you, stuffing the last bits of her muffin into her mouth.

The weekend flies by fast, you busy yourself with doing laundry and finishing a paper you need to turn in soon. Harry text you on Sunday that he’ll walk you to class on Monday morning and you agree to meet up a little earlier so you can actually talk it all out.

Sandra is still in bed when you leave in the morning. Just as Harry promised, he is waiting for you in front of the building, wearing his usual black skinny jeans and a loose grey shirt and a zip-up hoodie. His curls look untamed, a little all over the place, but it looks good on him. You have to admit, that he is definitely handsome, you understand why so many of the girls at school are after him.

“Good morning, girlfriend,” he smirks, holding out his hand for you that you take, still feeling a little weird about walking around campus hand in hand with him.

“Good morning. How was your weekend?”

“Pretty boring, we had to clean up after the party,” he chuckles. “Wanna grab a coffee?”

“Sounds perfect.”

You swing by the little café that’s on campus before aiming for a bench under one of the pergolas near the main building.

“So, you still haven’t changed your mind,” he speaks up. It’s not a question, more like a comment.

“Not yet,” you chuckle softly, sipping on your cappuccino.

“I meant it that you can tell me whenever you want out. I don’t want to force you into it in any way.”

“I know,” you smile at him. “I’m fine for now. It’s just still a little weird.”

“I know, but I’m kind of happy you are the one I’m doing this with.”

“How come?”

“I don’t know, you seem like a cool person. I actually enjoyed working with you last year on that project, you are funny and smart, I think we’ll get along pretty well.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he smirks at you, taking a sip from his coffee. “You know, if I’m being honest I never understood why you and that Oliver guy were so close anyway. You’ve known him for a long time?”

“Yeah, met him in middle school and we’ve been friends since then.”

“And how long have you been… you know,” he implies, seemingly very careful not to ask something that would upset you.

“Pretty much ever since I’ve met him,” you admit with an awkward chuckle. It sounds so embarrassing to admit that you’ve been in love with your best friend for so long and never worked up the courage to do something about it.

“You never even tried to tell him?”

“I was too afraid of his reaction. I was planning to come clean at the party finally, but then he arrived with Lexi and… you know the rest.”

“I’m sorry. I know how shitty it is when you have feelings for someone and they don’t feel the same about you.”

“So what’s the situation with you and Naomi then?” you ask, thinking it’s only fair if you also know his story now that you confessed him how ridiculous you’ve been with Oliver all your life.

“We dated at the end of last semester, tried to keep it up in the summer as well, but it didn’t work. It made me realize I don’t even want it to work so I told her that we should just go our separate ways when I got back after the summer, but she wasn’t a fan of my idea.”

“She’s still in love with you?”

“I’m not sure if she ever was,” he truthfully answers. “I think she liked the idea of dating someone more than she liked me.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” he smirks at you playfully. “I’m all good. I just wish she could accept that I want to move on. It’s not ideal that I have to fake date someone to get rid of her.”

“She always seemed like a nice girl to me, I wouldn’t have guessed she can be so stubborn.”

“Well, she is a nice girl,” Harry nods. “We were just not compatible on the long run, you know? I couldn’t see it work in the future, so I didn’t want to waste more time on it.”

You just shyly nod, even though you don’t really know about it. You can’t, because you’ve never been in a similar situation. You’ve had a few attempts at dating in high school, but they never turned out the way you wanted and you always ended up pining after Oliver at the end, so you eventually gave up. But you’re not willing to admit that to Harry. It’s pathetic enough that you’ve been so hung up on Oliver your whole life, he doesn’t need to know that you gave up your whole dating life for the wait for him.

“Well, aren’t we a nice pair then? Two ridiculously failed love stories, how tragic,” Harry chuckles softly as he finishes up his coffee and throws the empty cup into the bin next to him.

“Yeah, pathetic,” you agree with a tight-lipped smile.

It takes some time for word to travel, but by the end of the first week of your fake relationship, it becomes a well-known fact that you are indeed dating Harry Styles. You don’t overdo it though, only meeting up once or twice a day, Harry usually walks you to your classes in the morning if he doesn’t have a lecture himself, you’ve had lunch together twice and you went to the library on Thursday together. It’s been pretty casual and you’ve been actually enjoying spending time with Harry, especially because it seems like Oliver has fallen off the face of Earth lately, barely even talking to you.

The more time you spend with Harry the more you realize he is nothing like others try to make him look like. You’ve heard many gossips about him being an empty-headed womanizer, but he is a lot smarter than people assume him to be, but he has proven it before as well. He actually has a great point of view of life and it’s nice to discuss basically anything with him.

Friday brings another party and though you didn’t plan on going, you had Sandra and Harry convincing you this time. Then later Oliver texted you asking if you’d be there and it angered you a little. He barely spoke to you and is now asking if you are coming to the party where he’ll probably keep ignoring you for Lexi. So you told him you and Harry would be there. He didn’t reply to that.

You and Sandra call an Uber, the Omega house is a little farther away from the dorm than the Kappa house. Harry called you to tell you he’d be a little late this time because they are having a double practice today, but he would come and find you when he arrives.

“Isn’t it a little weird you can’t hook up with anyone because of the Harry situation?” Sandra asks as the two of you make your way through the spacious living room, heading to the empty loveseat in the corner.

“As if I did a lot of hooking up before,” you scoff, taking a sip from your drink.

“Okay, but you could be doing it now, but you can’t, because people would think you’re cheating.”

“It’s a good thing then that I’m not into hooking up,” you point out with a shrug. You were never a fan of just hooking up with someone and then move on the next morning, that’s just not for you. It’s not a big deal that you are kind of out of the dating scene because of your arrangement with Harry, you don’t feel like you’re missing out on anything.

The two of you are joined by a few peers from one of Sandra’s classes and you barely even notice when Oliver and Lexi arrive, however, they immediately spot you.

“Y/N! Hi! So good to see you again!” Lexi greets you, pulling you into a completely unnecessary hug.

“Oh, hi. Good to see you too, I guess,” you chuckle awkwardly. Oliver gives you a side hug as well, but it seems like he is not entirely present in his head.

“Where’s Harry?” Oliver questions.

“He’ll be here soon, he just had double practice today,” you tell him and he nods shortly, but something feels off about him.

Lexi makes you come to the kitchen with them so she can get a drink and you can’t really think of a reason why you shouldn’t, so you find yourself listening to her nonstop chatter while Oliver is mixing them something to drink.

Y/N: Harry, SOS! When are you getting here?? I’m stuck with O and L…

You really hope he is somewhere close, because you’re not sure how long you can put up with their company.

“I know last time you said you’re not a fan of double dates, but I really think we should give it a try!” Lexi begs you, she even puts her bottom lip at you and it annoys you how she can’t just leave you to be.

“Yeah, I would love to get to know Harry better,” Oliver chimes in.

“You do?”

Relief washes over you the moment you hear Harry’s voice coming from behind you, a moment later you feel his palm on the small of your back and you’re finally rescued. He smells like fresh body wash, he surely just had a shower right before he came here. You let yourself lean into his side, curling an arm around his waist.

“Harry, nice to see you again,” Oliver smiles at him dryly and now you’re sure something is up with him, but what is it?

“Sorry I’m so late. Everything alright?” Harry looks you in the eyes and you know his question is more than just him being nice. He wants to know if Oliver and Lexi has driven you up the walls.

“I’m… fine, yeah,” you nod and he holds your gaze for another moment before nodding to himself.

“We were just talking about how amazing a double date would be. I’m sure you could convince Y/N to come, right?” Lexi smiles at Harry and you catch a small frown on his face before he returns the smile to Lexi. You find it funny, but you push down your laugh.

“Um, not sure. Y/N always has a strong will, not sure I want to go against it.”

“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun!”

“Y/N doesn’t like PDA, I’m sure double dating is a lot for her,” Oliver comments and your eyebrows shoot up at his words.

“How would you know if I disliked PDA?”

He has no valid information about it. He wouldn’t know, because the only person you ever wanted to get touchy and lovey in public was him, but he only let you get physically close to him when no one was around. When he felt like he needed someone in his bed so he didn’t feel too alone. When he let his hands roam your body under the blanket when you were watching a movie. He never let it happen with others around though, so how would he even know what you like? Hell, even you don’t know it…

Oliver’s eyes meet yours and it’s clear that your question caught him off guard.

“You told me,” he simply answers.

“I don’t remember,” you retort, not letting him get away with it this time.

“This is how you’ve always been.” He is clearly pissed that you are going against him.

“You know what? Let’s do a double date next weekend, alright? But we have somewhere to be now, if you’ll excuse us,” Harry cuts in, taking your hand as he pulls you away from the happy couple. You glance back at Oliver one last time before turning around.

Harry walks you out to the backyard and the cool air hits you hard in the head. You haven’t even realized how hot you were getting in there, but you’re not entirely sure it was because of all the people, rather of because Oliver’s behavior.

“Okay, what the fuck was that in there?” Harry questions.

“What do you mean?”

“Y/N, I’m not dumb or blind. Lexi might be oblivious to whatever you and Oliver have going on, but I’m not. Something has happened between you and him, right?”

You chew on your bottom lip, crossing your arms on your chest, not too keen on admitting it. You have never told anyone about it in details, not even Sandra. She knows you and Oliver get a little too close at times, but she has no idea you’ve slept with him on several occasions. You always thought you were a fool for sleeping with him and then watching him date other girls.

Unfortunately, your silence is enough for Harry to draw his conclusion.

“Wait, what? Did you two…?”

“Yes,” you shortly nod, feeling uncomfortable, but you can tell you can’t dodge this conversation this time.

“You’re telling me he has the nerve to sleep with you whenever it’s convenient for him and then drop you when he starts dating someone else?”

“It sounds worse than how it really is,” you mumble, but you don’t truly believe your own words. It’s pretty bad either way.

“Y/N, this is fucked up. A friend wouldn’t do that to you. It’s one thing to seek comfort at your friends, but using them for your own physical needs is just way beyond the line.”

You have nothing to say. Deep down you know he is right, you’ve always known, but you never knew what to do against it. Before you could even stop yourself, you feel your lips trembling, tears bubbling in your eyes as you glance at Harry. You expect pity from him, an act that tells you that you brought it all to yourself, but that’s not what you see. He gives you an apologetic look and he is quick to pull you into a tight hug, exactly what you need right now.

“I know, I’m so stupid,” you mumble into his chest.

“You’re not. He is just an ass,” he corrects you, earning a small chuckle from you. “Hey, do you want to get out of here?” he asks, pulling back so he can look into your eyes.

“You just got here.”

“Yeah, but I’m not really in the mood to party. Want to have a bite somewhere?”

“That would be… great,” you nod with a small smile, sniffling a little before you wipe your cheeks.

You let Sandra know you’re leaving with Harry and she can tell something has happened, but you just tell her you’ll talk later and she doesn’t push it further. Harry takes your hand as the two of you make your way through the people and you spot Oliver near the kitchen, one arm around Lexi’s shoulders as his gaze meets yours. You see him clenching his jaw when he sees your hand in Harry’s hold, but you don’t pay much attention to him, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.

Luckily Harry drove to the Omega house so now you don’t have to wait for a car or take a long walk, you can enjoy the comfort of his Rover as the two of you leave the party behind. It’s silent in the car, you fold your arms over your chest, your head resting against the car door, not even questioning him where you are headed.

About ten minutes later Harry pulls up at a little diner, the two of you walk in and it’s not surprising there are just a few people lingering around at this time, though you know later they’ll have quite a few drunk students that are on their way home and in desperate need of a late night bite.

You take an empty booth and a waitress arrives immediately, handing you each a menu.

“Do you go here often?” you ask quietly, eyeing the options.

“Sometimes. They have great fries.”

You nod and decide to have just a cheeseburger with fries and a lemonade while Harry gets the veggie burger and a milkshake. The waiter takes the order shortly and leaves you alone. You’re not sure what to say, but you feel like you need to say something.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, staring down at your arms laying on the edge of the table, your right hand covering your left.

“For what exactly?”

“For… I just feel so stupid about this whole… Oliver thing. I know I shouldn’t have done what we did, but I just… couldn’t say no. I know, sounds ridiculous.”

“No, not at all,” Harry shakes his head. “You fell for him and he used you. If there’s anyone to blame it’s him, he shouldn’t use a friend for his own selfish needs. I’m not judging you, it’s easy to fall into holes like this.”

“I just really thought that he came to me because I meant something for him, but I can tell that… it wasn’t anything like that. The way he acted today was shockingly sobering,” you chuckle bitterly. “I think he is mad that I’m not available for him anymore and he is trying to play us down,” you say pointing at him and yourself. “So when he breaks it off with Lexi he can count on me, but it’s not happening.”

“I am happy to help you teach him any kind of lesson,” Harry grins just as the waiter arrives with the food and you start the feast. “I know you despise the idea of going on a double date with them, but I think we could have a lot of fun,” Harry points out while eating.

“How?”

“It’s obviously bugging Oliver that you are dating someone, we could give him the extra happy couple act, make him question why he was always such an asshole to you.”

“You think it would bother him?”

“Absolutely,” he chuckles. “We would serve him all the sappy, lovey couple shit from movies and get under his skin. I think it would be fun.”

“Okay, let’s do it,” you nod and Harry grins at you from across the table.

“Yes! Fake dating on maximum level!” he cheers, punching into the air, making you laugh.

As the two of you eat Harry talks your ears off and you know exactly why he just keeps on talking. He wants to take your mind away from everything about Oliver and he succeeds. He tells you stories about what it’s like to live in the frat house, all the funny things they’ve done with the boys and you just keep laughing and laughing until all the food is gone, the table is cleared off and it’s nearing one in the morning. Just as you expected, people from around the campus start dropping by for their midnight bite so the two of you slowly head out, not really wanting to run into someone you know. Harry drives you back to the dormitory and walks you up to the entrance.

“Thank you for tonight,” you breathe out, still feeling a little helpless and pathetic, but he definitely made it better with his company.

“No worries. After all, this is what boyfriends are for,” he chuckles lightly. “But I hope you are not gonna sink into self-pity over that douche.”

“Just a little?” you peek up at him with a scowl.

“Nope, not even a little, Y/N. He doesn’t deserve your time. If he is really gonna let you slip through his fingers, he is the biggest idiot on Earth. And he also has to be blind.”

For some reason, Harry’s words bring a blush to your cheeks, even if there’s a chance he doesn’t really mean them.

“Thank you,” you breathe out and he pulls you in for a hug without hesitation. You wrap your arms around his waist and inhale his sweet scent, melting into his warm embrace before you force yourself to let your arms fall from around his frame.

“Have a good rest of your weekend, girlfriend,” he smirks, backing towards his car. “I’ll see you on Monday!”

“Bye Harry!” you smile in his way before making your way inside.

Not too willingly, but you talk to Oliver the next week about the double date. He sounds clearly surprised that you brought it up yourself and he tries to talk you down, but you’re now way too curious about what would go down, so he has no choice than to say yes. You fix the date to Saturday and Harry says it’s fine for him and that the two of you can go over to the frat house later, they are gonna have a small get together for one of the guys’ birthday. Not a party, more of a beer and pizza type of evening since Clyde, the birthday boy is not that big of a party animal.

The week passes by as usual, you spend some time with Sandra and a little more with Harry. Since you’ve started this whole dating thing, you’ve found yourself getting used to have him around. It doesn’t feel forced anymore, you actually like hanging out with him, have him beside you in the library even if you’re not even talking and whenever you spot him waiting for you in the morning or after one of your classes, you have this stupid smile on your face walking up to him, especially when he calls you girlfriend. Sandra’s warning words pop up in your head time to time, telling you to be careful with having actual feelings for Harry, but you keep telling yourself the two of you are nothing else than just good friends.

Saturday morning you get your nails done with Sandra, have some much needed girly time since you’ve had little of that lately, even a fake relationship needs a lot of time and energy, if you’re being honest.

Sandra catches you smiling down at a text that’s from Harry, he just joked about wearing a tux to the roller-skating rink and you imagined it right away, the picture of everyone else dressed casually while he is dressed for a royal ball is just hilarious.

“So how are things with Harry?” she asks from the chair next to you.

“What do you mean?” you ask, eyes fixed on your nails as the lady is carefully painting them a light pink color.

“You two are like glued together.”

“Yeah, I like spending time with him. And like, we are dating,” you smirk, finding it funny to just casually say it.

“You do know you don’t have to keep the act up with me, right?”

“I know, but we really are friends,” you nod.

“Just friends? Because sometimes being friends with someone is a bit more to you,” she comments and your face falls. She right away realizes it was a little harsh. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t mean to be a bitch. I’m just trying to look out for you. I don’t want to see another guy taking advantage of you.”

“He is already taking advantage of me in a way, but it’s mutual,” you shrug, trying to mask the fact how much her words hurt. You’re still trying to get over the whole Oliver thing and though it’s been easier with Harry around, you still feel hurt over how badly he has been using you in the past years.

“And… you don’t have feelings for him?”

“We’re friends,” you tell her again.

“Yes, but you can have feelings for a friend too, Y/N.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it. We are doing fine, I enjoy being with him, that’s all.”

“Alright, I believe you. Just want to make sure you are not getting yourself into another Oliver situation.”

“I’m not. Harry is not him,” you firmly state and it’s the truth. Even if things go south with him, you can never see him do the things Oliver did. He is not him in the best possible way.

 For the double date you choose to wear your favorite pair of light-washed mom jeans with a tank top tucked into it and a colorful cardigan under your jacket. Harry texted you that he would pick you up at six and because you are ready by half past five, you sit around in your room a little anxiously. You honestly have no idea what’s gonna happen tonight, where it’s gonna head but you can only hope it won’t be scandalous. People already talk enough about you for dating Harry, you don’t need to be known about being the girl who made a scene at the roller-skating rink with her boyfriend and best friend. It wouldn’t do good to your reputation.

When Harry finally texts you letting you know he has arrived you rush down the stairs, still haven’t been able to shake your nerves off, but as soon as you spot him standing by his car, you kind of forget about everything else. He is wearing his usual skinny jeans with a black shirt, of course, the first few buttons left undone. His hair is getting longer, curls constantly falling into his forehead, but you love it. Makes him look soft and like… like a prince.

“Hey, ready to have fun?” he smirks at you, opening the door to the passenger seat to you.

“I don’t think I will ever be ready for this kind of fun,” you admit with a soft chuckle before getting into the car.

“I’ll be right there with you, okay? We’re gonna crush them,” he grins at you driving. “And we can just leave whenever you want to.” Reaching over the console he takes your hand and squeezes it gently. The gesture sends a shiver running down your spine. It feels so good to have his support, you wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else than him.

Oliver and Lexi are already at the arcade that’s connected with the skating place when the two of you arrive. She looks ecstatic about tonight and it’s almost kind of cute, you’re convinced you’d actually be friends with her if the two of you met under different circumstances.

“Hi! Thank you so much for coming! I know it’s not really your thing, but I’m so happy we can finally hang out!” she cheers, giving you a hug. Oliver and Harry shake hands and Harry gives Lexi a short hug while you just awkwardly nod in Oliver’s direction, already feeling anxious in his presence. Harry takes your hand walking in and squeezes it gently. Peeking up at him he gifts you with a warm smile that tells you: it’s gonna be alright, I’m here with you.

Once all four of you have changed your shoes to your skates and put your belongings to the lockers you head to the rink, you and Lexi in the middle, Harry on your other side while Oliver is on Lexi’s other side.

“Y/N, Oliver has told me a lot about you. What was it like, growing up with him?” Lexi asks as the four of you roll around. You’re not the worst at roller-skating, you can move confidently, but it seems like Harry is the best out of all of you, easily moving around, as if he were on his feet.

Thinking back at your time with Oliver now at Lexi’s question, it’s quite bittersweet. Because you are starting to realize things you didn’t see back then. Like how you were always in his shadow, he was always the guy everyone liked and you were just the girl that tagged along.

“Um, not sure what you want to know about,” you chuckle awkwardly as you watch Harry throw his ball for the first time.

“Was he a womanizer? Tell me the truth! He says he barely dated a few people,” she chuckles, taking Oliver’s hand. He is pretty much avoiding to look you in the eyes as you glance over him and you really wish she didn’t ask you about it.

“He had quite a few… flings,” you say, not entirely sure how to phrase it. He wasn’t a womanizer, but he did start to hook up with you between girls a while ago, making his reputation a little questionable.

“I knew you were downplaying it!” she playfully smacks his chest and you just bite into your bottom lip. This is already so awkward.

“I think Y/N is just exaggerating,” Oliver chimes in, seemingly not a fan of the conversation either.

“Sure, it’s always me,” you mumble under your breath.

Harry takes your hand and gets a little ahead of you before turning around so he is facing you while skating backwards.

“Hey baby, want me to teach you how to go in zig-zag?” he smirks, clearly wanting to ease the tension. Nodding you let him take both of your hands as the two of you stay a little back from Oliver and Lexi. “Don’t let him get under your skin. He is a fucking asshole,” he tells you when he knows they can’t hear him.

“Was he always like this? I have no idea how I could put up with his act,” you mumble with a scowl.

“Fuck them. Come on, let’s have a good time,” he grins before taking the lead.

Harry makes your forget about them so easily, like it’s not even a double date, just the two of you hanging out. He keeps teaching you moves, laughing together whenever you get wobbly. He catches you every time when you’re about to lose your balance, he doesn’t let you fall and every time his arms circle around you, keeping you on your feet steadily, you find yourself blushing at how close he is getting to you. His hands holding yours, small touches on your arms and back, he takes every chance to connect the two of you and you enjoy every second of it.

“Harry, no!” you laugh as he holds your hand, still going around.

“Come on! Just try it! Just a little jump!” he encourages.

“Do you want to see me fall?”

“I would have let you fall a long time ago if that’s what I wanted,” he smirks. He gets ahead of you again, both his hands taking yours and you still can’t get used to how soothing his palms feel against yours. “I’ll catch you this time too, don��t worry.”

“I swear you are trying to kill me,” you groan as you try to figure out how to do a little jump without breaking a bone. “But just a little one!”

“The tiniest one,” he chuckles nodding.

You let him take the lead and he starts pulling you again, skating backwards like he did all evening and when you feel like you’re stable enough, you give it a go.

Unfortunately, what happens is exactly what you were expecting. When your skates meet with the floor again after the little jump, you don’t find your balance and immediately feel your feet rolling out from under yourself. Harry reaches out for you, just like he promised, grabbing onto your arm with one hand while the other one presses into your back, but this time he can’t save you and you pull him with yourself as well. The two of you end up falling to the ground in a laughing mess as Harry is partially lying on you, an arm stuck under you while the other one is across your chest.

“I told you!” you cry out but it turns into laughter pretty fast.

“I’m sorry, baby, are you okay?” he asks laughing and your heart skips a beat at how he called you baby again and Oliver is not even around.

“I-I’m fine,” you breathe out as he peels himself off you, helping you up with him as well. He is so close to you as you finally stand on your feet again, your noses almost brush against each other as you blink up at him nervously.

It would be so easy to kiss him. You want to know what it’s like to feel his lips against yours. Maybe if you move just a little…

“Are you trying to break a bone, Y/N?” Lexi rolls up to you, totally breaking the moment as you both turn to her. Harry leaves an arm around you, hand resting on your waist and you lean against him to steady yourself on your wheels.

“It was Harry’s idea, but I knew I would terribly fail,” you chuckle slightly. Oliver appears behind Lexi, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and you clench your jaw at the gesture. Harry must have noticed the shift in you, because he tightens his hold around you, his hand soothingly running up and down your side. And just like that, Oliver is long forgotten, you can only think about how it feels to have his fingers dancing on you.

“You were never really into athletic things, Y/N,” Oliver comments and you grimace.

“Just because I didn’t play any sports in high school, doesn’t mean I can’t try things now.”

“I think you did great,” Harry smiles down at you. “You just need a little more practice and you’ll be better than me, baby.”

Baby, there’s that pet name again. It’s doing things to you for sure.

Glancing over at Oliver you catch what looks like an eye-rolling and he genuinely looks annoyed by you and Harry and it’s making your blood boil at this point. Why can he be the only one to date someone? Why can’t you have a good time with someone? Now that you are thinking about it, he did it not only with guys, but also with anyone who tried to be friends with you. Oliver wanted him to be your only friend and sneakily ruined every friendship you ever had. Sandra is your first real friend other than Oliver, only because he couldn’t do anything against you forming any kind of relationship with your roommate. But you are now getting quite fed up with his little games and Harry might not be your real boyfriend, but you are friends with him and Oliver can do nothing about that.

Soon enough you decide you’ve had enough of the skating, so you move to the side and start changing back to your shoes. Lexi runs out to the restroom and while you are putting your sneakers back on Harry spots someone he knows, working at the buffet so he steps aside for a minute, leaving you and Oliver alone.

“Are you really dating him?” you hear him speak up and you can’t help the scowl on your face.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He is just so not the type of person you hang out with,” he comments with a shrug and your eyebrows shoot up.

“First of all, how would you know? My friends were always kind of more your friends, never really had the chance to find my people. And second, what’s the problem with him?”

“The problem is that we all know what he is like. Everyone on campus knows that Harry is famous for going after a lot of girls.”

“And you believe what others say? You know nothing about him. He is not what people try to make him appear to be, but you wouldn’t know, because you don’t know him like I do. And for the record, yes, I really am dating him and I’m very happy about it.”

You can tell he doesn’t like your reaction and he is probably fighting back to snap at you, but Harry soon returns, oblivious to the scene that just went down, however he can sense the shift in the atmosphere immediately.

“Everything alright?” he asks, seemingly innocently, but you know he is asking if Oliver has done something.

“Yeah. Can we leave?” you ask, not too keen on staying with Oliver any longer. It’s getting hard to imagine how you could ever put up with him and his act.

“Are you guys leaving? We could grab a bite together!” Lexi chimes in arriving back from the restroom. You are about to decline, but Harry speaks up before you.

“Oh, we have plans already, but maybe some other time,” he politely says, a hand on your lower back as he pulls you to his side and you’re thankful for his close presence now. If he weren’t there, you would have already jumped at Oliver’s throat probably.

“Oh, okay! I’m glad we got to do this though,” she smiles warmly, taking Oliver’s hand while you just chew on the inside of your cheeks, very keen on leaving as soon as possible.

Your force a smile on your face, bidding goodbye before Harry takes your hand and the two of you head out to his car.

“Hey, everything okay?” he asks when it’s finally just the two of you. Staring down at your hands on your lap, you bite into your bottom lip.

“Just… let’s leave. I had enough of Oliver for a life today,” you mumble and luckily, Harry doesn’t try to keep asking around, just starts the car and leaves.

On the way he asks if you still want to come over to the frat house and you say yes, because you feel like you could use the distraction. You’d rather spend some more time around him than go back to your dorm room and be alone with your thoughts.

Just as he promised, it’s nothing big, just a few close friends of some of the frat boys, pizza boxes are piled in the kitchen, music is playing in the background but it’s not blasting like when it’s a party. A big group is playing UNO in the living room using two deck of cards so the rounds don’t end too soon.

You and Harry get a slice of pizza, already starving after the skating and when you’re done with that, the two of you wander into the living room. There’s no more room left on the mismatched couches so Harry plops himself down to the ground and you stop for a moment, because there’s someone sitting on both of his sides, leaving not much space for you, but he is quick to solve the problem by taking your hand and pulling you down so you sit between his legs, your back pressed against his chest.

“Oh,” you breathe out from the sudden contact, but it feels nice. You cross your legs so his legs can bridge over them with his knees bent as he looks over your shoulders to see the game unfold.

“You guys want to play?” one of the girls asks.

“There’s not enough cards for the both of them to join!” another warns.

“We’ll just play together,” Harry speaks up from behind you and in the next round you join the game.

Harry rests his chin on your shoulder as his arms come around you, holding the cards so you can see them as well. It’s the closest he has been to you, basically wrapped around you and it’s definitely doing things to you. The way his chest warms your back, how you can feel every breath he draws because his face is so close next to yours, how his arms cage you gently, you are suddenly aware of even the smallest things.

“Pick one,” he murmurs when it’s your turn to throw a card in. You’ve been so occupied with him that you have no idea what color or number you should pick so you quickly check the deck in the middle before pointing at a red card. “Throw it in,” he tells you, pushing the card up with his thumb so you can take it and put it to the top.

Sitting here, on the floor of his frat house, his arms around you feels so much better than anything you’ve experienced with Oliver and the realization hits you hard in the chest. Turning your head to the side you let yourself take a good look at his perfect side profile, his chiseled jawline, the bridge of his nose and the little wrinkle between his eyebrows as he knits them together in focus, staring down at the cards in his hands. He catches you looking, his green eyes meet yours and a soft smile spreads across his face.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head.

“Everything alright?” he quietly asks and you nod.

“Yeah,” you breathe out turning back, but you still feel his lingering gaze on you for a few more moments before he turns away too.

You keep playing as the night moves on, drinking some beer, making you relax even more, though Harry’s closeness does the job just perfectly. Even when you are not sitting on the ground anymore, he always keeps close to you. Curling an arm around your waist when you stand in the kitchen talking with others, he keeps giving your hands and hips assuring little squeezes and you can’t help but lean into his touch every time. You want him close, you want to feel his touch, you love it when your eyes meet and he always shoots you a small smile, it makes your heart flutter, like you’re a little school girl with a silly crush.

Because now you are more than sure that you’re crushing on Harry. How can you not? He has been so good to you, did more than Oliver has ever done and you’ve been friends for just a few weeks.

You leave him for just a few minutes while you use the bathroom and as you return, you catch some of the conversation he is having with one of the boys, Jake.

“Dude, can’t believe the ladies’ favorite Styles is taken,” Jake laughs and it makes you scowl as you stop at the corner, listening on them.

“Jake, I told you to stop calling me that,” Harry huffs.

“I’m just telling you the truth. Every girl on campus is after you.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with me being in a relationship.”

“I just thought that the womanizer Harry Styles wouldn’t settle again for a while.”

“Jake, I’m not a womanizer, stop this bullshit. Just because girls try to get together with me, doesn’t mean I want the same thing.”

You choose this moment to walk in, knowing well Harry must be losing his patience with Jake and his irrelevant accusations. Walking in you smile warmly at Harry, curling an arm around his waist as you lean into his side. His arm comes around your shoulders and he pulls you close. Jake eyes you with an unreadable expression before his gaze returns to Harry.

“Hope you know what you are doing, mate.”

“I surely do,” Harry firmly answers and it makes you smile, especially because you know what they’ve been talking about.

When Jake walks out you turn to face Harry, playfully poking his tummy as you glance up at him.

“Hey,” you smile up at him, your arms wrapping around his waist as his hands fall to your shoulders.

“Hey,” he chuckles. “Why are you so smiley?”

“I can’t smile?”

“Of course you can,” he smirks. “Want to go back a little more?” he asks nodding towards the living room where there are still quite a few people. You nod and let go of him, turning around you are just about to walk ahead but you didn’t see that a girl was coming inside and you bump right into her, the liquid from her cup spilling down your shirt.

“Shit!” you gasp jumping back, colliding a little with Harry’s chest and his hands immediately grab your waist in case you might lose your balance.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” the girl stutters, reaching for paper towels right away, but it helps nearly nothing.

“It’s fine,” you breathe out pressing your lips together.

“Come on, I’ll give you a shirt,” Harry tells you, taking your hand, walking you upstairs. The fabric of your shirt is turning cold against your skin and you really want to get rid of it.

Harry pulls out a simple black shirt for you and shows you the way to his little bathroom. Changing into his shirt you make an attempt to wash yours out, but it doesn’t do much to the sugary spill.

“Do you mind if I stay in it for the rest of the evening? I promise I’ll give it back next time we meet.”

“Sure,” Harry smiles and you catch his gaze wandering down your body, his shirt hanging loosely on your frame. “Do you still want to stay or do you want me to give you a ride back to the dorm?”

“Uh, maybe I should head home,” you nod to yourself.

“Is it okay if I take a quick shower? I feel so sweaty after the skating, just five minutes.”

“Sure, go ahead,” you nod smiling before he disappears in the bathroom.

You hear him turn the water on and walking over to his bed you lie down for a little, feeling the tiredness coming over you all at once. It’s been a long and exhausting day and listening to the soothing voice of the running water you find yourself drifting off to sleep before you could stop yourself.

When you open your eyes again the room is completely dark, but you quickly realize it’s not your dorm room; you’re still at Harry’s. Turning to the side you see him sleeping peacefully on the other side of the mattress, lying on his back. Still groggy with sleep, you realize you fell asleep while he was in the shower and he probably didn’t want to wake you so just went to bed next to you.

He looks like an angel sleeping, his green irises hidden from the world, thick lashes fanned over his cheeks, his pink lips slightly parted as his chest rises and falls peacefully. Sleeping in his bed, wearing his clothes, seeing him next to you, he is all you can think about and it brings a smile to your face.

Gently, you scoot closer to him, but still don’t touch him, however the movement makes him huff in his sleep and turning to his side his arm falls across your waist, making you gasp in surprise. You freeze, thinking that he might wake up any moment but it doesn’t happen and you’re stuck in his hold, not that you mind it. You push yourself a little closer, your nose almost touching his chest as you make yourself comfortable and closing your eyes you go back to sleep without a worry in the world.

Waking up you find yourself curled up to Harry’s side, one of his army around you while the other is holding your hand on his stomach. Blinking your eyes open you look around and take a few seconds to fully wake up. Harry feels so warm against you, but you think he might not like to find you all melted against him so you try to move away but his hold tightens around you.

“Mmm, stop movin’ around,” he mumbles sleepily.

“Sorry, I just thought that… you might feel hot,” you lie in a whisper.

“I am hot,” he smirks with his eyes still closed and his comment makes you laugh.

“And so full of yourself!” you chuckle and try to pull away once again, but he locks you to his side, not letting you break the position you are in.

“I said stop movin’! I like being warm in the morning,” he murmurs, snuggling you more to his side and you bite into your bottom lip as your smile stretches wider with each passing second.

Yeah, you definitely have a crush on Harry and you can’t even act like you don’t.

“Sorry for falling asleep in your bed,” you mumble, closing your eyes as you let your head rest on his chest.

“Y’ looked cute,” he huffs with a soft smile. “S’alright. Give me five minutes and I’ll be awake to drive you back to the dorm.”

You hum a response and just enjoy it while it lasts, not wanting to let him go anytime soon. But you have to. Slowly, the two of you get ready to leave, you want to change back to your stained shirt, but Harry tells you to just keep the shirt, he has two more of the exact same one so you walk out of the frat house wearing Harry’s shirt, holding Harry’s hand and get into Harry’s car. He is everywhere and you absolutely love it.

“So we have this game next weekend and I thought you might want to come? You don’t have to if you absolutely hate football, I just thought—“

“I would love to,” you say cutting his rambling short as he smiles with his eyes staring ahead at the road.

“Cool. Bring your roommate if you want.”

“Sure,” you smile.

Football has never been your thing, but watching Harry is, so the game turns out better than you expected. Sandra tags along and luckily, she knows a little more about the game than you do, so you can ask her questions whenever you are completely lost about the happenings. Though you don’t know much about what a good player should be like, but it’s still clear to you that Harry is one of them. He scores half the points of his team and you are guessing that’s quite fascinating.

“Am I just dreaming or does he keep looking your way?” Sandra questions after you also just caught Harry’s gaze on you a moment ago.

“So what if he is?” you ask with a shy smile, eyes glued to his running frame on the field.

“Are you guys like… really together?”

“No,” you shake your head. “We are just friends,” you add, the term tasting a little bitter on your tongue.

“But you want more.” It’s not a question, Sandra can see right through you. Glancing at her you let out a huff before turning back at the game.

“It’s hard not to,” you truthfully admit, your eyes following Harry’s every movement on the field. Looking around you see that you are probably not the only one. Half of the girls on the bleachers are staring at him and you can’t even blame them. You have to be blind and stupid at the same time not to like him and apparently, you’re neither.

They win, no surprise. The whole team goes crazy as they score their last point and it puts them in the lead in the last minute. Everyone is cheering and screaming at the boys as they are celebrating their victory, along with Harry.

Jake starts running up and down the bleachers shouting that they are throwing a victory party at the frat house so now you know what you’re gonna do for the rest of the evening. As the team makes its way back towards the locker rooms Harry runs up to you, all sweaty and grinning crazily.

“Hey, you coming for the party, right?” he asks, still breathing heavily from the game.

“Sure,” you chuckle.

“Yes! You guys want a ride?” he asks in excitement glancing at Sandra beside you.

“That would be nice,” she nods happily.

“Alright, meet me at my car in fifteen,” he breathes out and before he runs away, he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, then leaves in a rush, catching up with the other guys. Suddenly, it feels a lot hotter than before…

“Okay, there’s no way he is not into you too,” Sandra mumbles to you as the two of you head out to the parking lot.

“You think so?”

“Oh, I know so,” she laughs, folding her arms on her chest. “That guy is like a puppy in love around you.”

“What if it’s just his normal?”

“I don’t know, is it? You’re the one who spends every possible minute with him,” she points out and she is right. This wasn’t like this before and as far as you know, he was never like this with anyone either. The only person you saw him act similarly was Naomi when they were dating, so could this be a hint for you that he feels the same way?

You’re still chewing on it when Harry emerges from the building, carrying his huge sports bag on his shoulder, his locks still wet from the shower he must have taken, his smile is still as wide as it was after the game.

“Ladies, fancy a ride?” he asks and as he walks past you he squeezes your hand gently before rounding the car and sitting behind the wheel.

By the time you arrive to the frat house the party is already on, music blasting in the living room where not so long ago you were playing UNO, sitting in Harry’s arms, booze is piling in the kitchen and more and more people are showing up.

“Hey, can you come up with me to drop my bag off and change?” Harry asks upon walking into the house and you nod. Sandra gives you a look that says ‘man up and talk to him’ before you take Harry’s hand and the two of you head upstairs.

“Be honest, did you bore yourself to death at the game?” Harry asks when you’re in the safety of his room.

“It wasn’t that bad, though I definitely need to learn more about the rules,” you chuckle admitting as you sit on the edge of his bed while he moves around, putting away his stuff. You watch him with a fluttering heart as you think about your conversation with Sandra. Even if she is right, how do you bring it up? You can’t just simply drop that you would like to turn your fake relationship into something real, you are not ballsy enough for that anyway.

“I’ll change quickly and we can head out,” he smiles, grabbing his usual skinny jeans and a white shirt from his dresser before disappearing in his bathroom.

While he is in there, you try to build your courage up to have the talk with him. Now seems like a good time, you’re alone in his room, no audience in case he rejects you painfully so no one would witness your breakdown. Chewing on the inside of your cheeks you stand up and start pacing the floor, stopping when the door opens and he walks out, smiling at you warmly as he fixes the dog tag around his neck.

“Everything alright?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

“I, uhh… I wanted to talk about something,” you start shyly, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“Okay, go for it,” he nods walking closer.

“I just, I’M not sure how to bring this up, and I hope it won’t sound weird. But I’ve been thinking about, um—I thought about this, what we’ve been doing and I realized that I—“

Your rambling speech gets interrupted when Jake bursts into the room without even a knock or warning word.

“Dude, come down! We need you on our beerpong team!” he urges Harry who gives him an annoyed look.

“Jake, don’t just fucking barge into my room without knocking!” Harry snaps at him.

“Like I haven’t seen your dick before,” Jake snorts and you feel the heat crawling up your neck at even just the thought of Harry naked.

“I don’t fucking care, knock!”

“Okay!” Jake growls rolling his eyes. “But you gotta come down now!”

Harry looks back at you, knowing well you two were in the middle of a conversation, but Jake’s arrival threw you off completely.

“Go, we can… talk later, it’s not that important,” you smile at him weakly.

“Are you sure?” he asks, his hand taking yours.

“Yeah, totally. Just go and celebrate your win,” you chuckle and with that, the moment is already gone.

You return to the party and while Harry gets sucked into an epic beerpong game, you join Sandra in the living room, who eyes you with a curious look, but you just shake your head.

“Don’t even ask,” you mumble and grabbing her drink from her hand you take a big swig from it, hoping the alcohol might help you with your anxious thoughts.

An hour later you feel the buzz, but you’re not at all drunk, just a little… braver than usually. You’ve moved to the kitchen with Sandra and a few girls, you’re sitting on the counter, nursing another drink as you listen to one of the girls rage about her asshole ex. Glancing out of the kitchen your eyes find Harry standing in the living room and for your surprise he was already watching you. You catch his smile, his focus completely on you when the guys are talking to him in his little circle, but he doesn’t seem to care. His gaze brings the heat back into your body, he can make you go nuts with just a look and you want to hate him for that, but you can’t. There’s nothing you hate about this guy.

“Stop eyefucking your man and just… fuck him for real” Sandra chuckles leaning closer to you, so only you can hear her words.

“Sandra!” you gasp, smacking her in the boob knowing well she hates it when you do that. She just cackles, returning to the discussion with the girls.

Soon enough, you see Harry moving towards your little group, creeping his way into the kitchen, stopping right beside you, leaning on one arm, his hand placed dangerously close to your thigh on the counter.

“Hi,” he smiles with his rosy cheeks, he surely has drunk some as well, but he doesn’t seem drunk either.

“Hi,” you breathe out, feeling flustered by his closeness again, a smile stretching across your face as he keeps eyeing you grinning. “What?”

“Have I told you how cute your smile is?” he asks and now you’re sure you’ve turned into a tomato.

“No,” you mumble shyly and almost gasp when his hand moves from the counter to your thighs as if it was the most natural thing, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Well, it is cute,” he chuckles, before turning his attention at the conversation in the little circle, but his hand remains still on your thigh.

From there, the situation escalates pretty easily. All it takes him to get between your thighs is to reach for one of the drinks on the counter next to you, his hand still resting on your thigh, and as he is done with the drink, he places it to the counter, his other hand coming to your other thigh, now standing facing you between your legs. Before you could say anything, he pulls on you a little, so you press up against him, your hands instantly coming to grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself in the movement.

“Hi again,” he smirks with glistening eyes.

“You didn’t go anywhere,” you chuckle quietly, your fingers dancing up to the back of his neck, playing with his curls.

“I know, but it made you smile and that’s what I wanted,” he smirks, so proud of himself. He licks his lips and you catch his gaze wandering down to yours, instantly making you nervous as you think back at the failed conversation you had with him not so long ago. This feels like a moment that could head into a direction you are dying for, but without the talk, you’re not sure if you should take the risky step.

Good thing that Harry is not shying out of it. Pressing forward his forehead meets yours, noses muzzling together as his lips linger so close to yours. You suck on your breath, arms curling around his neck as you wait for him to move the last millimeters between the two of you, and seeing that you are not pulling back, Harry makes the final move.

His lips move perfectly against yours, so warm and welcoming, soft and intoxicating, kissing him feels like a gift from above. He is taking his time with you, tasting and savoring you and you’re definitely not complaining. You could spend the rest of your life kissing him and you’d be fine with it.

One of his hands stays on your thigh, keeping a firm grip on it while the other one moves up to cup your cheek as you angle your head to reach him perfectly. He licks into your mouth without warning and you almost let out a moan at the sensation, but you’re just too busy returning his kisses.

You have absolutely no idea how long you stay like that, kissing and touching each other, but when he pulls back, you can’t help the stupid grin on your love drunk face. Harry’s expression kind of mirrors yours as he pecks your swollen lips once more before getting back to his previous position, his hand never leaving your thigh and you hug his strong, tattooed arm, needing to touch him in any kind of way as the two of you reenter the discussion that never stopped. Sandra gives you a wide-eyed stare and you just bite into your bottom lip, turning into a giggly teenage girl all of a sudden.

For just a few minutes you are absolutely convinced the kiss was real, but that’s all you got. As you look into the living room you catch Naomi’s burning stare and it tells you right away she witnessed the whole scene and to make it even worse, Oliver was standing not too far, glaring at you firmly and they make you think.

What if Harry saw them near and kissed you just to mess with them? What if it was all just part of the act? You should have pressed more earlier and have that damned talk with him, how are you supposed to ask now if he meant it or not?!

The more you think about it, the more painful it becomes and the little evil voice in your head convinces you that he didn’t mean it. It’s not like you want to believe it, but you can’t ignore the possibility that slowly grows into reality in your clouded mind.

You lose both Harry and Sandra at one point after going to the bathroom and though you know they are somewhere around, you feel like you can’t stay any longer at the party. Before anyone could stop you, you sneak out of the house and head back to the dorm, hoping that a good night sleep would get your head straight.

Harry tries to call you, but you ignore them all, heading straight to bed when you arrive. You feel guilty for leaving without a word but there’s just too much going on in your head, you need time to process and figure out what to do.

You’re still up when Sandra arrives back but you pretend to be asleep, not feeling like dealing with her investigating questions about the kiss and why you left so suddenly. It takes over an hour for you to finally fall asleep and escape your buzzing thoughts.

Waking up you see no sign of Sandra and you remember she mentioned that her brother is visiting town so they might spend the day together. Amazing opportunity to bury yourself into your deep loneliness and try to figure out what to do.

Harry has been nonstop texting you, asking if you even made it back to the dorm safely and you just shoot him one message to let him know you’re still alive and then ignore him again. Thinking back at the kiss last night your heart flutters every time, you can still feel the touch of his lips, the way his hand cupped your cheeks, it’s driving you crazy. But then you remember seeing Naomi’s and Oliver’s face and you’re convinced Harry saw them too and you always get to the same conclusion: the kiss was just part of the act.

You barely leave the bed the whole day, lying under your covers and watching Netflix until your mind feels numb enough to stop torturing you with your thoughts. And then, there’s a knock on the door. You freeze, knowing well that whoever is on the other side, you don’t want to see them.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there, I heard you watching The Vampire Diaries,” Oliver’s voice calls out from outside and you let out a shaky breath.

Dragging yourself out of the bed you open the door and stare back at him with a blank expression.

“What do you want?” you simply question.

“I broke up with Lexi,” he answers and your eyebrows shoot up. Without asking for permission he pushes his way into the room, stopping in the middle with his hands on his hips. “Last night, I broke up with her.”

“I uhh—I’m sorry, I guess, but why? She was so sweet.”

“I miss you, Y/N,” he blurts out and your shock just raises. Did he just admit to breaking up with his girlfriend because of you?!

“What?”

“Lexi is a nice girl, but I miss you, I miss what we had.”

“And what is that supposed to be?” you ask with a bitter chuckle as you fold your arms on your chest. “You miss fucking me whenever it’s convenient for you? Because I certainly don’t miss that.”

“We both know it was more than that, Y/N,” he smiles warmly, but it makes your stomach churn. Nothing about that smile is friendly or nice, he is trying to manipulate you like so many times before, but it’s not working now. He lost his power over you.

“It wasn’t. You were using me, Oliver.”

“That’s not what it was. We were having fun!”

“I wasn’t! I had feelings for you and you used them for your benefit!” you snap at him, not in the mood to play by his rules any longer. You’ll not let him bring you down again. “A friend doesn’t do that.”

“You could have spoken up against it, but I didn’t hear you complaining,” he retorts and it feels like a slap across your face. “I know you miss it too, Y/N. You don’t have to act like you are into Harry, I can see through you.”

“Oh really?” you snort, finding his words rather comedic. He knows or sees absolutely nothing and he just proved it. “Tell me then what you see!”

“I see that you’ve been trying to make me jealous and I’m gonna give it to you, it was successful.”

“Amazing, only problem is that I never wanted to make you jealous. My feelings for Harry are more real than the ones I had for you and I would really like it if you just left right now.”

Grabbing the doorknob you hold it open for him, wanting nothing more than to get rid of him for once and for all. You’ve had enough of his toxic, manipulating ass for a lifetime.

“Are you really kicking me out and just gonna choose him over me?” he huffs in disbelief and you can tell you’ve hurt his ego pretty badly.

“I’m choosing myself and doing what’s best for me. Now leave,” you demand and he finally moves. Walking past you he stops and looks down at you one more time.

“You’re a fucking waste of time,” he sneers before walking out and you need every ounce of power in you not to go after him and punch him in his arrogant face. How could you ever consider him even a friend, let along sleep with him?! He is the most disgusting and degrading asshole you’ve ever seen and you’ll work on forgetting about his whole existence for the rest of your life.

You shut the door behind him and leaning your back against it you slide down to the floor, feeling your chest tightening at the intensity of what just happened. You lost the person you loved the most just weeks ago and realized that he was never who you thought him to be.

You feel like crying for a little, but the tears never come. Instead, a soft sense of relief washes over you, like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders, finally setting you free. One less thing to worry about.

As you push yourself up from the floor you hear fractions of a heated conversation outside and when you recognize both voices, your heart stops beating for a moment. Opening the door you hear the conversation between Oliver and Harry now fully clear.

“Stop fucking acting like you are the center of her world, Styles. She has no fucking idea what she wants,” Oliver snaps at Harry, clearly upset about something he said earlier.

“No one thinks that but you! Stop harassing her like a fucking psycho!” Harry fights back and your lips part at how he stands up for you.

“You’re the one harassing her! Don’t think for a moment you have a chance with her, she wants me, not you! You’ll never get into her pants like I did—“

Just when you’re about to barge out of the room to end whatever parade they are having, Oliver’s groan fills the hallway and as you step out, you see him fall to the ground after Harry’s has punched him right in the face.

“What the fuck?!” you snap in shock and they both turn to look at you in the middle of their fight.

“Your fucking boyfriend punched me for no reason!” Oliver spats, pushing himself up, holding a hand to his jaw that’s already turning red.

“Stop making yourself the victim, Oliver, no one buys it!” you groan at him as you step to Harry. He seems ashamed, even scared of your reaction about the fact that he just punched Oliver, but you are not gonna blame him. He did God’s work in this case.

“I can’t fucking believe you’re still taking his side!” Oliver snaps angrily. “You know what? You two deserve each other.”

“Shut up and leave!” you shout at him before grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling him towards your room.

You hear Oliver mumbling something under his breath, but you couldn’t care less, shutting the door at him once again, this time with Harry in the room with you.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I just fucking lost my temper and—“ You wave him off, taking his hand in yours softly, taking a look at his knuckles.

“It’s fine,” you smile at him. “Does it hurt?” you ask, gently running your thumb over his reddened knuckles.

“No, it’s alright,” he murmurs, standing so close to you again. His green eyes search yours as his other hand reaches under your chin to lift your head. “You have been ignoring me since last night.”

“I just… had a lot of stuff to do,” you awkwardly answer clearing your throat.

“You sure it’s not because of what happened between us?”

“What? Of course not!” you huff. “I get it, you were just trying to make it convincing because Naomi and Oliver were both watching a-and so you just—“

“What?” Harry asks tilting his head to the side.

“I mean, that’s why you did it, right? I saw them after we—uhh after we you know, kissed.”

“Okay, I didn’t see them and that’s not why I did it,” he admits with a nervous chuckle as he rubs the back of his neck. “I thought we were on the same page, but apparently not. Y/N, nothing I did recently was because of Naomi or Oliver. If I’m being honest it hasn’t been about them for a while. I really like you and I know I should have talked to you first about it, because now it was all kind of confusing, but I wasn’t faking it. I meant everything I said and did.”

You stare back at him in awe, heart pounding against your chest as his words sink in. He wasn’t acting, the kiss was real and you’ve been acting like a lunatic since last night, completely ignoring him instead of just talking to him, you are such a dumbass!

“Really?” you breathe out, barely more than just a whisper.

“Yeah,” he chuckles softly. “And I kinda thought you feel the same way, but then I came here and ran into Oliver who told me you two just had a chat about… possibilities between you and him?”

The hurt is clear in his eyes and your hatred towards Oliver is not on maximum level. You can’t believe he tried to ruin it all one last time even after you told him you want nothing to do with him.

“That’s not what we talked about,” you shake your head. “He came here, told me he broke up with Lexi and that he misses me, but I told him that’s too bad because I don’t miss him and his stupid little games anymore.”

“Oh!”

“And he tried to convince me to choose him over you, but I already chose you, so he had no chance,” you add, a wide smile spreading across your face as you see him realize what you just said.

“What, does this mean…?” he questions with sparkling eyes as he starts inching closer to you.

“Last night, when Jake barged into your room, this is what I wanted to talk to you about. That I’m not really faking anything anymore, but we were rudely interrupted and then… you kissed me and I thought things were finally going right, but then I somehow convinced myself that it was just because you saw Naomi and Oliver around and tried to upset them.”

“Fuck them!” Harry laughs, his hands finally reaching to grab you by your waist as he pulls you against him. “I don’t care about them anymore. I just want to be with you, no faking, no acting, just… you and me.”

“That sounds… perfect,” you admit with a tired smile before he finally leans down and presses his lips against yours.

“I have a warning for you, Y/N,” he mumbles between kisses, his lips moving against yours.

“Yeah? What’s that?” you hum, melting into him.

“I will not stop kissing you. It’s my new favorite thing,” he giggles, hands pulling you even tighter to him.

“Oh, how upsetting!” you chuckle without a care in the world before the two of you fall to your bed, a mess of kisses and giggles, but not an ounce of faking.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied (Part Two)

Series: Undercover Hotch fic/series™

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader 

Word Count: 4,408 | Rated: T | Warnings: swearing, discussion of domestic abuse, possibly compromising positions(?), an almost kiss

Tropes: bedsharing, fake married, mutual pining

Chapter Summary: after holding hotch's hand for a few minutes, it wouldn't be a problem to hold it for most of the morning? because now the retreat gimmicks begin as the two of you search for information while dealing with the events.

A/N: sorry for the delay on part two -- had some family things going on this month <3. look out for part three :) Thank you to @bucky-of-the-opera for always letting me bounce ideas off of her and generally being amazing.

“Where do we start?”

The retreat lodge was larger than you imagined — with sprawling grounds that weren't just limited to the main lodging area where the couples stayed — but extended beyond to woods, hiking trails, and beyond. Hell, you glanced out the window at a nearby mountain, you wouldn’t be surprised if they owned a mountain as well.

“I have no idea,” you murmur, your arm intertwined with Hotch’s, as the two of you stepped into the lobby for the patented mix-and-mingle with the other couples before breakfast. Not only mind-numbing, soul-churning mingling — but with other couples with marital issues -- exactly what every vacation needs, “this place doesn’t seem big on technology — I haven’t seen a single computer or cellphone,”

“The front desk only has paper logs,” he shakes his head, “I asked about the lack of technology in the rooms. A noted policy of no tech — including the employees. I don’t think we are even allowed our cellphones after this breakfast.”

You scan the couples beginning to shuffle down now, “If there’s no tech here, where do you think they keep their guest and employee files?”

“I don’t think breakfast is ready yet, sweetheart,” he replies, as your gaze snaps to his cheeks burning, as you realize a couple approaching your six, “but I’m sure you won’t have to wait too much longer,”

“I’m right there with you,” the husband winks at you, his stomach shaking as he laughs even before he jokes, “if I don’t eat soon, I’m going to lose one of my only reasons for coming to this place,”

And something tells you it isn’t much of a joke either.

“But not the reason for coming here, isn’t that right, dear?” his wife assumedly smiles at you, icily, “Molly Chapman. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and you are?”

You introduce yourself, forcing a straight face on as you manage to say your alias, offering your hand, “This is my husband, Thomas,” as Hotch introduces himself to Molly’s husband, Harry, who claps your boss on the shoulder.

“So,” Harry leans in, almost clandestinely, “what are you two in for?”

“Harry!” Molly chastises him, but her eyes hook onto your expressions, her lips pursed in disapproval if only to hide her smile.

“Well, if it helps, me and the missus here need some help communicating,” he crosses his arms, shaking his head, “never learned much about that growing up,” and he elbows Hotch, “but I’m sure you can relate — we’re practically in the same generation,” And you nearly snort, trying and failing to hide your smile — which Hotch notes, as you see him shoot a small glare your way.

Harry and Molly don’t notice, too busy reprimanding her husband again, before she sighs, pinching at the bridge of her nose, “It’s just as well, we are all going to find out about each other’s problems anyway,”

And you furrow your brow, “I saw group therapy on the itinerary — is it mandatory?”

“It is,” Molly nods, “Dr. Rosen, the therapist who helped design the program, insisted on it — otherwise it would just be a vacation, not a couples retreat,” and she raises an eyebrow, “didn’t you read that in the paperwork when you signed up?”

“I did most of the paperwork,” Hotch intercedes, his fingers intertwining with yours, “my love here was busy wrapping up some loose ends for work so I ended up taking the lead on it,”

“Oh well now I know what’s wrong with you two,” Harry chuckles, as Molly elbows him again, half-heartedly, as he gestures to you, coffee in hand, “you wear the pants in the relationship, got that one wrapped around your finger, now don’t you? Not surprising, with the age gap and all--” as he looks you up and down, winking at Hotch, as you gape at him, “nicely done, sir.”

Your blood begins to boil, several insults picked out and fine-tuned on your tongue as you open your mouth, “Well—”

“We’re working on it,” Hotch clears his throat, jerking his head toward the now ready breakfast buffet, “Harry, it looks like—”

“Food’s on!” and he’s scurrying away to the table, as his wife follows suit, giving both of you a nod, as you glare at his retreating back.

“Food fucking saved his life,” and your eyes slide back to Hotch, as he gestures for you to head over to the breakfast table, “and so did you,”

“Well, I figured you murdering someone on our first day here would attract some unwelcome attention,” he steers you away from the direction of the Chapmans, his hand now slipping around your waist, and you do your best to ignore the flip of your heart, focusing on the fancy finger foods the retreat put out for breakfast, until you feel Hotch’s fingers drum on the small of your back, “do you see that?”

You glance at him, following his gaze until your eyes fall on a door that says ‘Employees’ Only’ around the corner, the manager slipping through the door, locking it behind him. You glance away nonchalantly, helping yourself to some mini-breakfast sandwiches and some fruit, “Do you think they keep the employee files?”

“Maybe,” he breathes in your ear, as he reaches over your shoulder to grab some food, making you shiver at the closeness, “but how do we—”

“Welcome!” a voice booms from the foyer, sweeping arms as he steps forward cutting through the dining room, “Please everyone take a seat. Help yourself to some breakfast.”

You both make your way to a table, and Hotch pulls out your chair for you, giving a small smile, as he takes his seat beside you.

“I hope you all are beginning to get to know each other, but that is not all you will be getting to know today,” he clasps his hands, he bared his teeth with his fake white smile, “I am Richard Rosen, and I will be guiding you through your time during this six-week retreat, where you are not only going to learn about our facilities, about mindfulness, and about yourselves,” his eyes scan the crowd smiling, “you’re going to learn about each other.'

Oh, how wonderful.

You had read up about this guy last night — went to Harvard — Harvard College in Indiana, and got his certification in Psychology after four weeks of surely intense training. After that, he opened his own practice in New York City, which folded after several complaints ranging from sexual harassment to fraud. Unfortunately for his clients (and fortunately for him), there wasn’t enough evidence to get his lack-luster certification yanked. He then moved from city to city, learning from his mistakes, and never stuck to the same city for long enough for someone to catch onto his treatment packaged charade. Until eventually, he settled upon White Mountains Retreat, where he was allowed to stay in one place, but with a revolving door of patients.

He was one of your suspects — no record, but had easy access to the couples, and intimate knowledge of their relationships.

"But our time will begin together tomorrow,” he beams at all of you, “Right now, I'm going to pass it over to the man who you will be coordinating your incredibly list of daily activities during your stay here — the man responsible for all the wonderful memories you will make — Mr. Brock Hillen," Rosen steps aside, welcoming Hillen to take over, and he doesn’t wait a beat, checking his watch before disappearing down a hall.

“Where’d he go?” you murmur, and Hotch shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” Hotch murmurs, lips barely moving, “but do you see that?”

And you spot cuts on Brock’s arms before he tugs the sleeve of his shirt down to cover it, “Could be consistent with causing those injuries our victims,”

And Brock Hillen was no less suspicious than Rosen — with a criminal record to match. With two charges of domestic assault, Hillen already had a history of violence with his ex-wife, but since she divorced him, he has had no other charges. Yet, because of his record, he went job to job, until he found himself as the Activities Coordinator of White Mountain. Could it be that his rage over his wife leaving him led to the murders? Maybe something in the last few weeks that triggered it.

“Hello all!” he greets, holding his arms out, his fake blonde hair nearly blinding under the bright light of the chandelier that hangs above him, “thank you Richard, for that all too kind introduction,” he begins his spheal on the healing nature of the resort, the efforts of his team in coordinating the next six weeks for them, and you begin to lose interest around his third sentence with the word “enchant” in it.

And your eyes can’t help but slide to Hotch a moment, whose arm rests on your lower back still, the metal of his watch gently pressed against your shirt, and you swear his thumb brushes against your spine. You almost want to brush it away, his touch is so gentle, so sweet, so intentional, but it wasn’t — it wasn’t.

“For our first event,” and now you’re blinking back to Brock — to the reason you were here — to catch a killer, “I’m going to have you do one of the very things that Richard mentioned — an activity that will allow you to you learn more about yourselves and each other,” and he gestures around you, “as well as the grounds themselves,” Other employees start handing the couples a clipboard, “your task will be to get each of your stamps from around the retreat — this obviously includes our grounds and other facilities, including our spa, chapel, gardens, and so on.”

“Seems like a perfect opportunity to look around,” you murmur — as Hotch takes the clipboard, flipping through the scavenger hunt -- at least there wasn’t some cheesy shtick to this activity.

“To symbolize the journey you all will be embarking on together as couples, you must complete the task hand-in-hand,” Brock brings his two hands together, “please, there will be staff all over the facilities, if you need a hint, feel free to ask, and I will be here as well to provide any assistance,” he gestures to employees behind the couples, “now, at the sound of the gong—”

At the sound of the what—

And then a loud crash fills the air, rattling your eardrums, making you jump, “Take each other’s hand, and begin!”

Couples begin scattering about, pulling each other along — you spot Molly dragging Harry away from the breakfast table.

And Hotch rises beside you, offering you his hand, clipboard in his other hand, “Ready?”

You glance from him to his hand.

Probably not, but— your fingers intertwine with his, his calloused fingers warm, and the cool metal of his band brushing against your skin—

“Ready.”

What other choice did you have?

~~~

“How many more do we have?” So far, the first few stamps have taken you all around the other facilities — the spa, the garden, the sauna — but none inside the retreat center itself. Not a single one had given you a change to find where the files were kept in this place.

“Two more left,” he murmurs, “I assume the last one will take us back into the main building, so the other must be—”

“At the chapel,” you glance at the map of the place you were handed by an employee who took pity on you two after you had wandered around the grounds — completely lost, “at least we don’t have to bother figuring out the riddles now,”

“You mean you don’t need to bother,” you shake your head, “i’m sorry, I’m just—”

“Are you okay?” he asks, as the two of you stroll towards the chapel, everyone else out of earshot, “the first day can be—”

“No, it’s not that,” you look around the grounds, and you resist the urge to flex your fingers, but he notices you tense — and you know he would drop your hand but he can’t, so he steps away a little, “It’s not you—”

“But it’s you?” he chuckles, as you bite your lip, “I know it’s a lot,” he sighs, as you two reach the chapel, a relatively small building built on top of a hill. It’s a white marble building, its one spire splitting the sky above it asunder, practically gleaming in the sunlight. The double mahogany doors are drawn open for the couples, another just leaving as you two arrive. You watch him stare up at the chapel, “it is for me too.”

You frown, as the employees at the entrance greet you, and direct you to sit near the front together for a few minutes — to take solace in the quiet before you receive your stamp. Hotch hands them the clipboard as you both wander down the aisle together.

The aisles are lined with white pews, light streaming through beautiful stained glass windows. Your footsteps echoed against the stone floor. You step and sit into the pew beside Hotch, sitting back a moment. The chapel itself had no denomination — it was clear it was made for the sake of religious and non-religious functions — likely an intentional choice not to exclude any religion or atheists for that matter.

After all, money was money in their eyes.

You two are quiet a moment, your hands still interlaced for the sake of the employees still watching the two of you, “I think for me,” your voice low, “it’s just weird to be this close with anyone,”

“You mean physically or?” you shrug.

“It’s part of it — it has been a while since I’ve shared a bed with someone,” you purse your lips, “but like you said, it’s hard for me to let someone see me, like all of me,” and you glance at him, “and it’s hard when you’re literally the leader of a team of, you know.”

“I know,” he leans against the back of the pew, “it’s impossible to hide things from the team even when when we don’t spend every minute with them, and now that we’re spending the all of the next six weeks together--”

“There won’t be much we can do to hide,” you nod, looking down at the floor.

And that was what scared you the most.

The employees hand you back the clipboard at that moment, excusing you both back, and the two of you step out of the chapel, “I just want you to know,” you say, as the two of you reach the bottom of the hill, “you don’t have to hide anything from me,” and he raises an eyebrow, as you add, “if you don’t want to.”

“Do most people hide anything because they really want to?”

“No I meant,” you chew your lip, “This is probably hard for you, and I don’t want to act like I know what you’re going through — I don’t,” you would never deign to think you knew what it was like to lose your the love of your life, your best friend, and mother of your child in one fell swoop, “but you don’t have to pretend,” not with me, you want to add, but you don’t — you can’t.

He blinks a moment, eyebrows raising only for a millisecond, before he sighs, “It’s easier to pretend,” he presses his lips together, as another couple approaches, “and that’s what we’re here to do,” and he begins to walk forward, gently pulling you along, as your cheeks burn, your head fixed on the ground, until he adds, “but I appreciate it,” and you meet his gaze, several emotions in his eyes, before he tears it away, “thank you.”

You don’t get to respond, as the two of you step inside to find only most of the couples still hadn’t returned yet — still collecting the last of the stamps, and most of the staff floating around the grounds to corral and nudge stragglers along. And their absence left an opportunity.

So you glance around, before tugging a distracted Hotch along, wandering around a corner, “What—”

And you grab him by the shoulder, pinning him to the wall, cheeks burning all the while, not daring to meet his gaze, but its just the same because you hear the small gasp of your name that leaves his lips in a whisper, and his body tenses against your palm.

You lean up closer, before slowly craning your neck around the corner, “We’re a couple at a retreat looking to sneak away,” you murmur, lips barely moving, as you lean closer, nose brushing his neck — god he smells good — but you refuse to let your lips brush against his skin, “or that’s what it will look like to anyone.”

His tenseness melts away, and he’s pliable to your touch, as your fingers graze his neck now, your thumb resting against his cheek, as he stares down at you — so adoringly as you tug him by the shirt away from the wall, following you with such ease.

You’re next to the employees only door — your fingers reach for the knob, turning — “It’s locked,” you murmur, and his brow furrows, as you cup his cheek, guiding his gaze to the lock.

And he’s spinning you around gently so that you’re pressed to the wall, your breath catching in your throat, as he looms over you, his fingers cupping your chin. His arm around your back, pulling your lower half close to him, but he’s holding the door knob in place while he tries to pick it with his other hand.

Your cheeks burn as he looks down on you, his gaze freezing you in place, far too close — his breath warming your lips, taking the breath from your lungs and replacing your blood with lava. And you can see so clearly — the cut of his jaw, the soft lines of his face, and the curve of his lips—

And then the lock clicks open.

He’s turning the knob, as you spare one glance over your shoulder to see if anyone sees either of you, but then the door is shutting behind you. You feel the wall for a light switch, and you flick it on, while you hear the click of the door locking again.

And you blink, a glorified break room — a few tables and a basic refrigerator stuck in the corner, a worn couch stuck against a wall, and a sink stuck in the corner with a subpar dish rack — far from the accolades that were in each guest’s room — but then again, the employees weren’t paying through the nose for the rooms.

You two stay close, as your eyes scan for anything that could be a camera — even one that isn’t obvious — placed in a smoke detector or lamp shade, “No cameras,” he pulls away, and you try to swallow the lump in your throat, tucking away the embarrassment to dwell on another time (likely right before when you’re trying to sleep).

But then again, the guests weren’t the ones working 18 hour shifts on their feet.

Hotch calls for you, pointing towards a few file drawers stuck in the corner, and the two of you head over, running your finger down the label on the drawers, “These are all client records — administrative, financial — nothing on the employees.”

“They must keep the employee records somewhere else that employees don’t have access to,” and you’re rifling through the folders, for something — anything.

“I haven’t seen any other employee areas,” you shut the drawers, and then you glance around, your eyes falling on another door in the corner of the room — “unless—”

“It must be Rosen and Hillen’s offices,” you walk over, reading the placard — Administration Offices, “locked?”

“This isn’t something that can be picked easily,” Hotch shakes his head, “it has a bump guard — it prevents—”

“--lock bumping,” and Hotch looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, “I’ll tell you my reason if you you tell me yours,

He snorts, “I learned it sometime between 6th grade and military school,” and it’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, “my father — he—”

“You don’t have to—” you shake your head, “unless you want to—”

“I’ll just say, it wasn’t a good childhood,” he raises to his feet.

And you can’t help but give a small smile, “But look at how well you turned out,” and he’s shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders, “Hotch,” you make him meet your gaze, “you’re a good man — don’t doubt that.”

His eyes meet yours again, warm, as he looks away to the floor for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching, “Thank you,” he breathes, and he’s stepping forward, “I—”

And then the doorknob is jiggling. Your heads snap to the door, before looking back to each other.

Shit.

Before you know it, his wrist is around yours, and he’s tugging you to the couch, as you fall backwards onto the soft cushions. He’s halfway kneeling between your legs, his body draped over you, and he’s leaning closer, murmuring an apology as he lips draw close to yours, “Hotch—”

And then the door is opening, as his lips nearly brush yours, “Hey!”

An employee stares at the both of you, as you both stumble to your feet, adjusting your clothes, “This is employees only — what are you—”

“Sorry!” you yelp, jumping to your feet, “so sorry,” and you brush past them, Hotch following at your heels.

And the two of you find your way back to the lobby, your heart still in your throat, as you tug on your clothes, “Thanks for the —” your cheeks burn, “I mean, good thinking—” you shake your head, "you know what I mean."

He snorts, his fingers finding yours again, giving them a slight squeeze, "Anytime," and your heart oh-so-helpfully skips a beat, tongue-tied, but luckily you don't have to response as Hotch glances at you, "you never did tell me how you learned about lock picking."

You shrug, “I have a checkered past,”

“That’s not much of an answer,” and you shoot him a half-smile.

“I have to keep you interested somehow don’t I?” you reply right as Brock begins to speak again.

The event wraps up with another talk from Brock — who has an employee approach him towards the end of his talk, whispering in his ear, and he nods, waving him off, “and one last thing — I know you all came to rejuvenate your marriages and partnerships through this retreat and we fully encourage you to do so but—” you swallow thickly, realizing just which employee must have whispered in his ear right then, “please refrain from doing so in restricted areas that are not for our guests.”

You cannot even bear to look at Hotch, keeping your gaze straight ahead, grabbing a drink on the tray, and sipping at it — and you wondered if you were masking your mortification well.

Probably fucking not.

~~~

Brock then adjourns them for the rest of the day — not wanting to “overwhelm them” on day one (or rather padding their time here with nothingness) — welcoming them to have their meal in the dining facilities or up in the rooms.

Most people head off to their rooms, while others linger in the lobby — chatting amongst themselves — he spots Harry rushing off to the dining facilities, his wife in tow.

The rest of the day goes off without much to-do. Hotch glances around — not a single thing of note learned about the guests or the staff. The other couples are all sociable to some extent — some more reserved than others, but none of them fit the unsub’s types so far — placing you two directly in the paths of the unsub.

By the time it’s time for bed, his body is aching for nothing but sleep — and it looked like you had the same idea. Already slipped under the covers, you’re curled up, half-asleep as your eyes flutter heavy with sleep.

Neither of you felt the need to stand guard in the room — the doors were securely locked for each of the couples, and the team was monitoring the situation at the local precinct. But you both kept your weapons close by — concealed in case someone happened to find their way in.

“Are you asleep?” Hotch whispers, and you mumble, shaking your head, turning to glance at him — your shoulders tense and brow furrowed.

“Is something going on?”

And he shakes his head, “No, sorry,” and you relax back in bed, but your lips still pursed, “I just hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier,” and you tilt your head — and he almost smiles at your sleep-induced confusion.

“Earlier?” and then it floods back to you — as you blink, glancing away from him, “oh—”

He shakes his head, “I just don’t want you to think I was—”

“Hotch, I know you weren’t,” you slowly sit up, “if you hadn’t done that, I think we would have been on our way home on our first day,” you chuckle, “and I know you wouldn’t take advantage — especially when we have a job to do.”

Right, a job, he chides himself, It was a job.

“If you want to sleep—”

“I’m not having this conversation again,” you yawn, turning around and getting comfortable again, “good night, Hotch.”

And he looks at you, a small sigh parting his lips — until he finally settles in bed beside you.

His arm resting across his forehead, he glances at you again. He had spent so much of today holding your hand, his fingers nearly flexing at the memory. It had been so long since he had held someone’s hand, so long since he had worn a ring on his finger, so long since he called someone his partner.

It felt so nice.

Nice — not only because he hadn’t realized how much he had missed having someone, someone beside him, someone there — but because —

Because it was you.

And he knew that because — he didn’t want to let go of your hand.

[forthegothicheroine]

How other great detectives would solve the disappearance of Rowan Morrison from Summerisle

A series I do sometimes. I think most horror fans know the basic idea behind the original Wicker Man, but if you don’t and want to avoid spoilers, scroll away.

I don’t think most of these detectives are virgins- maybe Miss Marple or Poirot, but maybe not- so I’ll be assuming that for ritual purity purposes, just refusing Willow will have to be enough.

Sam Vimes: Haha. Haha. Oh wow, haha. Picking a detective who’s already an apathetic polytheist sure throws a wrench in Lord Summerisle’s plans! Vimes starts arresting people when he arrives and basically doesn’t stop, mostly for child endangerment (don’t send your children to go jump over fire! there are plenty of murderers out there to do that to them!) He starts kicking back on the other side of the door when Willow starts singing until she gives up and goes away. There’s still some strong danger here since Vimes would fulfill the role of a man who came with kingly power (oh boy he’d hate hearing that!) but Vimes does have one advantage Howie doesn’t have: a loyal team. Lord Summerisle said that no one would come for Howie- maybe he was right or maybe he was bluffing, but he’d sure as hell be wrong where Vimes was concerned, and that’s assuming they got him to come here without any other Watch members in the first place. Without dying or after death, he’s pulling this place down.

Columbo: Here’s the best omen for Columbo’s success- I didn’t think of it until this list, but Lord Summerisle dresses exactly like a Columbo villain! Anyway, schlubby little Columbo solves his cases more or less by pecking at key suspects until he can figure out which ones are lying to him, so I think that bodes well here. He steps off the plane and finds everyone clearly lying to him; he takes out a notepad, writes “THEY ALL DID IT”, and gets back on the plane. Or maybe he could steal a boat and escape later at night so I can give him the chance to annoy Lord Summerisle ("Mythology, huh? My wife has a book about that, very interesting stuff. You know, I thought it was kind of funny how that inn was called the Green Man. See, in that book, Sir Gawain goes to meet this green man with the force of the whole round table behind him, but they’re planning to test and then kill him. Funny thing, right?”)

Phryne Fisher: This makes so much more sense if it was Jack they were after and due to plot hijinks, Phryne ended up there instead of or in addition to him. She has sex with Lord Summerisle almost immediately, and the village isn’t really sure if that counts as breaking ritual purity or not (Willow doesn’t seem like her type.) Besides the ritual purity, they have to deal with the fact that she does not have the authority of a king- she probably doesn’t even have police permission to be here! This whole operation has been a tremendous cockup on the cult’s part.

Dale Cooper: Despite being friendly where Howie was prickly, Cooper has a lot in common with that other doomed policeman who came to a creepy town to save or avenge a young girl. Things might go more or less the same as they did in the movie, but there’s one circumstance under which he might get out with his life. Willow bangs on his door naked, singing a sexy song, and he opens the door for her. She’s a bit disappointed that he failed the test, but instead of going along with the seduction, he tells her that she’s too young for him but that it looks like she could use a friend, and that he thinks she might be lonlier than people realize. Maybe- just maybe- the first genuine offer of nonsexual friendship she’s had in years might break through to her, and she might start to talk.

Philip Marlowe: I love Marlowe, he’s my guy, but I don’t think he’s getting out off this. He’s thrown naked girls out of his bedroom before- why should he think this time is any different? He and Summerisle have nice long chats about history and literature, but in the process he demonstrates that he has a very strong sense of morality and propriety (if not religion) and that he thinks of himself as a sort of fairy tale knight. That’s bad. That’s very, very bad.

Sam Spade: I think he ruins this by trying to extort Lord Summerisle for blackmail money and Summerisle just kills him and needs to find a new detective to trap. Either that, or he gets away with it because he absolutely sleeps with Willow.

Poirot: This trip is the single most miserable experience of Poirot’s life. Even more so than the nudity, he knows he has plunged into hell upon eating the terrible food and finding they don’t even have any of their famous apples! In fact, I like the idea that it’s their famous food that first leads him in the direction of the answer; the harvest was bad, the book suggests they might have made a sacrifice, but they’ve had girls pose by those crops every year without anything bad happening to them. If the girls aren’t the sacrifice, who is? Willow’s attempted seduction certainly upsets him (David Suchet says he played him as asexual, but even if that’s not your interpretation, naked youths pounding on his door are the last thing he wants!) I don’t know if he can escape, but I think he can pull the right threads to figure things out and ruin the event.

Miss Marple: Boy, does Lord Summerisle feel like an asshole about this! Miss Marple does her best not to judge anyone for so much nudity- these young people today do insist on being modern, she just hopes they don’t catch cold. I think she’d really frustrate the islanders by not seeming to actually do her role. She’s not breaking down doors and demanding answers, and when Willow sings at her door she just chats about how nice it is that youngsters are interested in traditional folk music, seeming not to even get the test. What they don’t know is that Miss Marple is very, very good at listening and observing. She knows. And she’s going to play the part of the dotty old lady right up until the very point when she can get back on that plane.

Kinsey Milhone: Kinsey may be in trouble here. Innocent young people being put in danger, especially when she could have saved them, is the sort of thing that drives her courage but could also propel her blindly into her doom. If things don’t go exactly as they did in the movie, it will be because she focuses on a different question- who sent her that letter? Everyone acts like they know what’s going on, so who “didn’t know” where Rowan was and was “afraid something terrible had happened”? The bigger the conspiracy looks, the less likely it is that anyone could have been ignorant or even sent a secret letter, and that might let Kinsey realize it was sent on purpose.

[kimnjss]

keep going | jjk

⤑  series: cherry pickers

⤑ pairing: gamer(fuckboi)!jungkook x video vixen(virgin)!reader

⤑ genre: smut!! (and the start of angst at the end...)

⤑ rating: explicit

⤑ word count: 4.8K // unedited.

⤑ warnings: cursing, slight dirty talk, oral sex (m/f. receiving), handjob, cum shot, face sitting, spitting, grinding, (half-assed) 69-ing, nipple play, groping, dry humping, they’re both half drunk nd messy.

⤑ A/N: hiiii! how are you? sooo ., i decided to make the party two parts bc i had terrible time management today nd it’s getting late - buut i really wanted to post today. sooo part two up tomorrow!!

MAY 8TH, 2020 | 23:30

Jungkook hears your squeal over the booming bass of the music, long before you're appearing through the crowd of drunk partygoers. Jimin is steps behind you, large black glasses resting on the tip of his nose. Eyes likely bloodshot underneath them obvious from the stumble in his walk. Your hair fans out behind you as you run, jumping with a shout onto your boyfriend. Who is more than ready to catch you. Hands splayed over the small of your back, while your legs wrap around his waist.

Giggling, even though nothing's really funny. Cold hands finding his cheeks as your hair creates a curtain on one side of his face. “My baby!” Speaking a bit too loud for how close you are, but he doesn't mind it. Especially since you're quick with covering his mouth with yours. The strong taste of alcohol hitting his tongue as if how drunk you were wasn't already obvious.

The kiss doesn't last long because you're being distracted by your thoughts, lips parting from his, you begin to bounce in his arms. Thighs brushing against his waist and the skirt of your dress riding up the swell of your ass. “Jimin said you got dressed up for me,” You're wearing this pretty smile on your face, cheeks tinted pink and he's not too convinced it's just from the alcohol.

He nods without a bit of hesitation because he had nothing to hide. Wouldn't even be stood here in this outfit if he didn't think you'd find him attractive in it. Another squeal is leaving your lips, legs leaving his body as you jump down out of his grasp. Taking a step back to fully take in his appearance.

“You look good enough to eat,” Moving in close to him, your arms lift to wrap around his neck. Tugging gently so his face is level with yours, the tip of his nose nudging against your cheek as you lean up to reach his ear. “We'll get to that later, though.” A gentle kiss pressed to the outside of it and you're sure you hear a moan leave his lips.

Not dwelling too much on the sound, you pull back, taking his hand in his, leading him into the kitchen where you swear you saw Jimin disappear. Probably in search of smoother drinks to accompany the numerous shots swimming in his stomach. Jimin was quite the drinker and a bit hard to keep up with, either way, you managed without falling over. That was definitely a plus.

Jungkook had been here an hour or two before you showed up. Found Taehyung in the crowd and Yoongi after that, the three of them spending time drinking and talking while he waited for you. Your friends were cool and he was enjoying the music and everything, but at the end of it, he was most looking forward to seeing you... even if he had been with you just the day before.

Shots were passed around and Yoongi had his mind set on getting absolutely trashed, him and everyone within a ten-foot radius. Which had him refilling every single empty glass in sight. Including Jungkook, despite the fact, he was on the far end of the couch. So yeah, not as drunk as you, but definitely heading in that direction.

Who cares, though? It was a party after all.

MAY 9TH, 2020 | 00:19

Sat up on the kitchen counter with Jungkook beside you, quietly sipping from his cup while you talk a mile a minute with the guys in the room. Taehyung has taken an interest in Jimin who has made it his entire business to play hard to get. The whole nine yards, honestly, not looking directly at him while he spoke, acting aloof when it was clear to any of your close friends that Tae was enjoying the undivided attention.

Yoongi had gone somewhere a good half hour ago, nothing but a brief mumble of his departure which was drowned out by the music. Hoseok was leaving a few moments after him, loudly declaring he wanted to go dance. Yet, you have yet to see the inevitable circle form around him.

That left Joon and Jin with you and Jungkook, the four of you laughing and talking loudly about something that you'd no doubt forget in the morning. Well, three of you... Jungkook only half listened, the rest of his attention on you. Hadn't taken his eyes off you since he was setting you down on the counter and it was getting a little hard to ignore his stare.

Jungkook was always obvious, hardly ever beat around the bush... especially when it had anything to do with you. So just one look in his direction and you could tell that he was undressing you with his eyes, playing a dirty movie in his mind where the two of you were the stars.

Normally, you'd tease him. Get him all riled up until he was whining, basically begging for some type of release. It was always fun to see how far you could push him, how much you could get away with before he was becoming a mess of himself. 

Strangely tonight, though, you didn't feel like teasing. Wanted him just as much as he wanted you, if not more. And with this liquid courage cruising through your veins, you didn't care if he knew it. You didn't care who knew it. Jin has sparked Joon's argumentative spirit, claiming he was right about something that Joon literally based his entire life on.

It's not often you get to see Joon get riled up, especially in the face of a stranger. But the oddly sexy vein popping out at the side of his neck is very low on your list of concerns. No, your focus is on Jungkook and how you can get him from this room to upstairs a little more private.

“Koo,” His head snaps in your direction in an instant at the sound of your voice, cloudy eyes taking in your outstretched arms. Instantly putting together that you were beckoning him toward you, he doesn't waste a moment to stand in front of you. Palms settling down against the tops of your thighs, the coldness of them forcing goosebumps to rise on your warm skin.

Long legs stretching out to wrap around his hips, pulling him closer. You always wanted him closer. Fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him down closer to you. He kisses you immediately, hands wrapping around your thighs, using his grip to pull your body toward him. He's hard. Can feel it pressed right against your thigh, a curious hand dropping down his torso until you're able to reach him.

Jungkook flinches at the touch, hips jerking forward and teeth scraping against your lower lip. The subtle pain pulls a moan from your lips that's quickly muffled by the determined twist of his tongue. Hesitant fingers inch underneath the hem of your dress and then back down your thighs, up a little higher, and then back down. His fingers repeat their movement three times before you're pulling away from his lips.

“What are you doing?” Your words come out through a laugh, hands on either side of his face as you look down to watch his fingers on your skin. “I'm just checking...” All slurred and barely coherent, he's not looking at you instead he's tracking the movements of his fingers as if he was in the midst of creating a masterpiece on your legs.

You can't help the laugh that slips past your lips at his focus, fingers racking through his short hair. Pushing the fluffy strands out of the way so you can get a better peak at the look of concentration on his face. “Checking what?”

Dark eyes lift to find yours, teeth catching his lower lip as he searches your features. Looking for any hint that you were uncomfortable. That you wanted him to slow down. Something that you constantly caught him doing if the two of you were moving past a peck. It was sweet, nice of him to always be thinking of you. But it did make you feel fragile like you needed him to look out for you. Never did you like this feeling, but coming from him... it didn't feel so bad.

“How high up you'll let me go this time. Do you want me to stop?” There's a second question hidden in there. He wasn't just talking about his hands on his legs, but rather how far you were willing to go tonight. It's obvious because Jungkook was horrible at hiding what he was thinking, every thought written on his face at all times.

Which is why you're so quick to shake your head, using the hold you have around his waist to pull him further between his legs. His hardening length brushing against the crease of your thighs and you're humming at the feeling of warmth that spreads throughout your body. “Not yet. Keep going,”

That's all he needs to hear and it's like a switch has been flipped inside of him. Whatever restraint he had been using since you first jumped on him going out the window as his hands move higher up your legs, face nuzzling in the crook of your neck. His teeth catch your skin, blunt nails dragging their way to your ass and all you're left to do is whine and moan underneath him.

A hand running down the front of his pastel-colored pants to cover his crotch. Fingers flexing around his bulge, shamelessly palming him through his pants in the middle of Yoongi's kitchen. He's letting out a breathy groan, head falling back as his hips move in motion with your hand.

He looks so hot, it's almost unbelievable. Eyes squeeze shut, with his lower lip tucked between his teeth. Thick neck on full display, you can't help but lean up and kiss it. Sucking open-mouthed kisses into his skin, while your hand moves over him. 

“Fuck,” he groans, loud enough for just you to hear. The sound sending a pang of arousal pooling between your legs. “I want to fuck you so bad,” It's a drunken confession that he's barely aware of, his focus on his hands squeezing your ass over the fabric of your dress.

Leaning back enough so your eyes catch his, he's looking at you with such desire and want. A look that you're no stranger to, but it definitely has you feeling a little less out of control tonight. Tilting your head up, you press a soft kiss to his lips, pulling back just before his tongue is able to slither past your lips. 

“Wanna go upstairs?”

MAY 9TH, 2020 | 00:57

Jungkook takes two steps toward you the moment Yoongi's bedroom door is secured shut. Hands on either side of your face, holding your head steady as he goes in for a kiss. A sloppy rushed kiss that pulls deep groans from his lips. Fingers curling in your hair while his hand drops low on your waist, pulling your body into his.

He's spent long enough holding on to restraint, not wanting to tip the scale in either direction in hopes to keep you from pulling back. Only going as far as you'd let him, but now you were giving him the green light for more. And although, he wasn't sure how much more you were willing to give... he was going to enjoy all he was able to take.

His mouth falls from yours, fingers moving toward the neckline of your dress. The same tiny dress you deemed too tight to wear anything underneath, besides the lace thong that does nothing but look pretty against your skin. With a fluid motion of his hands, your tits are spilling out the top of your dress, nipples peaking from the cool air circulating around the room.

His cock stiffens in his pants at the sight. Trying not to be obvious with the way the sight of your bare chest makes him drool. This was so far from being the first time he's seen boobs, but this was the first time he was seeing yours and that felt like the first time ever. He didn't know what to do with himself. Brain working overtime trying to figure out where to start. He wanted all of you, that much wasn't a secret. But he knew that he had to be careful, this was a privilege of course. A rarity. One wrong move and he fuck it all up for himself. 

The blank stare on his face does nothing for the pounding in your chest. Wishing that he'd just say something instead of staring the way he was. Not even looking directly at you. Did he think they were weird? Were you doing too much? Should you cover up?

Two strong hands wrap around your thighs, lifting your body off of the ground. Finally, finally looking up at you with those dark brown eyes of his. So easy to read, so filled with lust. For you. Long strides taken across the room and before you know it, your body is being surrounded by fluffy sheets and the smell of Yoongi.

“You're so perfect,” He sounds like he's in disbelief, shaking his head at his own words as he climbs onto the bed with you. Your head trapped on either side of his arms, hips pressed flush together. He fit so well between your legs.

Warm lips meet yours, tasting heavily of alcohol and his fruity lip balm. He's swallowing the moan that falls from your lips, tongue pushing against yours as his hips move in a slow rut. Kissing you breathless with his hand wrapped around one of your breasts, thumb flicking against your nipple. So easily pulling moans and whines from your lips with a simple flex of his muscles. “I can't believe I'm with you,” His words murmured against your lips, but your heart is standing at full attention, ready to swell in his favor.

Pulling back only to leave a trail of wet kisses down the length of his neck, mapping his way to your breasts. A breathy cry of his name falls from your lips when his teeth scrape against the hardened nub. Chuckling soft, his eyes lift to meet yours as he wraps his lips around it. Tongue moving just as it had been inside your mouth and you can't help but wonder how it'd feel in other places too.

Always ten steps ahead of you, Jungkook's hand outlines the curve of your breasts all the way down to the dip of your waist, passing your hips until the tips of his fingers catch the hem of your skirt.

He pulls off your chest with a pop, a thin line of spit connecting his lower lip to your skin. His tongue juts out to break it while his gaze lowers to watch himself reveal more and more of your skin with each movement of his hand. It's not long until your entire dress is bunched up at your waist, the maroon thong you had shimmied into on full display for his greedy eyes.

The growing wet patch between your legs is all he can seem to focus on. Jungkook startles you with his quickness, head dropping between your legs in an instant. Arms looping around your thighs to hold them apart, nose nudging against your covered clit as his tongue flattens against your slit.

“Holy fuck!” It's like someone has lit your entire body on fire. Back arched off the bed and toes pressed against the sheets. He's letting out a laugh, the prettiest sound you've ever heard paired with that toothy grin of his. Three gentle kisses are placed right on top where his tongue just had been.

Reaching down to find his soft head of hair, you gently drag his face up away from your sensitive pussy. His nose bumping against yours and his stiff cock resting just above your clit. Much harder than before and you can only guess why. Yet, despite his obvious arousal and his desperate want to continue, he's still able to compose himself enough to ask.

Pressing the softest of kisses to your lips, fingers pushing strands of your hair out of the way. “Keep going?” Silently hoping that you answer in his favor. Pretty much over the moon when you're nodding, hips lifting to meet his. It's his turn to curse, teeth cutting into his lip to keep from being too loud.

Kind of hard with the way you were grinding against him. Even through your useless panties, his boxers, and pants, he could feel you. How warm you were, wet too. So sure that his fingers would slip right in. How many would you actually be able to take? Just one? Two? Maybe three?

Had to be at least three if you expected to take his dick after. Never one to brag, but Jungkook was a decent size. Thick in the places that it mattered most, long enough to boost his confidence. Definitely took pride in the way your eyes would go wide when seeing it. Were you thinking about it too? Him fucking you.

“Yn, fuck.” He's hissing through clenched teeth, only now noticing the work you've done at the front of his pants. Buttons undone and fly wide open, your warm hand down the front of his briefs to fish out his throbbing length. It only grows harder in your soft grip, twitching at the brush of cool air.

It takes two of your small hands to cover him, the pink mushroom tip peaking out from your closed fists. Hands twisting in opposite directions and he doesn't even hesitate to fuck into the hole you've created. Eyes fluttering as breathy moans fall from his lips, heavy balls slapping against your covered pussy.

Jungkook's got a firm grip on your breast, the other hand clutching the bunched up fabric of your dress. Head bowed as he watches his cock disappear and reappear between your hands. He has no shame in the fact he's imagining it's you he's fucking. That he's being squeezed by the tightness of your walls. Imagining that you're reaching your limit too, instead of him selfishly getting his release. Every single time.

He loses it when you're sitting up, spitting into the palm of your hand to create a much wetter slip for his cock. Hands tightening around him and moving at a much faster pace. He's gasping and groaning, fucking forward as if he's buried inside of you. And you're close too, it makes him feel a lot better about the loud way he spills his load onto your stomach.

Warm and sticky against your clammy skin, you're lifting a hand off of him to dip your fingers into the mess. He watches the way you drag through it, bringing your index finger up to your mouth. “Oh, God.” He groans, earning a pretty giggle from you. His mouth is on yours again within an instant, fingers tangling in your hair as his tongue rolls around the inside of your mouth.

Tasting himself on your tongue and that just makes him want you more. “Please let me taste you.” His eyes still feel heavy and his body too, but that's the least bit of his concern. He wants to make you feel good. It's only fair, with the way you're constantly catering to him. You deserved it. “Please,”

Not even worried about sounding desperate or even whiny, he just wants you. He wants you to want him. And you do. Have wanted him since the first time you met him if you're honest. Tonight all of that was only amplified, a mixture of the alcohol and the realization of how quickly you had fallen for him.

Didn't even realize it was happening until it was done. Jungkook was quickly becoming it for you. Not a day went by where he wasn't on your mind, yearning to see him, to talk to him, to kiss him. Needy in ways that were nearly foreign to you. Always so good at keeping it together, but when it came to him you just couldn't.

And you didn't really want to either.

“Okay,” His face breaks into this huge smile and you can't help the laugh that falls from your lips. “Okay?” He has to check, make sure that he's hearing you right. And when the sound of your laugh fills his ears, followed by another confirmation he's almost ready to jump for joy.

Springing up, he's shrugging his shirt off. Wiping the drying cum from your stomach as a true gentleman would. Tossing the dirty fabric to the side, he's shifting to lay on his back before you're stopping him. “Take this one off too,” Reaching for the sleeve of his undershirt and he doesn't waste a moment before tugging it over his head and tossing it to the side.

He's moving to lay on his back before you're allowed the proper time to admire his well worked on chest. The ripples in his stomach that can only be accomplished with hours upon hours in the gym. His head lifts to find you sat up in the same spot, this quizzical look on his face which you return with a laugh.

“Come sit on my face,” He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, reaching out for your wrist, to gently drag you toward him. Your eyes are saucers, cheeks flushed at the thought of being sat up on him like that. “Why?” It's obvious to the both of you why, but you wait for his answer anyway.

His shoulders lift in a slight shrug, lips stretching into a slow sexy smile. “I've always wanted you to sit on my face,” He's so calm about it too as if he didn't just admit to the dirty secret thoughts that bounce around his head when the two of you are alone. You're so inclined to give this man whatever he wants that you don't bother to fight it anymore, simply lifting yourself up to stand over his head.

Taking in the way he's smiling up at you like a kid on Christmas, arms looped around your legs to help you lower yourself onto him. The tips of his fingers latch onto the waistband of your panties, tugging them far enough down your legs so he's getting a good look at your bare pussy.

Lips glistening with your arousal, slightly puffy from the bit of stimulation. There's a small patch a hair above it, trimmed into a neat triangle. Almost like an arrow saying: Jungkook's mouth goes here. And he's forever one to follow a sign. With his arms looped around your thighs, he's lowering you comfortably over him. He lands an open-mouthed kiss on your clit, using the grip he holds on your thighs to hold your body still.

Gasping, your hips jerk, body lunging forward to brace yourself on his stomach. “Fucking cute,” He murmurs into your pussy, head tilting to the side so his tongue can reach deeper inside of you. Paying close attention to the sounds of your whines to make sure that you're enjoying yourself just as much as he was.

Much sweeter than he had thought, arousal dripping down the sides of his lips. You've got a tight grip in his hair, hips moving in stuttered thrusts against his mouth. A hand pressed onto his stomach, nails scraping against the skin. He's cautious with introducing his fingers to the mix, teasing your hole slowly before he's pushing one in. Cock stiffening at the loud wail that leaves your lips, legs spreading wider for him.

It's never felt this good. Not when you're alone with your own hand down there. His is much longer, thicker. Reaching deeper inside than you ever could. With lips latched around your clit and a single finger fucking inside of you, Jungkook's pretty sure he's died and gone to heaven. The sounds of your moans being the welcome bell.

His tongue moving around your clit in quick circles and he swears he feels your walls clench around his fingers. So wound up, it's not long before you're nearing your end. And he takes the chance by pushing another finger alongside the first one, much tighter and harder to move but the sound that leaves your lips eggs him on.

“Shit, baby...” He pants against you, the warmth of your hand around his shaft making him lose focus. You stroke him lazily, barely able to keep your head up with the way he's making you feel. But you manage, tongue poking out to roll against the tip. His whines vibrate against your pussy and throughout your entire body, forcing an involuntary roll of your hips.

Fingers plunging deeper inside of you as his hips lift, cock brushing against your lips at the same time he's curling his fingers. Pressing against the rough patch that has you spiraling out of control, hips bucking against his face and grip tightening in his hair. “Jungkook, fuck! I'm...” Pretty much delirious at this point because he has no interest in letting up, determined to knock you over the edge if it's the last thing he does.

A string of curses leaves your lips. Sloppy kisses landing on his length, a failed attempt to muffle them. All at once you're feeling pressure build and snap in the pit of your stomach, a wave of heat washing over you. Your legs shake on either side of his head, loud cries of his name and incoherent sentences falling from your lips.

Jungkook holds you steady through all of it, the movement of his tongue slowly as you come down. Lips puckering to plant a gentle kiss to your lips, just as your body is falling limp against his. Slowly pulling his fingers from inside of you, he doesn't waste a moment with sucking your juices from them, humming contently at the taste.

“So sweet,”

Shifting in his hold, you move to sit on his lap. His nose, mouth, and chin are shiny with your arousal, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded, hair a knotted mess. He looks absolutely fucked out and it's so hot. Lowering yourself, your mouth is finding his, tongue plunging into his mouth as you lower your body. The tip of his cock nudging against your clit, forcing a moan from your lips.

All it would take is a certain angle of your hips and he'd be sinking inside of you. Stealing away your virginity with a single thrust of his hips. You wanted that so bad. With him. Only him. “Jungkook.” Sighing his name out, his cock twitches between your legs. And from the way his eyes go wide, you can tell he's just noticed how close you actually were. 

“I want you to fuck me. Please, Kookie,” There's slight whine in your voice, but you don't care how desperate you sound. You've never wanted something this bad. Felt it in your chest, your stomach, your core. You wanted him.

He doesn't say anything for a while, eyes scanning over your features for a little longer than you'd like. Before he's letting out a soft sigh, his hand reaching up to push his hair back on his head. Sitting up with you in his lap, his hand lifting to wipe at the wetness around his lips. “Fuck, princess. Not tonight. Not yet,” Two large hands set on your shoulders, he's offering up an apologetic smile.

A pout is already forming on your lips. You can't help it, your brows just seem to automatically furrow and your lip pushes out. “Why not?” His hand is lifting to pat your hair, head tilting up to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Because, when I fuck you... I'm gonna fuck you.” You'd think he was explaining the cuteness of puppies with the way he was looking at you. The tone he was using. “And you've been drinking. I need to make sure you remember every second,” His fingers rub against your scalp lightly before he's going in for another kiss.

Not even a moment is granted for the sting of rejection to settle in. The moment he's pulling away and gently nudging you off of his lap to redress, there's a loud knock on the door and you're becoming all too aware of the party that was still going on downstairs. A loud crash follows the knock and you can hear shouts from two very familiar voices.

And then another, much harder knock. Joon's voice sounding from the other side. Hurriedly explaining all the commotion going on downstairs. 

“Hoseok and Yoongi are fighting!”

— known for your body and surrounded by rumors about your sex life… rumors that he doesn’t think to doubt. until he’s meeting you… forced to realize there’s much more to you then the thonged shorts and lacy costumes.

⤪ masterlist ⤨

 taglist: @randomkoalablog @smoljams @jaiuneamesolitaiire @hehehehahahohohuhu @houseofarmanto @preciouschimine @chocobetterknot @kookiesjoonies @ashleyjoyx @thia-aep @jinhitwhore @silentlyimpractical @acc3ssdenied @triviasjms @joonies-babyy @bangtansonyeondayyyum @bangtan-noona @mipetronella @lilacdreams-00 @strawberryforever25 @tae165 @jikooksgirl19 @dee-ehn @butterflylion @alterlovess @joontopia @my-odd-mix @yeontanie21 @sw33tnight @kookiesdoe @daydreambrliever @elliemeetsevil​ @hellotherehoneybee @bangtansbun @taefect94 @tricethecharm​ @pjmcth​ @0xmysticx0​ @samros95​ @codeinebelle​ @vmin-soulmate​ @bluewhale52​ @thecityrain​ @rageyoudamnednerd​ @kookoo-kachoo​ @diminieshoe​ @kelitt​ @soulstaes​ @ayyyocee​ @betysotelo18​

taglist: @elephantdoors @ratking101 @amour-quinn @gemad08 @yoooonie @ughtear @ambersaesthetics @peachy-tata @moonlitmyg @trinityxsope @diorhobii @miagracegrande @tom-hollands-wife @loveyoongles @seokjinslittledumpling @kerikaaria @ggukkieland @gwsyoongi @salty-for-suga @beeeb05 @dionysusrage @jungkookspromise @princecalpal @agustneeds @neverthefirstchoice  @agustdakasuga @veronawrites @omot7 @agirlintheparkjimin @wildly-lost-lantern @goldenkookietae @ephyraaaa @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @sungieshines @embrace-themagic @kim-ji-hyeons-world  @mrksmrks @hyunjinhasmyheart @paddingtonrue @itsrapmonstanotdancemonsta @veryuniquenamegoeshere @niieceyy @lowlifeoeuvre @lee-karliah​ @angiexyoung @marifujioka @softlyjins @mochibabycakes @producerjk​ @hqtetsurou​

taglist: @heyitsbreeeeee​ @munkey888​ @bbyjoonies​ @prdshobi​ @myworldisgone11​ @kthvol6​ @soloikeadates​ @illwritetomorrow​ @jiminbabyluv​ @parkjammys​ @mypurplelamp​ @hansolsrightnut​ @vanillabrightlightning​ @huhuehuey​ @jiminshibaby​ @rjsmochii​ @certifiedcrazycatlady​ @jayyayyy17​ @my-current-mood-is​ @bangpink123​ @btsbed​ @definitely-not-tina​ @jeonsbae01​ @metaethically​ @kb-bangtanenthusiast​ @ardenlovesyou​ @simplymemyself​ @jin-from-the-block​ @janieooo​ @xxstrangegirlxxx​ @pastelbleuet​ @pxjiminsi​ @ruinsofangels​ @ladyarmanto​ @bloopkook​ @hopiebabie​ @bigimpression​ @xinyourdreamsx​ @hisunshiine​ @uxwi​ @yayo-kittty​ @taejinminsu​ @miss-jupiter​ @btsbangtanbois​ @sugalou​ @pjminmin​ @yoongiofmine​ @94ser0da​ @kim-jias-den​

taglist: @imezz​ @itookallthejamsbruh​ @kimsouthjoon​ @ephyra1230​ @awhnamjoon​ @jkismyasmr​ @eyereen​ @gldnrecs​ @jiminddaeng​ @morndas​ @daebakrex​ @getmemyfries​ @v3nti​ @drippingguk​ @iridescentstories​ @cheesecakes-randomshitz​ @jakiki94​ @tatiquichi​ @tatajoonie​ @weasleyswizarding-wheezes​ @shadowhale​ @kuggnuj​ @cynicalitys​ @saymynamewithluv​ @kooafraid​ @milkteade​ @revehosh​

taglist: @squirrelandcrafts​ @sweetnight​ @trynavibewhileicry​ @eatjeanjin​ @nightapple4jk​ @localjisung​ @aureumjeon​ @kooknova​ @ardoren​ @diamonddia-mond​ @dammit-jjk​ @jwlmnbt​ @jiminsreads​ @poisoneveyyy​ @girlontheblock​ @bunny-on-crack​ @sweetestdreamssuga​ @tommasauras​ @cecedrake2217​ @bangtan-ology​ @hobiismyhopeu​ @subtlepjiminie​ @bangtangrl​ @kooks3uphoria​ @vampgguk​ @alpaca1612​ @gukkiecuddles​ @hazefilter​ @nochujjk97​ @smol1​ @mama-m0chi​ @blue1928​ @babelleerr​ @rlynotme​ @jaywalksalloverme​ @bansheehunteremissary​ @justmythings16​ @giadalin​ @ladyartemesia​ @xxunmeixsenpaixx​ @ot7always-main​ @msunnsstuff​ @tew-atx​ @lierr007​ @bishuthot​ @jaebeomsblackgf​ @taexmichi​ @patpus​

taglist: @anothershorthuman​ @izzyexe​ @letmebreathepls​ @okaysoplshelpme​ @chogiyeol-utopia​ @iforgotthemelody​ @kookiepout​ @sunshine-ybba​ @lovelyseomin​ @super-btstrash-posts​ @calikoocat​  @richkookie​ @yoong-i​ @koochiekoo​ @thephotoend​ @heavenspidey​ @perseephony​ @secretlycrazyhummingbird​ @mina-bear​ @holdinbacksecrets​ @drumsofheaven​ @na-na-na-nanna​ @sunset-and-daydreams​ @luvtaeha​ @yoongipsychic​ @bipolarbeyotch​ @fanfics-for-fun​ @anoncutiw​ @stillphoria​ @lomeinchicks​ @anjcia​ @keenmedstudent​ @xtrataerrestrial​

A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. if u want to be added to the tag list, send me an ask! + if you’ve asked to be on my permanent taglist, you do not need to ask to be added to this one !!

[softyoongiionly]

Portraits of a Tiger - The Finale

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut, Fluff, Angst, not intended to be a historical au. 

Word Count: 28k

Warnings: depictions of violence, death, blood, choking, mentions of battle, heavy angst (happy endings only), LONGING, explicit language, mentions of grief, mentions of loss, mentions of insecurity, explicit smut: scratching, biting, lovebites, unprotected sex. 

A/N: welp :( This is the end for now folks. I can’t believe I finally finished a series on this freakin’ blog lol. I am so incredibly grateful for your patience. I truly hope you enjoy it and if you do, I would love to hear from you. Whilst this is the end of the series, I wouldn’t be surprised if I wrote drabbles for it in the future so, if there is anything you’d like to see more of, please let me know :D

A few thank you notes to my sisters from across the globe @yoonia​ and @randombtsprincessa​, the two of you are so important to me and, I am forever grateful for your friendship. I love you lots. 

To @kithtaehyung @missgeniality​ @noelleydances​ thank you for always hyping me up and, being willing to chat with silly ol me. You’re all amazing and I LOVE YOU ALOT.

To @gldnrecs LISTEN IF YOU KNOW YOU KNOW, LAY. I am so thankful you and, your willingness to scream with me in my dms. I’m so honored to know you and, I hope you know that I am always here if you need anything. ALSO HAPPY COLLEGE GRADUATION YOU FREAKING GENIUS. Please consider this (and Hobi’s conclusion specifically) my graduation present. Love you. 

Love letter to Rachel: It’s very important for anyone who comes across this story to know that I would have NEVER EVER EVER be able to conjure up this universe without the help of my bestie @bulletproofbirdy​. My friend, you are a genius and, it has truly been such an honor designing this world with you. I am so grateful that I’ve been able to create something with someone as amazing as you but, ON TOP OF IT??? We became so close that we literally talk every single day. I don’t know what to say without being the mushiest person ever but, I just want to thank you for being you. Without your love, your support and your BIG BRAIN, I would have never finished this series. I hope it lives up to all of your expectations. I love you. 

The clouds hung in the air with a heaviness that was almost palpable. Storm season was looming over the horizon and, although you’re aware that the rain is more than overdue, you still feel a sense of doom clinging to your subconscious. This time of year, arrives like clockwork and your village is well-equipped to deal with all the rainfall, the thunder, the lightening...

But there was always a chance that the river would flood and thus there was always a chance for tragedy to strike; a chance for everything you’ve ever known to be swallowed whole. You know you can’t stop a flood. The water operates on its own axis, untethered by human convenience. It terrifies you yes but, you’re fascinated none the less.

With a deep sigh, you step away from the edge of the river. The soft bubbling of the water is intriguing you, eliciting a yearning within you to step inside just one last time. However, you know the bite of the water would be too much to handle on your bare feet and you really don’t want to catch a cold before the winter season has even started.

Turning around, the breath you are preparing to take gets lodged deep in the center of your throat. It’s Yoongi and he’s reaching out for you but the look of pain on his face alerts you that something is horribly wrong.

“Y/n...” He croaks, his eyes wide with fear as he reaches out to you and it’s then that you see the blood dripping from his fingers. Your eyes frantically travel down his figure before realizing the source of the blood.

A wound similar to that of a sword brandishes his lower stomach, staining his tunic and causing the bile in your stomach to swirl uncomfortably.

He’s hurt.

He’s hurt badly.

“Yoongi!” You cry to him, your heartbeat rising to a level that feels painful.

As you try to run to him however, he falls to his knees, the life sparking in his eyes one last time before he collapses.

The scream coming from your lips is unrecognizable but, thankfully it draws you upright in your bed, informing you that horrible scene you just witnessed, was only a dream.

You clutch your hand to your chest, breathing heavily, your eyes stinging as they well up with tears. Without thinking, you sob into the clasped hand over your lips, trying your best to calm down but the morbid images continue to assault your mind over and over.

The light streaming in through your window, informs you that the sun has risen. At least your nightmare had allowed you to sleep a full night before rudely interrupting. You swallow back another sob, forcing a deep breath through your nose while you remind yourself that Yoongi is ok.

But you can’t know that for sure, can you?

The small break in your logic is enough to make you rush out of bed and into your coat, not bothering to fix your appearance as you shove your feet into your shoes. Thankfully, your parents are still sleeping soundly in their beds when you bustle through the main room and towards the door.

You have to see for yourself; even a glimpse of him could loosen the grip that fear currently has on your mind. You take the back way to avoid the marketplace which already shows signs of coming to life. You would need to make it quick to avoid missing the morning crowd: that’s usually where most of your sale’s come from.

With everything in you, you hope that he’s already awake because if he isn’t, you’d just have to move on without the reassurance, which is what you should do anyway, but you can’t bring yourself to let it go.

Thankfully, Yoongi is awake and by the looks of it, he’s out with the new recruits, running drills in the grass right in front of their camp. You see Jungkook out there as well, assisting one of the men with his form as he brandishes a sword.

The sight floods your mind with images of your dream once again, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut.

He’s ok though, so regardless of the images, you feel content seeing him in good health. Logically, you know you need to go about your day and allow him to go about his but, as you move to turn back towards the village- he notices you.

At first, a smile passes over his lips almost involuntarily but, his keen observation skills notice something is array. You see him gesture to his men to continue before he starts making his way in your direction.

Embarrassment washes over you without any warning and you try and wave him off, reassuring him that everything is ok, but he ignores it and jogs over anyway.

“Good morning-” He murmurs, his hands reaching out for yours. As he laces his fingers between your own, he tilts his head, “Are you ok?”

Instinctively, you nod but when you open your mouth to say something, nothing comes out.

Glancing up towards his face, your eyes pass over the area your mind brandished with blood and, without thinking, you throw your arms around him.

Yoongi is a little taken aback but he reciprocates nonetheless, his arms encircling you and pressing you against his chest. You feel a sigh of relief leave your lips as you cling to his robe, breathing in the subtle scent of him.

“I just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

The whisper of your voice sends an aching into his chest and although you don’t disclose exactly what happened, Yoongi trusts that you had a valid reason for checking on his well-being.

With a soft smile, he presses a kiss to your temple, “I feel a little more than ok now...” He confirms before pulling back to look into your eyes, “May I do my own wellness check?”

There is a playfulness to his tone that softens the hard exterior of your residual panic and you bite your bottom lip when you nod.

His expression grows pensive as he holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilts your face from left to right, his own head following the motions whilst he narrows his eyes,

“Hm, nothing out of the ordinary here...” He grins, his blonde hair rustling slightly with the pace of the wind, eyes alight with fondness, “Still beautiful- still curious, still driving me insane because, I don’t know what’s going through her head...”

A small bit of laughter leaves your lips as you slide your hand up his forearm before settling gently on his wrist. With your fingertips, you press lightly against the bone beneath his skin, relishing in any tangible part of him you can touch, “I had a nightmare about you.”

He purses his lips together, rubbing his thumb over your cheek, “Did I turn into a tiger and try to eat you? My men have told me they had this dream quite a lot during training...”

Yoongi attempts to keep his tone playful but he looks slightly deflated now as he waits for your response.

With a small smile, you shake your head tightly. You take his hand away from your chin, lacing your fingers together, ensuring that the grip you have on him is tight.

“No. You were-”A sigh leaves your lips whilst you shake your head, “You were hurt.” You spare him the details, “I woke up and just started running over here to make sure you were ok...it’s a bit silly now that I’m thinking of it.”

Yoongi can’t help but smile at you, his heart flourishing with the promise new romance often makes. He is saddened that you were worried on his account but, he would be lying if he said that this wasn’t endearing.

Ok- so perhaps it was extremely endearing.

“And if I wasn’t ok?” He wraps his arms around you, “Would you have come to my rescue?”

The smirk on his lips makes him all the more handsome and the feeling of his hands on the small of your back, makes your mind fuzzier than you’d care to admit.

“I would have-” Your voice grows higher with determination which causes Yoongi to chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief, “Why are you laughing???? Do you doubt my ability to hold my own on the battlefield?”

Yoongi’s laughter is choppy and warm, it soothes every sore spot of anxiety in your head in almost medicinal way.

You wish you could hear the sound more.

“Absolutely not.” He shakes his head, still chuckling a bit, “In fact, I think you’d make a fine solider, ma'am. It’s just-” He glances down at your feet, “I don’t usually recommend wearing house slippers on the battlefield.”

The rolling of your eyes, brings Yoongi’s laughter back into the conversation.

“I would have managed just fine, thank you. You underestimate how powerful house slippers can be when brandished by the right person.”

He raises his brows, “Is that right? You wouldn’t need a sword then? Just your slippers?”

“Mhm.” You grumble with certainty, your fingers finding the ends of the hair hanging down from his pony tail, “My slippers and my wit are more powerful than any weapons you have here.”

Yoongi chuckles, the sound low and slow in the base of his throat, “Now that sounds a bit more realistic- that mouth of yours would certainly be enough to guarantee your victory.”

As he’s replying, you’re gently tracing your fingertips up the length of his spine, admiring the strength clearly present in the muscles of his back.

“Hm-” You muse, stealing a look directly into his eyes, “I do hope to show you what my mouth is capable of someday-” Fluttering your lids innocently, you try to stop the smirk from taking over your mouth but, when Yoongi’s grip tightens on you, it takes over anyway.

Drawing a deep breath through his nose, you see his Adam’s apple bob in the center of his throat as his jaw fills up with tension. An audible swallow comes from him as his gaze slowly shifts from playful to perturbed.

“I find it ironic that you’ve chosen to threaten my wellbeing…whilst in the middle of a wellness check …”

You hum with a sense of false innocence, “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about.”

“You’re dangerous” He murmurs, and you don’t miss the lust that coats his voice, “and unarmed...” A chuckle leaves his lips then as he presses his hands further into your skin, “and in your house slippers. I think you might be the biggest threat I’ve ever encountered.”

This makes you giggle now, dropping the salacious tone from your voice but, as you lean up to press a kiss to his lips- a voice brings your motions to a halt.

“General Tiger! Are you going to join your men for training this morning or were you planning on teaching them the art of seduction?”

It’s Jin and he’s stood outside their tent with his arms crossed. It’s then that you notice the lack of movement in his camp. Most of the recruits were sort of standing around awkwardly, many of them sneaking a glance at the two of you.

They look rather shocked at Jin’s choice of words, expecting Yoongi’s wrath but instead he merely smirks and leans in so his lips are at your ear before whispering, “We’ll talk about this later...”

His slightly menacing tone sends excitement rushing into your chest as you reluctantly pull away from him.

You salute him, “Yes sir.”

Yoongi forces a breath out of his nostrils, shaking his head at you, “You’re going to kill me one day.” He mutters to himself as he practically saunters back to his camp.

Yoongi is still smirking as he returns amidst his group of men, which Jin promptly comments on.

“Even after a decade with you, you still surprise me.” He notes, his tongue running along the inside of his cheek.

“Third line, run those last two again! I need you sharper than that!” Yoongi calls out to his men, replacing his commanding expression with one full of nonchalance, “What are you referring to?”

Jin merely nods to the place the two of you had just been canoodling in, “I wasn’t sure that I’d ever see the day you took a partner- let alone the day that you’d publicly display affection for one. I wouldn’t necessarily think to question it but-”

Yoongi smirks, his eyes on the men in front of him but his focus clearly elsewhere, “And yet here you are...”

Jin rolls his eyes, “You can’t possibly blame me. I mean, you have a reputation that spans across the entirety of this land- does it concern you that they might mark you as vulnerable? From what I’ve gathered around the plaza, many of these villagers have already began to view you more casually.”

Yoongi’s smirk never fades as he calls out another command to the recruits, “If an enemy brands me as vulnerable- that is an error on their end, not on mine. In fact, I imagine it would bode quite well for me in the end. In regard to the villagers viewing me in a certain light- I can’t say I mind. Being feared was never something I asked for- you know this well. I would hope that more of the people I’ve served find me approachable.”

Jin doesn’t look convinced, knowing Yoongi far too well to believe that this was the end of his explanation, “There is more to it than that, isn’t there?”

“What do you mean?”

“You have other motives for being so open about her.”

Yoongi tilts his head in thought, still not bothering to look at him, “I just don’t think it hurts to send a message, to anyone who might be observing us.”

Jin scoffs at his vagueness, attempting eye contact, “What message might that be?”

Finally, Yoongi turns towards him, the ghost of his previous smirk on his mouth, “That she is both protected and accounted for.”

With that, Yoongi draws his sword and heads back amongst the large crowd of men who, having finished their drills, were now eagerly awaiting his instruction.

Jin finds himself smirking as well now, undeniably intrigued by his general’s newfound attitude.

Your day in the marketplace moves slowly but, you find yourself largely unphased. With a mind full of budding romance and unresolved passion, it’s difficult to focus on the mundanity of everyday life.

“So- “ Jane begins, with a curious gaze as the two of you begin packing up your wares for the day, “I’ve seen you over at the military camp quite a lot these past few weeks...”

Unable to resist, you roll your eyes at her observation whilst lining your bags with your belongings, “I’ve been making bread for the battalion.”

You’ve learned over the years of working with Jane that keeping your responses to a minimum is a good idea, particularly when she decides to fish for information.

She has an impressive habit of picking your words apart in search of anything potentially scandalous.

“Oh? So I suppose canoodling with their leader is just a part of your services then?”

With wide eyes, your head whips in her direction, “What do you mean?”

Jane chuckles, smoothing her hands over the many fly aways atop her head, “The man clearly moves as though a burden has been lifted from him and, given the way he looks at you every time he visits our plaza- I have no choice but to assume that you were the one to do so.”

Most of the time, you’d shy away from her attempts to gossip but, you’re in a bit of a mood after your earlier encounter with Yoongi so, you decide to give her something to work with. “I am a healer Jane, if I can lift the burden of stress from my patrons- I won’t shy away from the opportunity.”

It’s her turn to widen her eyes now as she chokes back the small gasp coming from her throat, “Are you- are you saying it’s true then? You’ve laid with the Tiger?”

In an almost child-like manner, you giggle to yourself, glancing over at her briefly, “Is it still considered lying with him if I were pressed up against a tree?”

Jane’s face shines like a summer tomato, fit to burst, as she hustles closer to you, “My girl!” She whispers, “What has gotten into you?”

Brushing off leftover debris from your cart, you turn towards her, “Well according to your theory-” You wager, “I suppose it was the Tiger,” You smirk, “Wasn’t it?”

Jane smacks your arm now, causing your laughter to increase in volume, “Y/N! I am shocked by you-” She begins before her features seem to morph back into her previous curiosity, “and slightly impressed...I thought I was the only whore around here.”

“Jane!” You swat her arm now, shaking your head at her and trying your best not to laugh, “Aren’t you married?”

She shrugs, a smirk now present on her lips, “I am but-” She eyes her husband, who is obliviously untangling his fishing line across the plaza, “Morris and I are well-acquainted...” She allows the word to drop from her mouth like maple syrup, “with other members of the village.”

Did she just-

“Whatever satisfies your heart and mind, Jane. I’m glad you and Morris are active community members...” You wave her off, giggling once again and desperately hoping she won’t divulge any further details, “I’ll see you tomorrow...stay out of trouble.”

“Don’t give me advice you know I won’t take Y/N...” She chuckles loudly before calling her husband, “Oh Morris! Don’t forgot we have plans with the minister and his wife this evening!”

Morris’s eyes widen, seeming to understand the hidden implication behind her words as he puts his index finger to his lips in an effort to silence her.

With that disturbing piece of information, you rush out of the plaza before you learn anything else that has the capability of scaring you for life.

Before heading to Rachel’s with her steamed buns, you decide to stop at the library to check out the new arrivals from the Queen’s province. Every month or so, they send new copies of the latest publishing from the capital and, given how coveted they are- you always try to make it to the library on the day of delivery.

You’re able to snag a title on growing herbs in the wintertime before spotting someone you’ve been quite eager to see: Rachel.

You find her perusing the history section, completely unaware of her presence even as you slink up beside her, “Oh hi there- fancy meeting you here; how was meeting your new student?”

Jumping slightly at the unexpected interruption, she pivots towards you before her eyes narrow with accusation, “Oh NO you don’t!” She chides, though her red cheeks suggest something else, “I cannot believe you used my love of teaching to stage a romantic COUP in my own schoolroom!” She rants, eyes wild with disbelief.

Ignoring her completely, you lean against the shelf- admiring the scent of the parchment before repeating your question, “Uh huh yeah-” You dismiss, “How did it go?”

“It went...” She clears her throat, mindlessly running her fingers over the spines resting on the shelves, “very well- it went very well.”

Looking at her expectantly, you raise your brows, “Can you define ‘well’ for the courts please?”

Rachel’s eyes seem to light up all over again as they drift into her story, “I never thought a man like that could be interested in such a quiet life like mine...we hardly know each other but, there is such kindness and passion in his eyes...it feels like I’ve known him for years.”

Seeing your best friend so enamored warms your heart; if anyone deserved happiness in this world, it would be her.

She goes on to tell you everything that happened between the two of them, recounting the nervous glances, flushed cheeks and a romantic confession from Bambi with the biceps himself.

At her conclusion, you’re unable to help the excited squeal that leaves your lips as you wrap your arms around her flushed frame, “I’m so happy for you!!!” Your scream comes out as an excited whisper, not wanting to feel the wrath of the librarian before you recall her earlier comment, “I think your quiet life and impeccable charm is what drew him in, in the first place...” You nudge her playfully, “You should have seen him talking about you- even I was swooning.”

She glows brighter, her figure emanating a bright carnation as she smoothly changes the subject; Rachel will only take the spotlight for so long, “Speaking of swooning, how is that ferocious general for yours, eh?”

Suddenly, you become very interested with a book on the shelf beside you, “Hm? What general? I don’t know a general Rachel, I’m just a silly little medicine woman.”

Her eyes widen as she smacks you playfully, “APOTHECARY!” She corrects and, the two of you giggle like schoolchildren as the librarian shoots daggers in your direction, “Don’t play coy with me- I spilled my guts about Jungkook. Fair is fair.”

Resigned, you let out a sigh and try to contain all of your emotions towards the subject, “Fiiiiine. The general simply explained that...” you look around to make sure no one is listening before lowering your voice, “that the reason we haven’t, hmmm what’s the word-” You pause once more, looking rather pensive, “defiled one another yet, is because he wants to wait until he has no more distractions. Which basically means we must wait until retirement, which of course also means- I am likely to go insane.”

Rachel snorts, slapping a hand over her mouth in an effort to conceal with laughter, “Wow he is serious about his intimacy.” She comments as she places a hand on your shoulder, “It’s been nice knowing you. I will tell the world your story.”

Slumping against her, you groan, feeling the full weight of your impatience, “If you’re wondering whether or not he still kisses me passionately beneath the moonlight despite the fact that he wants to wait- the answer is a resounding yes.” You explain, matter of factly, “it’s like he is wishing for the destruction of my sanity...”

Rachel links arms and giggles once again, “Look at us hm? Being pined for by heroes like in the poems that line these shelves...” She nods to them, “Who have thought?”

“I am slightly regretting all of my daydreams involving a knight in shining armor- who would have thought there would be so much yearning?”

She merely laughs again, shaking her head at you, “Have you two discussed his retirement?”

You nod, “His entire battalion is retiring this year. He said it should be around the wintertime, all of them have been in service for 10 years, including Jungkook.”

“That’s incredible: ten years of such a hard life. I couldn’t imagine. Do you know what they will do?”

“That means Jungkook joined the queen’s army before he was of age,” You observe, furrowing your brow, “I imagine they will retire with their chosen partners. Yoongi said that, that was his plan at least-” Your voice turns slightly coy at the end, “I don’t imagine they will have to work for the rest of their lives. My parents always talk about how well taken care of decorated soldiers are.”

Rachel’s face falls, “I’m just imagining Jungkook choosing this life at such a young age...the things those men have seen and, the rough life they have in service to the two queens...” She shakes her head, “I hope they all find peace and happiness, no matter what they choose.”

You nod, resting your head on her shoulder, “I think they have made their choices already- it all depends on if their partners reciprocate their advances.”

Rachel nudges you when she hears your teasing tone, “Quiet down you, we’re in the library...”

After much more giggling and, gushing over the men that have stolen your hearts, the two of you part ways.

Rachel has an evening to prepare for after all...

She rushes home after her time at the library. The books she gathered for her lesson on Monday are carefully placed on her bookshelf and, the ingredients for tonight’s meal are sprawled out on her countertop.

As she begins the long process of preparing for her night with Jungkook, she allows her mind to wander to a place she seldom visits: the past.

Like most people, she finds indulging in this subject to be quite the slippery slope. Today, she finds herself remembering a time where finding love seemed like nothing more than an elaborate fantasy. Rachel is a brilliant woman yes, but she has mistakenly branded herself as invisible for most of her life.

Now, she is faced with the reality that not only does someone see her but, they are enamored with her.

It’s slightly terrifying.

Another quiet breath is pulled through her nose then as she smooths her hands over her dress once more.

Glancing back towards the home she’s shared with herself over the years, a small smile comes over her face as she realizes that she might need to get used to the idea of sharing.

But then again, it will be nice to have someone around during the winter...

Especially when that someone has biceps like Jungkook.

Rachel waves at a group of students who scream her name excitedly from across the street whilst desperately hoping that they don’t try to follow her to her destination.

With another deep breath, she begins heading out of the market plaza and into the deep emerald of the clearing just before the camp. Normally around this time, she would be heading there with Y/N to deliver bread but, tonight she takes a sharp left into forest.

She had given Jungkook instructions on how to get there and he had then insisted on getting there before her to set things up. Rachel realized at that moment that her ability to refuse him was at a minimum, especially when he flashed those beautiful eyes her way.

Curse him and his ethereal beauty.

Narrowing her eyes slightly, she navigates through the maze of trees as the sound of running water slowly makes its way into her ears. A smile comes across her lips then, as she realizes she’s getting close.

The sun is beginning to take the minimal warmth of the day with it as it begins its descent towards the horizon and, she feels slightly regretful that she chose to meet with him around sunset.

Sometimes you have to sacrifice body heat for the ambience.

As she nears one of the many pools that come off of the main river, she finally sees Jungkook waiting for her. Slowly but surely, she can make out his appearance for the evening and as she does, her heart swoons.

He’s standing somewhat awkwardly at the edge of a large tan woolen blanket, dressed in a red tunic and red cloth pants, with his onyx locks freshly washed and curling in various directions atop his head. She sees him swallow at the sight of her, the tiniest of smiles etching onto his lips.

“Good evening.” He bows slightly, gesturing to her, “You look- um, you look very nice.”

She returns his smile, fingers clutching the basket of food a bit tighter, “Good evening. I could say the same to you, red looks really great on you.”

His stance seems to light up at her compliment, the tiny smile growing, “That’s what my hyungs said, I wasn’t sure if it was too much but, if you like it then-” He nods, cringing at how nervous he feels, “-then that’s good.”

Rachel bites her lip, noticing his nerves immediately, “I love it,” She assures him before raising the basket up, “I brought dumplings. I wasn’t sure what kind you liked so I brought a few different ones.”

At the mention of food, the tension within his figure seems to dissipate.

“I can’t wait to try them,” He grins now as he gestures to the blanket, “You can sit wherever you’d like, I can take those from you-” He shakes his head then, regretting his choice of words, “No wait... here-” He is gentle as he takes the basket from her before turning around to set it carefully on the blanket. He then reaches out with his palm extended, “I’ll help you down...”

Her heart bursts.

It seems she isn't the only one flooded with nervous excitement.

“Thank you-” She insures to heighten the gratitude within her tone, wanting to soothe his anxiety in any way she can, despite feeling so much of her own.

He plops next to her in a less graceful manner then he would have hoped as he looks regretfully toward his canteen, “We don’t have an extra canteen in the camp. They were all given away to the new recruits. I would have brought you your own but, I washed mine for you and filled it up. I can drink from the river over there.”

“Oh goodness no, you don’t have to do that-” She shakes your head, pulling out her canteen from the basket, “I figured you would have had your own; I should have brought you one just in case though-”

“No really, it’s ok! I can just use mine.” Once again, he cringes, “I guess it’s a bit strange that I would have thought you’d want to drink from mine...I don’t know what I was thinking.”

At the rather innocent pout on his lips, he looks up at her- feeling slightly hopeless.

A bit of silence lingers in the air for a moment before Rachel giggles and at the sound, Jungkook’s lips twitch.

“It’s not a good sign that you’re already laughing-” He laments, the smiling that was threatening his mouth fully taking over, “Even though I quite like hearing it...”

Rachel places a cautious hand over Jungkook’s knuckles, relishing in the warmth of his skin, “I promise you it is-“ She disagrees, “It’s important that I’m around people I can laugh with- even if its at our own expense sometimes…”

The corner of Jungkook’s mouth turns up in a half smile, “That might work out in my favor then- my hyungs say I appear one way but, behave another…I guess that’s why I feel so nervous now…”

He looks up at her quite innocently through his long eyelashes as Rachel furrows her brow, “What do you mean?”

Jungkook’s fingers are now aimlessly toying with the bit of loose thread and, with her heightened sense of empathy, Rachel can sense that he is burdened in some way.

“I am slightly afraid that you will be disappointed when you get to know me…” He admits.

This shocks Rachel as she cannot imagine how someone as beautiful as Jungkook could lack confidence in any capacity. But still, she feels the urge to understand him.

“Well, I don’t want to discount your worries Mr. Jeon but, “ She tilts her head slightly, a hint of sternness in her gaze, “I sincerely doubt your ability to disappoint me.”

Jungkook’s cheeks begin to burn all over again; there is something about the way her lips look curving around the words ‘Mr. Jeon’ that he stores away for a later time.

“Aren’t I already different than what you expected?” He chuckles, and the sound is boyish and full of airiness but, it still holds a bit of tension.

He was right.

He was much different than she had anticipated but that isn’t saying much, considering the fact that her first impression of him came after he took down a group of raiders.

“Different doesn’t always mean disappointment…” She assures him candidly, “In fact, I am quite relieved that you aren’t what I expected.”

He is intrigued, “Most of the people I meet are afraid of me but, I can’t say I blame them; My hyungs and I come with a reputation. Were you afraid of us when we came here?”

Jungkook wants to know what she thinks, even if he might be uncomfortable with her answer.

Rachel eyes the dumplings collecting the cool air around them and, doesn’t even notice the fact that they have yet to start eating. Both of them are too overcome with anticipation to pay attention to much else aside from each other.

It felt instinctual to begin things this way.

“Yes.” She replies honestly, catching the way his face falls and regretting it instantly, “But that wasn’t your doing. I have come to understand that you and the rest of your battalion are merely victims of village gossip. Besides, the fear I felt quickly disappeared once I saw you.”

Jungkook’s face lightens once again as he extends his hand towards hers. Rachel feels a shiver rush eagerly up her spine as he slips his fingers between her own, “You aren’t afraid of me now?”

Anyone else may have found it odd that Jungkook needed this type of reassurance so early in the evening but, he simply couldn’t relax until he knew that he wasn’t perceived as a threat. He is so used to putting on a tough persona and, even more used to people fearing him. He has grown quite tired of always needing to disarm himself.

Tightening her grip on his hand, she allows a playful smirk to etch across her lips, “I wouldn’t have agreed to meet with you in the middle of the forest if I was afraid of you. That would be quite foolish don’t you think?”

Jungkook’s teeth are brilliant as he grins, a breathless bit of laughter leaving his mouth, “Not unless you were some sort of thrill seeker…”

Sensing the bit of suggestion in his voice, she takes her chance and utters, “Those aren’t exactly the type of thrills I’m seeking…”

Jungkook feels his mouth dry up at her words but, before he has time to process any of it, she raises the basket once more, “These are getting cold.”

And ever the gentleman, he doesn’t comment on it but just as he did with the image of her lips, he stores her comment away.

For later.

The two of them begin eating and, Rachel watches on fondly as he shoves more than half of the dumplings in his mouth. She can tell he is doing his best to appear civilized but, Y/N did mention that they don’t eat proper meals very often so, his manners weren’t exactly in tip-top shape.

Rachel didn’t mind. In fact, she took great pleasure in watching him stuff himself. His cheeks puffed up adorably to accommodate the volume of dough he was shoving in them but, despite him wanting to eat the entire batch, he kept insisting on feeding her bites of food every 30 seconds or so.

During dinner, they talked about all sorts of things:

Rachel’s childhood, her work as an educator, her favorite seasons…

Jungkook wanted to learn it all.

He was fascinated by her entire existence.

However, after a certain amount of time, Rachel begins to notice how he continuously shifts the conversation back towards her. He doesn’t look uncomfortable when she asks him questions but, he keeps answering them as quickly as possible.

Finally, Rachel decides this theme has gone on long enough before she finally asks the one question that’s been on her mind all night.

“What led to you joining Yoongi’s battalion so early?”

Jungkook swallows the instant lump in his throat, “Uh well…it wasn’t hyung’s battalion yet when I first joined. We both went in together. He took over when he was about…” He thinks for second, “20 I think? So I would have been about 17. But we were both running in missions long before that.”

Rachel almost comments on the fact that he didn’t answer her question but, he beats her to it and, continues.

“Yoongi-hyung and I are brothers but, not by blood.” He begins, “His family took me in when I was 7.”

She can sense that he is about to tell her something quite serious so, she hesitates to ask any further questions; he would clarify if he was comfortable enough to do so.

“Hyung and I are from the same village. Our families had been neighbors for three generations until-“ He averts his eyes, preparing to tell the story that started it all, “we were attacked. Our village was destroyed by a raider clan. The first incident wasn’t so bad but, they came back and-“ Jungkook swallows the emotions that have balled up in his throat, “they decided that they weren’t after our valuables any longer; they were after blood.”

Rachel’s whole body is tense with the weight of his story, her mouth seemingly frozen in its slightly parted position as she tightens her grip on his hand.

“I still can’t comprehend it.” He breathes, shaking his head, “It wasn’t even like they were trying to recruit us or take us as laborers; they just wanted to create chaos.”

She can see the way his eyes are growing glossy and the way his breath seems to shorten and with her whole being, she expects to wipe his tears but, they never come.

“Our families tried to flee the village together but-“ He clears his throat, “my parents and I were shot by the enemy’s arrows. I remember seeing them go down in front of me and, then there was this horrible pain in my side. I tried to stay with them but, Yoongi-hyung wouldn’t let me. He just threw me over his shoulder and ran. I still don’t know how he did it; he must have ran with me for hours before we made it to the next secure village.”

Still captivated by his story, Rachel runs his thumb over the backs of his knuckles to ensure that he knows she’s right there with him.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispers and, he offers a sad smile in return, squeezing her hand.

“Hyung told me many years later that the shots my parents received were fatal. There was no chance of rescue. But, for so long I believed I had abandoned them there. From then on, the only family I knew was Yoongi-hyung and, the parents he decided to share with me; He shared everything with me actually: his food, his clothes, his bed, his patience,” Jungkook chuckles breathlessly, “When the military council came for him, I panicked; we had been inseparable for so long. I couldn’t stand to see my hyung going off to war alone so,” At last the heavy emotions begin to lift from his face as a slight smirk comes over his lips, “I may have snuck out in the middle of the night and, followed him out…”

Rachel’s eyes widen, “You could have been killed!” She smacks his arm playfully which causes him to break out in a fit of laughter, “How on Earth did you manage that??? I’ve always heard they were so meticulous!”

Jungkook shrugs, somewhat smugly, “I fit in quite well. I was already taller than hyung at this age and, he and I had been training together since we were young.”

“What did he say when  realized you had come along??? I’m surprised he didn’t send you home himself.”

He is chuckling again, his eyes lighting up fondly at the memory, “Oh he nearly killed me himself actually…he found me hiding out in a barn on the military camp and, it was truly the only time I’ve ever seen him that afraid. But once he was done lecturing me, we both decided it was safer for me to stay. Hyung was worried that I’d be punished if he turned me in to his general so, I passed as a volunteer. The rest is history…”

Rachel grins, overcome with fondness, “History indeed, especially the part when you became the youngest recruit to ever join the royal army.”

The faintest blush crosses his cheeks, “Well technically, the records will never reflect that, most people in our land believe hyung and I are the same age. I personally find this hard to understand as he clearly has so many more wrinkles than I do but-“ He shrugs again, “I suppose it works out.”

She smirks, “I suppose it does. I don’t know where the royal army would be without it’s Terror Cub…”

Jungkook groans, his face turned up in disgust, “I will haunt the historian who writes that name down in the books. Could they not have come up with something more menacing? Terror Cub? It sounds like a character in a children’s book…”

He is pouting profusely now and, Rachel decides that his adorable expression is far deadlier than any weapon he could wield.

She was simply powerless against it.

“I promise not to go blathering to any of our historians about it. If anyone asks, I will tell them you were the fiercest solider in all of the land.”

Jungkook’s heart swells with pride as he subconsciously puffs out his chest, “While you’re there please tell them of our involvement as well. I hope to be remembered for the pursuits of my heart rather than just my skills on the battlefield…”

Rachel’s lips twitch, “What exactly shall I tell them?”

His demeanor shifts slightly and, it's as if the sparkle in his eyes turns to lightening, “I think you should tell them that-” The distance between their lips seems to lessen almost subconsciously as Jungkook licks over his bottom lip, “our connection was medicinal, that it was almost as if we had been holding our breath until we finally found one another.”

Despite Jungkook’s words raising every hair upon Rachel’s skin, he seems to grow immediately nervous by his candid statement.

“That’s really excessive isn’t it? My hyungs always tell me that I should think before I-“

But he isn’t able to finish his sentence…

Rachel has closed the distance between them and, is pressing her lips against his own. Jungkook’s body stalls at the feeling and, he assumes the whole world stalls along with him.

For in this moment, there is nothing else but her lips.

Jungkook’s hands are unstable as they reach her cheeks and, he grimaces because he knows his palms are damp with the evidence of his nerves.

But Rachel doesn’t notice.

She can only sigh hopelessly into his mouth as the two of them deepen their kiss.

============================

The river welcomes you with open arms this evening. The chill of the oncoming fall season is no match for the thick woolen coat your mother made for you last year. Tonight, you are overcome with peace as you stroll along the embankment. You’ve always felt so much happiness around the river but ever since meeting Yoongi, the meaning of this piece of land has shifted and intensified.

He is unlike anyone you’ve ever known. He’s wise and controlled but, he carries a type of wildness that is uniquely his own. The great and powerful Tiger: he is so much more than just a rumor.  Even though you claimed to make your own judgements about things, you still expected Yoongi to be some sort of brut; an egotistic warrior at best or a bloody thirsty monster at worst.

But you had been wrong.

Yoongi was a man of great skill yes, quick like lightening and deadly like his feline persona but, his heart contained so much depth and so much warmth, that you found yourself drowning in it. The two of you hadn’t known each other long but, the emotions are already so strong. Your future with him is all you find yourself daydreaming about and, you can only hope that he is able to keep all of the promises he made to you.  

The anxiety surrounding his departure strikes again, right in the middle of your heart.

You have half a mind to join his ranks or even stowaway amongst the new recruits…

Surely he wouldn’t notice if you wore a disguise, right?

The twigs snapping on the forest floor behind you remove you from your ridiculous plan as a smile immediately graces your face.

“You’re late.” You call, not bothering to turn around, “Did the recruits keep you tied up again?”

There is a bit of silence before a voice answers your question.

“I didn’t realize you were expecting me- although it doesn’t surprise me that Yoongi’s plaything would have a heightened sense of awareness…” The voice is unfamiliar and, it causes your blood to run cold, “…given that she’s canoodling with a monster.”

It all happens so quickly.

Just as you’re about to turn towards the voice, a burly arm is wrapping around your neck. Gasping for air, your hands immediately fly up to claw at your attacker’s forearm.

Panic is rushing through you, your feet kicking around as he attempts to drag you backwards into the trees.

“You really shouldn’t be out in the dark by yourself, pretty.” He snarls into your ear, his breath reeking of alcohol, “There are a lot of maniacs out here…”

You can feel yourself losing consciousness as he tightens his grip on your neck. Your fingernails are desperately digging into his skin, trying to cause him any discomfort that you can.

“I want to see the look on his face-“ Your assailant cackles, “I want to see his reaction to your cold body laying in the place where you first kissed…He thinks he’s strong but-“

You hear him gasp for breath as an unknown force seemingly knocks it out of him. When he releases his grip on your neck, you frantically suck in the air around you, wincing as you fall to your knees.

In your attempt to distance yourself you scramble up against the nearest tree and, just as you’re about to scream for help, you realize that you’re not alone.

A golden dagger sticks out of your attacker’s shoulder as he attempts to get away from the one who threw it: Yoongi.

“Stay right there.” He calls to you gently, his eyes devoid of any emotion.

You are still reeling from nearly being choked to death but, you listen to his command, nonetheless. The man on the floor is dressed in the colors of the royal army and, you gather that he belongs to Yoongi’s battalion- or at least he pretended to.

Yoongi catches him by the hair as he drags him up to his knees. The man is spluttering from the pain, his brows drawn in tightly as he struggles against Yoongi’s grip.

“Do you remember the lesson from this morning, rat?” He ventures, his voice casual and icy cold.

“Y-yes sir…”

Yoongi rips his hair back again so the tip of his nose is facing the sky, “What was it?”

“Ah!” He groans, his hands balling up at his sides, “N-necessities, sir.”

“Necessities- very good.” Yoongi would sound like he was praising him if it weren’t for the heartless smirk painted across his lips. “Now, would you say your head was a necessity?”

As Yoongi asks his question, he unsheathes his sword with his free hand and presses the blade to the man’s throat.

“Yes!” The man practically yelps, his body freezing beneath Yoongi’s grip, “Yes, sir! Very necessary, sir!”

You can’t help but watch in complete shock. There is a part of you that knows Yoongi would never kill someone in front of you but, the way the light has drained from his eyes is forcing you to doubt yourself.

“Oh is it now? What about your throat?”

Yoongi’s expression barely shifts but, you can literally feel the fury emanating off of his figure as he presses the blade further into his skin. Ruby red blood barely peeks out of the man’s skin as he whimpers.

“Yes-“ He chokes out, “It’s necessary! Please! They told me to kill her, I’m just the middleman! If you spare me, I promise I will tell you everything just-“

Yoongi stalls his movements, his eyes flashing towards you for a moment before yanking his head back again, “Who is they?”

Through another pained groan, the man spits out his answer, “The Meddleways sir.”

Although unfamiliar to you, the name seems to affect Yoongi greatly. However, he quickly composes himself and pulls the man upwards by his hair, “Stand up.”

Wincing, the man rushes to his feet, his hands lingering out in front of him with uncertainty.

With his lips curled beneath his fury, Yoongi offers one last eerily calm sentiment in the man's ear, “You are very lucky that I am in the presence of a lady. Had I come across you on my own-” He stops himself, taking a deep breath in through his nose. He shuts his eyes for a moment, collecting the storm inside of him before continuing, “I will put you with your leader after my men are done questioning you. From there, you will make the journey to your trial and, whilst you are on your way- please be sure to thank whatever god you believe in that I am not the one tasked with your punishment.”

Yoongi’s voice is nearly unrecognizable. It’s like a glacier, cold and enormous but, slow moving. It seems to inch into the man’s subconscious as he cowers beneath him.

“Do you understand?” Yoongi confirms to which the man nods immediately, “Good.”

With that final word, he rips the dagger out of the man's shoulder. His yelp is cut short by the handle of said dagger as Yoongi whacks it against the side of his head. The man falls to the ground unceremoniously, his body going limp for the time being.

The events that have transpired, leave you frozen against the bark of your favorite willow tree. Yoongi seems to know something you don’t and, you can’t fight your instinct to ask questions.

“Do you know him?”

Your voice seems to pull Yoongi away from his urges and back to reality. In an instant, he is rushing over to you, his cold gaze defrosting slightly as he assesses your wellbeing.

“Did he touch you?” He mutters, his fingers on the end of your chin, tilting your head to the side.

“Well, he was choking me but-”

Yoongi glowers, his nostrils flaring slightly, “Did he touch you?”

The way he emphasizes the word ‘touch’ gives you the hint that Yoongi is referring to whether or not he violated you.

“No...” You whisper, allowing your fingers to brush against his cheek, “He was only on me for a moment before you found us.”

Yoongi deflates under your touch but, to say that he relaxed would be an overstatement. In fact, it's safe to say that he has never been more tense in his entire life.

“Are you hurt?” His voice breaks at the end as he swallows back his emotions. Before you’re able to answer, Yoongi’s eyes light up with quiet rage all over again, “Your neck- it's going to bruise-”

“Hey-” You coax his gaze up to yours, “I’m safe. You saved me and, I’m safe.”

Your words unfortunately do nothing for him but, he doesn’t want to center this interaction around his fear. Instead, he simply nods and places a tense kiss to the center of your forehead before nodding to the limp figure behind him.

“I need to take him back to the compound, Namjoon and Jimin will get out any information he has. In the meantime, I need you to stay away from here. In fact, don’t go anywhere alone after sunset- not until I can assess the-”

“Let me come with you. I want to know what’s going on-”

Yoongi shakes his head, “No. It’s too dangerous to have you on the compound right now. My entire battalion may be compromised.”

“But Yoongi-”

His eyes grow cold again, “This is not a discussion. A civilian has no place in these matters.”

With his words, he drops his grip on you but just before he steps back, you are shooting a glare his direction.

“Civilian? Is that what you call me now, Min Yoongi?”

Using his full name would be considered disrespectful if the two of you didn’t know each other the way you do but, it still feels foreign coming out of your mouth.

Yoongi technically has authority over you and your entire village. If he wanted to, he could order you to do anything he wishes. Yoongi never exercises his power this way but, he is so overcome with fear that he wants to do anything to protect you. “You know that isn’t what I was implying. Don’t twist my words.”

“Then please feel free to untwist them for me. That term comes with a loaded meaning, and you know it...”

The tension clings in the air between you like moss to a tree. It’s uncomfortable and more importantly, unfamiliar. Yoongi stares you down, his hardened gaze wavering as the seconds pass. His eyes trace each feature of your face with desperation, seeking to memorize your current expression and, not because he is particularly fond of it but, merely because it belongs to you.

Yoongi’s future is not guaranteed and, therefore- neither is his life with you.

So he must memorize it all.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.” He concedes, his features softening, “I just need some time to sort through my men. I won’t deny your request for information but, I have to gather it first. I am asking you to stay away until then and, its only because I fear for your safety- not because I don’t regard you as my equal.”

His words gnaw at your guard until it disappears and, suddenly you wish to be in his arms. You know both of your reactions came from a place of fear as its woefully unlike the two of you to misunderstand one another.

“I’m scared.” You whisper, “I don’t want to leave your side.”

Yoongi’s heart breaks at the worry written on your beautiful face and, he loathes the unconscious man beside him even more for making you feel this way.

“Come here,” He reaches a hand out towards you and, as soon as you take it, he is pulling you against him. He places a kiss atop your head, allowing his lips to linger for a moment. When he feels your fingers curl into fists around the fabric of his tunic, his eyes squeeze shut.

He is terrified.

“I won’t let anything happen to you ever again, do you understand?” He murmurs, his voice unstable, “I will protect you with my life and, gladly lay it down for your own.”

All you do is nod, burying your face into the crook of his neck, “But you’re going to leave me...”

And for this Yoongi has no response.

Because he will protect you yes, but he will never lie to you.

He is going to leave you and, it will be much sooner than he had planned; there is no use in training the recruits now- as far as he is concerned, they have all gone bad.

“Only my body will leave you.” He answers with another kiss to your head, “The rest of me is bound to you forever.”

----------------------------------------------------

It’s been nearly a day since you’ve seen Yoongi.

After he tied your attacker to a tree, he walked you back home and, fetched the rest of the men for reinforcements.

You have yet to see the man since Yoongi disarmed him but, more importantly, you hadn’t seen any of the battalion.

It was as if they had disappeared overnight.

The only indication of their presence was their horses roaming around the compound. The rest of the men were seemingly confined to their tents, a tactic likely used by the leaders to ensure they kept track of everyone whilst they interrogated the wayward recruit.

But still, it was unnerving.

It gave you another glimpse at what your world would look like very soon. Your life had changed so drastically since Yoongi’s arrival and, you simply weren’t ready to move throughout your day without the promise of meeting him by the river.

But you had to be ready.

You had to be ready a lot sooner than you anticipated.

The day had moved like slugs along the riverbank after the summer heat has dried up parts of its shoreline. Despite the nerves brewing within you and the ache of anticipation all over your body, the clocktower stared back at you defiantly, refusing to move.

Yoongi promised you he would come to your house as soon as he had the information he needed but, you weren’t planning on waiting for him any longer.

It had been nearly twenty-four hours since you were attacked and, without answers, you slowly felt yourself going insane with impatience. Once your wares were packed up and taken home, you strode with determination to the makeshift compound.

Still appearing to be deserted, you don’t have any clues as to which tent to start with first. You opt for the one that the seven men usually stay in and as you approach it, you desperately wish you were here delivering bread.

The illusion of simplicity had been shattered. You were being courted by the leader of the Royal Army and because of this, nothing was never simple to begin with.

You felt foolish for believing otherwise.

Before you’re able to ring the bell outside of the tent, you are met with Yoongi rushing from the opening, still dressed in the same clothes he wore the night prior. Dark rings of exhaustion are positioned around the sockets of his eyes and, his lips look as though they haven’t had a sip of water all day.

He is beautiful but, he looks like hell.

“I had a feeling I wouldn’t need to come looking over you-” He smiles but, it doesn’t reach his eyes. Instead, he offers his arm and jerks his chin towards the trees, “Walk with me?”

This can’t be good.

You nod, interlocking your arm with his and, taking a moment to relish the warmth that still ebbs and flows from him. Even with the gnawing monster of the unknown staring daggers at you in the distance, you feel safe with him.

“Did he keep his promise?” You ask him as the two of you step into the forest. The light shining through the trees is painted the same color as the sunset on the mountains and, if this were a normal meeting between the two of you, you would have admired it. However, the only thing you can focus on is what Yoongi has yet to tell you.

“He did,” He nods.

The promise, of course, refers to the attacker vowing to tell Yoongi anything he wanted to know if he decided to spare his life.

“And?” You cock your head, trying to catch his gaze that seems to be fixated upon the dirt beneath your feet.

If only you knew that he was actually staring at the way your dress billows in the wind, the way the shadows from the leaves bounce off the soft skin of your ankles...

He must memorize it all.

“I have to leave...” He finally says, looking up at you, “...tonight.”

The news is reasonable but, it feels like a cruel joke. You have half a mind to deny him, to lash out and, scold him for toying with you in such a way.

But Yoongi would never lie to you.

Ever.

“Tonight.” You whisper, swallowing the bitter flavor of the word. And almost involuntarily, your hands are curling gently around his forearms in protest, “Why tonight?”

Yoongi can quite literally taste the pain in your voice and, it sickens him; it sickens him because, there is nothing he can do about it.

He leaves his arms in place for you to touch however you want, thoroughly shocked that the desire still manages to coil in his stomach even in the face of such sadness.

“The man who gave me this scar on my face was the leader of a cruel wayward group known as the Meddleways. Years ago, after Namjoon successfully lead them to our army, the leader and I fought to the death. Xansa, was his name. It was the closest I had ever come to losing my life.” Yoongi almost smiles as he feels your grip on him tighten but, he opts for gently caressing beneath your elbows instead, “This group, they had plans to attack the Queen’s capital and assassinate the people who lived there. After the death of their leader however, many of them came to our side- claiming that they were held against their will. There were a small number who escaped and, I foolishly assumed they would dissolve.”

You look up at the scar he speaks of, gazing at the angry strip of marred flesh running down the center of his right eye. In complete silence, you reach up and trace your index finger along the shape of it, letting out a shaky sigh at the thought of someone causing him pain.

“They haven’t.” You conclude whilst Yoongi closes his eyes beneath your touch, “Have they?”

He simply shakes his head as his hands secure themselves round your waist. His eyes stay shut even when you move your hand from his scar to cup his cheek. The skin there is splotchy from the evening breeze and, surprisingly soft. You almost think to question it but, Yoongi is already answering your silent observation.

“Your salve.” He chuckles as his beautiful eyes finally open, “It would be swept up by the people of the capital in no time; it’s a miracle in a tin.”

Allowing just a moment of reprieve, your mind drifts to the not-so-distant future, “Shall I make a career there then? I imagine if you’re retiring, I will be the one providing for us.”

A bit of ego flashes through Yoongi’s eyes, his fingers curling into the fabric of your dress, “My villa is nowhere near the capital. And as for providing for us, I am pleased to inform you that I have enough gold from my military service to last us several lifetimes.”

Good, you think, one lifetime together wouldn’t be enough anyhow.

“Am I to be a housewife then?” You arch your brow, throwing an unimpressed but playful glance his way.

Yoongi smirks, “You are to be whatever you wish. It’s just worth noting that I have the means to take care of us both. Although, I will admit that whilst my retirement will hardly be noticed as there is already someone taking my place, if you chose to retire now that- that would have some dire consequences.”

His compliment, however silly, makes you giggle as you roll your eyes, “Your logic is insanely flawed my dear general however, I will accept your flattery nonetheless.”

Your laughter soothes the rawness in Yoongi’s heart, even if it’s just for a moment. He follows suit, unable to help the small bout of laughter that leaves his lips. But before long, you two seem to settle back into the solemnity of the moment and, you’re asking:

“There after you...aren’t they?”

Yoongi is nodding, his brows drawn tightly together whilst he murmurs, “They are coming for me now. My battalion and I must reconvene and cut them off before they attack here. Xansa is dead but, according to the man who attacked you, there is a new leader, Xansa’s brother. Their objective remains the same: they wish to destroy the peace the Queen’s have built and, exploit the land and it’s people for power.”

To know that not only is Yoongi tasked with defending the lands from violence, but also that he is being targeted specifically, frightens you beyond belief.

“Why can’t you stay hidden? My family will hide you; you could blend in here until they are defeated, I know it isn’t ideal but-” You sound panicked now and, it breaks Yoongi’s heart that he must deny you any reprieve.

“Darling,” He cups your face, his own bottomless gaze searching yours, “There is only one place in the world where I can truly hide. And someday,” A calloused thumb brushes over the apple of your cheek, “I will take you there and, we will live out the rest of our lives. But as of now, anywhere I go- weak minded men will follow, desperate to prove their idea of strength. My head is a trophy to all men who are poisoned by their masculinity.”

“Your head is not a trophy,” You protest but your voice barely reaches above a whisper, weakened by your own despair. For the last time it seems, you brush your fingers against his skin- electrocuted by the sensation, “and you are so much more than the rumors that follow you. So much more...”

Yoongi has to summon all the strength within him to keep his emotions at bay, not wanting to break down in front of you. Instead, he silently brings your lips to his and, presses the softest kiss to your mouth.

He pours everything he wish he had time to say into it, his breathing picking up slightly as you return the passion with everything you have.

The two of you know you have to break it off, especially as you hear the compound finally come to life beside you; they were preparing to leave.

With foreheads pressed together, you are the first one who speaks with bated breath, “Promise you’ll come back to me...”

His hands are on either side of your face now as he centers your focus on his eyes. You had yet to see such silent determination within them since you met and for the moment, it convinces you that his word is golden.

“I will crawl back to you if I have to.”

When you part, you gather that most of Yoongi’s men have already left. It appears that only the main unit and, a group of thirty or so remain in the compound.

“Hyung!” Hoseok calls from the front of the tent, his normally bright expression full of contempt, “It’s time.”

You detest how well their readiness to leave coincides with the end of your conversation but, it almost feels easier this way. Being unable to anticipate the exact point of Yoongi’s departure has allowed you to be suspended in ignorant bliss.

The pain isn’t as drawn out.

Yoongi returns his statement with a tight nod before, turning his attention back to you for the last time.

With all the power in him, he musters up a type of promise one can only convey with their eyes and says, “I’ll meet you back at the river...” He swallows around all of the words he wishes to utter but, with a delicate brush to your cheek, he leaves you with only two, “...my love.”

And suddenly, the world between you is massive once again.

Suddenly, he is a thousand miles from you even though he only moves a few yards away.

You feel frozen in place almost, your cheek burning with the remains of his touch as you try to catch the breath his words stole from you.

Is this really it?

The last guaranteed moments of your incredible connection with a man you could only dream about- is this truly how they end?

You’re standing there longer than you realize because, the next thing you know, you hear the whinny of the last horses and, the sharp commands of Jin’s voice.

Spinning around, you aren’t thinking clearly as you sprint towards the group of men beginning to ride away into the forest.

“General Min!”

You are surprised at how well your voice carries over the noise and, out of the group pops Yoongi riding on the back of a black stallion.

With his gold sword attached to his hip and, his capable hands controlling the reigns, Yoongi brings the movements of his horse to a stop.

“Don’t be late.” You call to him, fresh tears spilling silently from your eyes. But despite the tears, you are smiling- offering some semblance of hope to the two of you.

He chuckles, bowing his head towards you, eyes outlined in red, “Yes ma’am.”

Then he is gone.

And with him goes all of your steam for the time being.

It’s as though the energy has been pulled away from you, leaving you sullen and exhausted regardless of how much rest you’re able to get.

The weeks without Yoongi begin with nightmares. The one you had just before he left seems to haunt your subconscious day in and day out. It’s as if your brain were torturing you with worst case scenarios, preparing you for a world without him.

Without Yoongi.

The night the battalion left, you rushed over to Rachels and, upon her opening her door, you simply collapsed into her arms.

With your head on her shoulder, the two of you cried together. You hated the fact that she understood the pain you were in but, you were happy to have someone relate to.

She understood.

To live such an ordinary life one day, only to fall for a mysterious stranger the next…

And then to have that stranger seem so familiar, to connect so deeply with someone you haven’t known for very long and, then having to say goodbye…

It was a very specific type of pain and, your best friend knew exactly what the sting felt like.

Nearly a month of this passes before you receive something that has your monotone soul seeing color once again: a letter from Yoongi.

A young man, who identifies himself as a royal messenger, shows up at your door with a tightly wrapped piece of parchment that contains enough hope to keep you going for the foreseeable future. This young messenger explains that he was commissioned by the “the Royal General” to deliver two letters to this village every month until his return.

Two letters meaning, one to you and of course, one to the beloved schoolteacher next door.

The thought of Rachel getting to hear from Jungkook makes your heart sing.

Trying to contain the tears in your eyes, you thank the messenger profusely before practically tripping over your own feet as you rush back to your bedroom. You waste no time in removing the protective fabric from the letter, your shaky hands nearly ripping the corner of the parchment.

Y/N,

I know we didn’t discuss writing to one another but, I couldn’t handle not contacting you in some way. Thankfully, I’m privileged enough to have access to the royal messengers and, they have promised me they would deliver my letters until I return. Are you staying healthy? I know how cold it must be getting where you live. Please reassure me that you’re staying warm so, I can stop obsessing over it.

Our men have been successful so far. We’ve encountered many obstacles but, we have the strategies to hold our own. Most of my days have been spent working on a pathway out of this mess but, we have been unable to find the new leaders of the Meddleways. The Queens are aware and have sent reinforcements but, we still have a long way to go.

Not to worry, I still plan on keeping my promises to you. It’s the only thing that keeps me alert most of the day as I haven’t been able to sleep as much as I’d like to. Our time at the river spoiled me, I didn’t realize how much energy I was getting from your lips. Sleep depravity meant nothing when I was with you.

Yours,

Yoongi.

By the time you finish the letter, a teardrop is regretfully staining the center of the page. Frantically, you wipe it from the parchment before it’s able to blur the ink placed there by your lover. The indents from his lettering are the only piece of him you have so, you press your fingers to the page in an effort to feel closer to him.

Over and over, you read the words he wrote, overcome with gratitude that he would go to such lengths to have this message delivered to you. By the time you’ve read it for the tenth time, your mother is calling you from the other room, signaling supper is ready.

You have no interest in eating at this moment but, you know that family dinners aren’t something you’ll be able to enjoy once Yoongi returns. So, you decide to file your thoughts away for later and join your parents in the main room.

The meal your mother prepared takes a lot of time and effort so, you insist on cleaning up after the three of you finish eating and, send your parents to bed early. They work so hard and, deserve all of the rest in the world.

After cleaning up the kitchen, you eagerly return to your room to draft your response to Yoongi.

General Min,

I am pleased to report that I have not one but, two woolen blankets at my disposal. You can put your obsessions regarding my warmth to rest for the time being. Other than missing you, my health has kept up just fine since you left. The village is preparing for a rainy season as we do every year but, I’m actually quite excited for the storms.

It’s good to know the Queens are supporting your mission as I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to track down such a volatile group. Nevertheless, my faith in your abilities is still strong. If anyone were able to apprehend them, it would be you. In regard to your sleep deprivation, I can only offer you my energy from afar. I visit the river every night since you’ve been gone and, I find myself leaning against our tree, wishing that it was you who was pressing me into it.

Continue to think of my lips, General. They will be all over you before you know it.

I cannot wait to hear from you again,

Y/N  

A smirk is on your lips as you seal your letter with melted wax, hoping that your wayward tongue motivates him to keep going. The promise of finally being able to consummate your passion for one another burns brightly within you and, you can only hope he will feel the same.  

The messenger had explained to you that he would return for your letter in the morning as he had other deliveries in the area. That night, you slept particularly well and, for once you were able to dream of something peaceful.

As promised, the man returns to your home the next morning to collect your letter and with a tip of his hat, he assures you that he will return the same time next month.

And he certainly does but, it seemingly comes at the cost of said month dragging on endlessly. However, when the messenger shows up at your home, you are quick to forget the last four weeks and, instead just focus on the small piece of Yoongi waiting for you. Before the boy continues on, a nagging question enters your mind and, you are stopping him before he reaches Rachel’s house.

“Excuse me, I hate to pry but, have you been in contact with the general at all?”

He offers a small smile as he shakes his head, “No, ma’am. The general leaves his letters at one of my many posts throughout this land. I met with him only once but, he specifically instructed me not to come looking for him if he didn’t leave anything for me to deliver; he said it was too dangerous.”

This frightens you as it comes ripened with the devastating possibility of Yoongi being incapacitated in some way. Of course it isn’t the man’s intention to worry you and rather than unloading all your anxieties onto him, you merely smile back and thank him for his time.

Before he knocks on Rachel’s door, you also learn his name and, silently scold yourself for not thinking to do so sooner.

He tells you his name is Hyunjin and, expresses his gratitude for your business before leaving you alone to read your letter.

Y/N,

I am trying to find the words to properly convey how many times I re-read your letter and, all of the ways I managed to use it, without sounding crude, but then I remembered that my Y/N doesn’t really care much for decency does she? So I shall be candid for once…

It’s very late when I’m writing my response and, I am overwhelmed with my desire for you. It’s quite sickening actually. I feel lightheaded when I think of us alone together.

Never in my entire life have I wanted someone so badly.

I wish I could see you somehow. Jungkook draws pictures of Rachel on every surface he can but, I don’t possess the artistic abilities he does. My attempts to draw you would be insulting. Although, I wouldn’t commission anyone to illustrate you either; They would mess it up somehow.

How has your month been? Are you still baking bread as often now that my greedy battalion is away?

Yours,

Yoongi

You are immediately transported back to your schoolyard days as you squeal into your bedsheets at his confessions. Yoongi truly had a way of saying everything you needed to hear in only a few words. More notably, he had a way of speaking so passionately; it took your breath away.

Feeling full of unbridled optimism, you pull out a fresh piece of parchment and your ink to begin drafting your response to him. 

General Min,

I can’t help but wish you had been a bit cruder. Next time, feel free to include all of the way you used my words; it would comfort me to know that I am tending to your needs from so far away.

It seems as though you and I share the same illness. I can’t help but, think of you in the same light every evening when I’m trying to sleep. I only wish I was able to dream of you the same way, I’m certain I would wake up feeling much more rested.

Are there any updates on your progress? It’s been three months and, yet I feel as though it’s been twice as long. Are you feeling alright? Are you able to find adequate shelter?

I’m sorry for the interrogation but, I can’t help myself when I begin worrying about you.

Tell Jungkook that Rachel draws him as well. Every time I visit her at home, she is shoving one of her pictures into dress pocket. She thinks I don’t notice but, I most certainly do.

What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t know when she was in love?

In regards to the bread, I am baking slightly less than I was before but, I still find myself adding in extra ingredients for you all every now and then.

I’ve gone on long enough but, I still have so much more to say.

Just know, I miss you terribly.

Love,

Y/N

Hyunjin returns again the following morning and, graciously accepts your letter before heading on his way. When you hand him the parchment full of late night confessions, you truly think nothing of it.

Despite the longing you felt for Yoongi, you had grown used to looking forward to his letters. In a way, it was almost as if he were much closer than he actually was. The letters made you feel like he were writing to you from the capital while he was away on business rather than out in the middle of the battlefield.

But that didn’t change the reality.

Yoongi was out in the battlefield and, things were growing far more complicated than he was letting on.

“Hyung, we can’t keep evading their fire. They are going to catch up to us eventually.”

Yoongi has been trying to write his response to you for over an hour and, every time he sits down to do so- he is interrupted.

This time, the interruption comes from Hoseok who stumbles into the tent, sore from yesterday’s battle.

“Yes they will,” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “and when they do, we will lead them to the outskirts of the capital where the Queen’s have established reinforcements.”

“Aren’t you worried they will strike before then? We have already lost-“

Yoongi interrupts him now, trying his best to control the frustration and pain in his tone, “I am aware. I write down every single one of their names. That does not change my plan. We will not engage unless we absolutely have to. I don’t want to see another village go down beneath our fire.”  

Hoseok is dissatisfied with his answer but, he knows better than to question Yoongi when he is like this.

“What is our plan for tomorrow, hyung? Are we moving to a new area?” Jimin asks quietly, his tired eyes barely lingering open as he runs his fingers through Taehyung’s hair. His head is positioned in Jimin’s lap whilst his injured body tries to recuperate; everyone was losing their steam. “I don’t know if Taehyung should be travelling right now. He might have to ride on the back of my horse if we must move on…”

Yoongi’s chest tightens as he sees the state of his men.

The most prestigious army is now littered with bruises and open wounds. There isn’t a single muscle in their bodies that doesn’t feel strained or damaged in some way and, he doesn’t even remember the last time they had a proper meal.

Clutching his quill in his fist, he nods solemnly at Jimin’s comment, “You are probably right. I will walk the perimeter with the rest of our men tonight before bed and if all is clear, he can camp out an extra day whilst he heals.”

Jimin offers a small smile in return that only just reaches his eyes, “Thank you, hyung.”

He nods tightly, adjusting the grip on his quill before continuing to write; he has so much he wants to tell you. He wants to cry out to you in his letter but, he doesn’t want to worry you. Instead, he’d rather pretend like everything is alright, like the two of you are merely star-crossed lovers sneaking around after dark and, writing in code to communicate with one another without being caught.

He wants to pretend like he is anyone else but most of all, he wishes to pretend to be the man he promised you he would be.

But, he won’t lie to you.

He can’t.

Y/N,

This might be the last time you hear from me for a while. Things are growing extremely difficult for my men and I. We must now focus all of our efforts on making it to the outskirts of the capital safely so, that we have the reinforcements we need.

My entire body aches for you, Y/N. There is no comfort for me aside from your letters.

And as much as it pains me to say it, I am beginning to fear that I might not make it home to you. I have yet to express this to my men because, I don’t want to worry them. I just don’t know what our future holds anymore.

We have sustained so many losses.

I don’t want to worry you either but, I am only doing so because, I need you to know something. My need for you to understand this overcomes my need to make you comfortable.

I love

BANG.

With a flash of fire, the tent Yoongi resides in is quickly overwhelmed with chaos.

And as he hears the desperate calls of his men, he knows he has no choice but to abandon his words to you and, fight.

Or else he and his men are doomed.

---------------------------------------

There wasn’t a particular day Hyunjin arrived but, you did expect him to come some time during the middle of the month. However, the middle of the month comes and goes without a word from him and, while you find this to be quite odd, you chose to think nothing of it.

Yoongi was in the middle of a lengthy mission, it was a miracle you had been able to hear from him as much as you did.

However, when the second month passes without word from him- you begin to feel the tidal wave of panic swelling inside of you.

You feel idiotic for getting sucked into the romance of letter writing. It had convinced you, only for a moment, that there was nothing at stake.

But this couldn’t be further from the truth.

Everything was on the line.

How could you lessen your vigilance?

Yoongi could very well be in a grave danger somewhere and, you would never know.

Does he have arrangements for such a thing?

Did he consider this?

Of course he did, you think, as you begin to choke back your tears.

He has seen more carnage than you could ever imagine; he most certainly thought of informing you of his passing.

So maybe this is a sign to be hopeful.

Maybe this means that he is merely stuck somewhere or far too busy to send letters.

With an almost delusional sense of certainty, you furiously wipe your hand across your face and, try to gather yourself.

Today was a busier day at the market so, you desperately hoped things would move quickly.

For once, you are lucky enough to have your wish granted.

The next month however, isn’t so merciful.

Every day is the same. You wake up, try to muster up a smile, pack your wares and sell in the plaza. You bring Rachel her snacks and, the two of you eat in silence before it becomes too much and, you both end up crying.

She hasn’t heard from Jungkook either.

It’s been three months and, you have heard nothing about the whereabouts of the men you intended to be with for the rest of your lives. It’s as if the world is turned upside down and, you spend the majority of your time thinking the worst.

The next morning however, you are granted the briefest moment of respite when Hyunjin knocks at your door. You barely manage to pull on your coat when you yank open the door and, beam at his presence.

“Thank goodness, I was so worried-“ You are cheering for only a second until you catch a glimpse of his expression.

“Good morning ma’am. I’m sorry to have disturbed you but, I felt it was my duty to give you an update on the General…”

Your blood is cold and still within your veins and, the sickening feeling of grief begins crawling its way through your senses.

“We haven’t heard from his battalion for months now. The Queens have sent out a league of experts to find them but, we have yet to-“ He swallows back his nerves as he sees the look on your face, “-we have yet to be successful.”

The tears are unstoppable as they quickly flood the sockets of your eyes. Your hand feels clammy whilst it grips your door frame, your whole body growing numb with each word he utters.

“This doesn’t mean the worst, ma’am. The Tiger’s army is well known for disappearing like this, it’s part of their strategy. I just didn’t want you to be left wondering why I didn’t return. When I went to the postal location, nothing was waiting for me.”

With a shaky and unrecognizable voice, you ask, “Not from Jungkook either?”

He frowns, looking at you with pity, “Nothing, ma’am. There are normally hundreds of letters for me to deliver and, I didn’t find a single one.”

Regardless of his attempt to comfort you, you knew exactly what this meant: something was horribly wrong.

You couldn’t even manage to think of the word but, all of your terrifying nightmares containing Yoongi begin to flood your subconscious. It's all you can think about now.

“I promise to update you as soon as I hear from them, ma’am.” Hyunjin feels immensely uncomfortable delivering this news and, he is eager to return home as quickly as possible.

All you can manage is a nod before you robotically begin closing your door, “Thank you, Hyunjin.”

Thankfully, your parents are out for the day so, you’re able to shut the door quietly before sliding against it, allowing a broken sob to leave your lips.

You knew in your heart that the likelihood of Yoongi and his battalion being safe was next to nothing. The lack of his letters had been evidence enough but, you wanted to remain hopeful, you wanted to convince yourself that he was just busy.

But you were lying to yourself.

Cupping your hand around your mouth, you let out all of the emotion you couldn’t relinquish in front of Hyunjin. Your eyes burn as your tears stain your cheeks, your lips parted in a silent scream. With your body shaking, you cry for the life you were never able to have and, for the man you were never able to love.

That evening, your mother helps you into bed. She understands when you refuse supper even though she made your favorite. She lets you cry in her lap like you did when you were a little girl only this time, you weren’t crying over schoolyard bullies.

You don’t leave your bed for two weeks. The only time you have contact with anyone other than your parents is when Rachel finally decides to drop by to check on you. Of course, the feeling had been mutual and, just as you had before, the two of you spend most of your time crying together.

Once she decides to leave, you are once again left alone with your thoughts, all of which are of Yoongi. Today in particular, you are remembering his hands and, the first time you intertwined fingers.

“Why are you looking at my hands?” You had asked him

“Because I want to hold them.”

His voice echoes in your mind now as fresh tears find their way out of your eyes for the millionth time and, it’s this memory that prompts you to visit the river.

You hadn’t been back since Hyunjin came to deliver the news. The thought of going there alone sent a deep sadness through you but, part of you felt like it might be a good idea.

If you were to ever truly mourn him properly, you would have to grieve every piece of your time together.

Wrapping yourself up in your winter coat, you make the short journey towards a place you once called your favorite spot in the world. At first, it was because of the inner peace it had brought you but once Yoongi came into the picture, it took on a whole new meaning.

The rain had stopped hours ago so other than a bit of extra mud and a much colder breeze, the river looked just as it did during the summer.

Securing your coat tighter around yourself, you sniffle whilst looking out towards the river. The palette of the sunset is reflecting off the water and, bouncing against the ground beneath your feet. If it had been under any other circumstances, you would have felt content here. You would be collecting herbs, humming to yourself, speaking with the forest creatures- despite their lack of understanding you but...

Most importantly, you would be waiting for Yoongi.

The thought once again causes you to cry as your brain tries to conceptualize a world without him.

It seems so impossible.

...

“So- is this where the tree bark grows?”

Your eyes widen and you turn around so quickly you nearly fall over. As if out of a fairytale, General Min Yoongi stands just beneath the entrance to the river, dressed head to toe in his strongest armor. His hair is slightly messy and framing either side of his face and his mouth is portraying a brilliant smile.

He’s alive.

You’re crying harder now, frozen in place as you call to him, playing out the first time you two met here,

“You of all people should know not to ambush someone like that...”

If you aren’t mistaken, you see him sniffle as the smile on his face only grows, “I’m sorry, I’m late ma’am...”

His voice breaks at the end and the next thing you know, you are running. Opening his arms, he braces himself for you and, as you crash into him- he uses all of his strength to lift you off the ground. Spinning in a circle, he chuckles fondly when you start placing kisses anywhere you can reach: his cheeks, his lips, his nose, his forehead, his chin...

It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s him.

“You bastard!” You cry to him which only causes him to laugh harder, “I thought you were dead I- I thought you were...”

He stops spinning as his gloved hands come up to cup your face, his eyes wet with the slightest evidence of tears, “Shhh I know, I’m so sorry- I tried everything to reach you but, it wasn’t safe...”

You’re shaking your head, your hands coming up to rest over his, needing to feel every part of him, “It doesn’t matter- you're here now.” You say the phrase but then suddenly, you are overcome with a sickening feeling. What if you were just imagining this? What if you had simply dreamed of him? With a desperate glance, you press your hands into his harder, searching his eyes, “You are here aren’t you? Like- you're really here? You came back to me?”

Yoongi’s expression crumbles, his thumb brushing over your cheek, “I am, my love. I am here- this is the only place I know now.”

Sniffling again, you lean in towards his lips, your mind completely fuzzy with emotion, “Show me, show me you’re here.”

He takes the hint, closing the distance between you and, tucking his mouth into yours. It’s a much harder kiss than you’re expecting but, you relish in it nonetheless. Yoongi’s lips taste like medicine to you, all of your pain melting away beneath his touch. He sighs shakily as he presses your body into the cool steel of his armor, slightly wishing that he had been able to wash up before coming to see you.

It’s been a long journey.

“You’re here...” You whisper into the kiss, your hands tracing over his features, “You kept your promise...”

Yoongi is nodding, pecking at your lips over and over again, “I told you I would crawl didn’t I?” When you nod, he continues, “Well I crawled, darling. I crawled all the way back to you...”

You pull back slightly, unable to get enough of his face, your fingers coming up to brush the hair from his face. Elated, you laugh breathlessly, a smile burned onto your mouth.

“You will never have to crawl again, General Min. It is now my life-long mission to make sure you are in a warm bed with a full belly for the rest of your life.”

Yoongi beams at your sentiment, his eyes lighting up along with his grin whilst his hands slide down your body before settling on your hips, “I love you.”

There it is.

Those three little words that have been etched in your mind for longer than they should have been.

Gripping his face between your palms, you are bringing his mouth down towards you once again, “I love you too.”

After much more kissing, Yoongi mentions that he hasn’t eaten properly in quite a while and, that he has a few things to discuss with you before you can leave with him. You insist that he can use your family’s bathing area to wash up and, that you will pick up clothes for him in the plaza; the armor he’s wearing looks incredibly uncomfortable.

The two of you decide to visit the local tavern as it will be a good place for Yoongi to eat and, update you on what’s going on. He does specifically mention however, that he doesn’t want to speak of what he’s just been through. He only assures you that all six of his leaders survived and, that the Meddleways had been apprehended. He promises you that he will tell you stories from the mission later down the line but for now, he only wishes to speak about your future together.

However, there is one question that’s been nagging at you since he arrived that is slightly off-topic.

“Is Jungkook here?” You take your seat at the table across from him, slightly hating how far apart the two of you are.

Yoongi grins, a bit of fondness in his eyes, “He wouldn’t even wait for me to get out of the chariot before he was already sprinting like a mad man towards her home.”

You feel overjoyed at the thought of how your best friend’s day is going. The grief hit the two of the same way so, you hope she is feeling all of the happiness you felt when you realized the man you loved returned home.

“Are the four of us riding in the chariot together then? You might need to stay in town for a few days if that’s the case- I can throw all of my worldly possessions into a trunk but, Rachel would need more time to prepare.”

Yoongi reaches out for your hand then, smiling as you instinctively lace your fingers between his, “The chariot only has room for two, I’m afraid. My brother has decided to stay here for the time being. I think this final mission was especially hard on him, he’s expressed that he just wants to stay in one place for awhile.”

This resolution warms your heart. The idea of Rachel and, Jungkook making a quiet life for themselves in your home village, brings you so much joy. In many ways, it seems as though they had found a home in each other and, you couldn’t wait to see what their future held.

“I couldn’t imagine a more perfect scenario for the two of them. Although, I do know someday Rachel wishes to leave the village…I’m sure they will work out the details when the time is right.”

“My brother has already insisted that he will build her a house with his bare hands,” He chuckles, “so, at least she doesn’t have to worry about finding a carpenter.”

“What a gentleman.” You giggle before taking a sip of your drink.

Yoongi squeezes your hand gently, acknowledging your sentiment before eagerly moving back to what he wanted to discuss with you.

“My villa has been prepared for the two of us whenever we are ready. We have an entire battalion waiting to escort us there but, we will have to return to the capital after a few days.”

“Retirement ceremony?” You venture with a smile to which he chuckles and, shakes his head.

“I opted out of the theatrics actually. As much as I appreciate the sentiment, those ceremonies last far too long. I am just eager to start my life with you. However,” He sighs, wincing slightly, “my successor doesn’t seem to feel the same way. He wants his full induction ceremony which of course, I would have to attend...”

You cock your head, “Who is your successor?”

Yoongi smirks, “Seokjin-hyung.”

This doesn’t surprise you. Jin is the oldest member of the lead battalion and although Yoongi was technically their general, Jin never failed to assert himself as his right hand.

“I thought the seven of you were retiring this year. Did he re-enlist?”

Yoongi shakes his head, “No, he is taking on the position I turned down.”

You cock your head, brow furrowed with confusion, “Oh? What position is that?”

A rather arrogant look flashes in his eyes for just a moment until he seemingly reigns it in, attempting to keep his tone as casual as possible, “I was asked to serve on the royal council as an advisor to the Queens…”

Its impossible to hide the widening of your eyes causing Yoongi to chuckle at the expression on your face, “You must have made quite the impression, General Min. My father has always told me that positions on the royal council are passed down by blood…you really turned it down?”

Yoongi merely squeezes your hand, “I did. Do you think I was mistaken?”

You shake your head, “Oh, of course not. I mean- selfishly, it’s the outcome I would have hoped for but, I just want to ensure that you didn’t do this for me.”

A small grin comes over his lips whilst his thumb brushes over the backs of your knuckles, “Unfortunately, I can’t exactly guarantee that, ma’am. I don’t think any of my decisions are made without you in mind…” You open your mouth to protest and, Yoongi merely chuckles again, holding his finger up to signal that he isn’t finished, “However, even if I didn’t have you in mind- I still would have turned it down. As flattering as the offer was, I don’t wish to work in this field any longer. I’m grateful for my time and, honored that I was able to serve my land properly but-“ He stares into your eyes and, you can finally get a look at how exhausted he is, “I’m very tired. I’ve spent my entire youth with a sword on my hip and, I want to live simply now. If I’m being honest, I want to be detached from the rest of the world for a little while...”

You admire the man sitting across from you so much.

He’s only ever given to others, laying his life on the line over and over again, only to have his reputation constantly called into question. Staring at him now, you can’t even remember a time when he was nothing more than a rumor.

“I can’t even imagine the hardships you’ve endured. Your desire for peace is only natural after everything you’ve been through.” You place a kiss on the back of his hand, allowing your lips to linger there as he responds.

“What I desire is you.” He counters, his voice slightly raspier than before, “Peace will just allow me to indulge in you properly. I want no distractions... just as I told you before.”

Yoongi’s voice is laced with something that is wholly inappropriate for a public setting but, neither of you seem to care- instead you just stare at each other for a moment. You watch as his eyes travel over every inch of your face before slowly easing down your neck and, back up again.

The pain of missing him is one thing but, the lack of opportunity to bury into one another is physically painful.

You clear your throat and, send a smirk his way, letting him know that you understand what he’s getting at, “Did you offer the position to Seokjin? Or was he just next in line after you?”

Yoongi leaves his lust in the back of his head for now. He doesn’t want to rile himself up in the middle of the busy tavern.

“The Queens offered him the position when I turned it down. He was named my successor a few years ago when I fell ill so, he was already in a position to take over for me if necessary. Out of all of my men, he is the most capable but, also the most willing.” He chuckles, thinking fondly of his hyung, “He will do a far better job than I would anyhow. He is much more social and, outspoken. Plus, he will be living in the palace- I couldn’t imagine a better life for such a man.”

The warmth in Yoongi’s tone is palpable and, you can’t help but admire the way he talks about his men; its as though they are family to him.

“To Seokjin,” You smile, raising your glass.

Yoongi follows suit, clinking the rim of his goblet yours, his eyes brightening, “To Seokjin.”

As the two of you sip from your cups, Yoongi continues on with his explanation, “The journey to the villa will be brief. We will visit the palace for the ceremony in a few days and, then make our way back home again. From there, we are free to do whatever we wish.” The word home fills you with bliss. For the first time in months, it seems as though everything was falling into place. Now, the two of you could truly be together and, live out the rest of your days in peace.

“Free-“ You muse with a smile, “I quite like the sound of that.”

He smirks, “Of course you do. You have never failed to remind me that you don’t care much for the rules…”

Shrugging, you lean back in your chair and regard him for a moment before replying, “I don’t care for the rules that keep me away from you, General.”

His smirk never falters, “Consider them retired then, apothecary.”

The two of your resist the urge to maul one another in public and, decide to return to your home so that you can pack up your things and, Yoongi can bathe.

You try very hard not think of the fact that Yoongi’s naked body is on display in your back garden as you neatly fold your belongings away in your trunk. There are some things that you’re leaving behind so, that your parents can continue to sell your wares if they wanted to. Yoongi has arranged for them to receive part of his retirement so, they never have to worry about working again. It’s been discussed that the two of you will visit often and, you promised your parents you would write them every week.

Yoongi returns from his bath whilst you’re shoving the last of your clothing away. You can smell him immediately, the scent of your lavender soap wafting away from his skin as he walks toward you. He says nothing until his arms are wrapped around your waist, his chin coming to rest atop your shoulder, “I’ve never been in here before but, your room is very much like what I pictured.”

“Oh?” You lean against him, “I didn’t realize you would imagine what my room would look like.”

You feel him grin against your shoulder, “Well- I suppose I thought more about what we would do in your room…”

Biting your lip, you turn your head to the side to get a better look at him, “And what exactly would we do in here?”

You have half a mind to check to make sure Yoongi had closed the door to your bedroom but, when his hands start sliding up the front of your body, you no longer care.

“I would have love to take you in this bed…” A low chuckle comes from his throat as he starts kissing up the side of your neck, “Although, I wouldn’t be able to make you scream properly with your parents in the next room would I?”

His words send a jolt of electricity up your spine, your body growing weak beneath his touch. Through your nose, you emit a deep and unstable sigh before gripping his hands that are resting just under your breasts.

“You could have kept my mouth occupied somehow-“ You counter, feeling your attitude brewing beneath the surface of your patience.

At your comment, you feel Yoongi’s grip tighten on you as he moves his lips to your ear, “Excuse me?”

But all you do is smirk in return, regretfully pulling his hands from your body so you can continue packing.

“You’re excused.”

Yoongi is about to grab you again but, the knock on your door interrupts your flirting.

This seems to be a very irritating trend.

The two of you eventually part ways with your parents and, although you feel a bit of sadness, you’re overjoyed that they are able to live their life together in comfort. And because of Yoongi’s connections, you will be able to come visit them whenever you want.

The sexual tension between you and Yoongi has yet to fully fizzle out and, he reminds you of this as he grips your waist whilst the two of you walk towards Rachel’s home.

He has many things he’d like to say to you after that comment you made back in your bedroom but, the excited greetings from villagers prevent him from doing so. And all the while, you continue to grin, pleased that you’ve been able to pierce that carefully crafted demeanor of his.

You scamper away from him as you near Rachel’s front door, eager to see your friend after everything that has happened today. You’re anxious to see Jungkook too; Yoongi mentioned that this mission had been hard on him so, you’re hoping more so than anything that he isn’t injured too badly.

Yoongi lingers extremely close behind you as you knock on Rachel’s door, practically bouncing in your steps as you await for her to answer.

And boy does she…

Swinging open the front door, Rachel is still giggling at the man seemingly attached to her from behind. Her hair is absolutely destroyed and, her dress is buttoned up improperly as she addresses the two of you.

“Good evening, Y/N-“ She practically slurs, her eyes lit up with the type of insobriety that does not originate from alcohol. She bows her head towards Yoongi, “Good evening, General Min.”

Your lips are parted in delighted surprise as you survey the two bumbling humans before you. Jungkook is dressed only in his linen trousers, his black tendrils sticking in every direction atop his head and, from what you can see- his neck is littered with various reds and purples.

“Good evening to you- harlot…” You chide, trying to contain your laughter.

She shrieks, reaching out to smack your arm, just as she always does, joy painted all over her face, “Excuse you! I am a respectable woman of education.”

“Uh huh-“ You smirk, unconvinced before nodding towards the man behind her. He’s not even really paying attention to you, his eyes are just staring up at your friend like a lost puppy, his lips swollen from their previous activities, “Jungkook, it’s good to see you. Are you well?”

He merely smiles, only glances at you for a moment before his eyes rush back to Rachel, “Very well, thank you.”

Yoongi clears his throat, “Jungkook-ah,” He scolds, “Answer her properly…also, why are you answering the door if you aren’t decent.”

Jungkook seems to snap out of it, hiding behind Rachel in an effort to shield his body from your view, “My apologies. I’m feeling much better now, I’m glad to see you are looking healthy as well.” His tone shifts once again as he addresses Yoongi, his brown eyes lighting up with mischief, “I just wanted to see you off hyung and, uh- Rachel said this was decent in this village, I’m just adapting to the new lifestyle.”

Yoongi raises a brow, unconvinced but endeared nonetheless, “I am highly suspicious of that explanation…”

Jungkook giggles like a boy who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, “You should be.” He winks at his hyung, giggling harder as Yoongi wrinkles his nose in disgust. He rests his chin back upon Rachel’s shoulder before speaking again, “Are you two heading to the villa then?”

You’re grinning now, admiring how relaxed Jungkook seems around her, “We are. I was hoping to hug my best friend goodbye before we made the journey…”

Jungkook gets the hint, his eyes widening a bit as he reluctantly moves his arms from her, “I will give you thirty seconds.”

This causes Rachel to laugh, waving him off playfully as she opens her arms to you, “Come here you…”

You throw your arms around her, smiling even as the tears sting the corners of your eyes, “I’m going to miss you… far more than I care to admit…”

She laughs again, patting your back gently, “Oh you know I’ll be around…” She assures you but, her voice is tightening with her own emotions, “…but please make the journey to me often…I fear how stale this village will become without you.”

You’re looking at Jungkook now as he grins softly, admiring the two of you and, send a look his way, “I’m sure this one will keep you properly entertained…”

Finally, the Jungkook you remember returns as he seems to shy away from your comment, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Rachel is staring at Yoongi too and, she musters up the courage to throw a pointed finger in his direction; she is still slightly intimidated by him after all.

“You’ll take care of her, won’t you? She is precious cargo, General Min.”

Yoongi tips his head toward her as he chuckles, placing his hand over his heart, “You have my word, ma’am.”

Rachel smiles, sniffling a bit as the two of you release each other, “Good.” You pull away from her, trying not to give in to your urge to cry as you both sort of giggle, exchanging a series of knowing glances with one another.

“I love you, my dear friend.” You squeeze her hands and, she returns the gesture, her eyes glossy while she slowly begins to release your hands.

“I love you.”

Jungkook is back on her then, his brow furrowed with concern at her saddened state. He says nothing, not wanting to ruin the moment between you two and, chooses to press a soft kiss to her shoulder instead.

Yoongi moves closer to you as well, winding his arm around your waist and, squeezing your hip reassuringly.

“Write to me?” Rachel asks, trying to mask the cracks in her voice.

You nod, blinking back the remainder of your tears, “Every week.”

Leaving Rachel is one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do but, it feels so much better knowing how happy she will be. Yoongi stays silent for the moment, gently escorting you down the street, waving at many of the civilians that bid the two of you farewell.

Roughly 10 minutes later, the two of you are huddled in the back of a massive wooden chariot, pulled along by four black horses and accompanied by a group of guards. The interior is lined with padded silk and, is easily the softest thing you’ve ever sat on in your life. After the two of you are settled inside, Yoongi mentions your departure with Rachel:

“You two have a special bond, I’m sorry that you won’t be living near her for the time being…” He feels guilty for the moment, wondering whether or not you were happy giving up so much for him, “You know, we can always come back. I could commission the architect to design us a home out here.”

You squeeze his hand, touched that he would suggest such a thing, “I appreciate your concern but, I promise you that I am beyond content with my decision.”

His lips curve slightly, feeling satisfied with your answer for the time being. He would be sure to check in with you often, the last thing he wants is for you to feel unfulfilled.

“I’m happy to hear that but, please don’t hesitate to let me know if you ever get tired of me.” He chuckles, squeezing your hand as the two of you approach the chariot.

“I promise you, you would know...” You assure him, nudging his leg with your foot. Yoongi grins and quick as ever, he grabs your ankle and, places it upon his lap. The sudden motion makes you jump, a bit of laughter coming from your lips. Silently but still grinning to himself, he gestures for your other foot with his hand until you get the hint to rest both of them in his lap. He looks down at them, something unreadable flashing through his eyes whilst his fingers brush over the tops of your ankles.

Its such a simple gesture and, yet it sends shivers across the surface of your skin. Yoongi continues to touch you, not saying a single word as he traces the faint shape of the veins beneath your flesh.  Resting your head against the silk lining of the chariot, you allow your eyes to close in order to enjoy his touch. As your lids fall shut, Yoongi grins softly, finally allowing himself to ogle at you the way he wants to.

And oh, can you feel his eyes on you. They burn into your skin despite the fact that you cannot see exactly where he is looking. Truthfully, it wouldn’t matter even if you did, his eyes were everywhere.

His fingers slowly venture up to slide along either of your shins but, he is careful not to reach your knees just yet. And it's here that you decide to set your curiosity free.

“When was the last time you had sex?”

You feel his motions stop for a split second as he processes your question, the silence of the chariot much louder than before.

“Not long before I first arrived at your village.”

The effort to hide your frown is in vain as Yoongi’s rickety laughter gives you the hint that he’s already spotted it.

“Does that upset you?”

You keep your eyes shut, trying to stifle your smile, “Immensely.”

And there is another beat of silence before the two of you are laughing together. Yoongi flattens his palms on your legs, rubbing them gently in an effort to soothe them.

“I suppose that’s reasonable.” He concedes, his tone thoroughly amused, “And you?”

Your teeth are on your bottom lip then, trying to stifle yet another smile, “Not long before you first arrived at my village.”

Yoongi is pinching the skin of your calf playfully as an affronted scoff leaves his lips, “I see what you mean now, that is a truly upsetting answer.”

At long last you open your eyes and, the two of you regard each other for only a moment before you’re laughing again. It feels quite juvenile to jest about something like this but to you, it’s merely a testament of your comfort around Yoongi.  

“I guess it sounds odd on my end though, doesn’t it? Since I’ve been so insistent on waiting with you...”

You shake your head, “I don’t think so. I never assumed you insisted on waiting because you were protecting a virtue of some kind. You are a 28-year-old man, it would be silly of me to think that you hadn’t taken a partner before.”

“Taking a partner sounds far too intimate...” He retorts, “...my reputation caused many people to throw themselves at me in attempt to satisfy some sort of fantasy. Occasionally, my physical needs made me privy to their advances. But, that’s all it ever amounted to.”

It does sadden you that people interacted with Yoongi in this way. If they had taken just a moment to get to know him, they would have discovered someone worth spending their time on. In your case, spending a life time with...

You’re adjusting your position so that you’re able to get closer to him. With your feet off of his lap, you move across the seat until you sitting right beside him. His arm immediately positions itself around your shoulders, hugging you against him whilst your fingers venture towards the free hand now resting in his lap. Silently, you run your fingers over his skin, not missing the way his breathing shifts as you do.

“I am exceptionally grateful that you allowed me to get to know you. I don’t think I could have been this happy with anyone else.”

Your voice is smaller than normal and, it makes Yoongi feel warm inside, his head cocking in such a way to signal that he wants you to look at him.

“The pleasure has been all mine, ma’am- I can assure you.”

He leans into to kiss you then, barely capturing your lips before he’s pulling away to rest his forehead against yours. In the small beat of silence, you choose to utter the words you’ll be saying every chance you get for the rest of your life,

“I love you.”

And with a brilliant smile and, a kiss to your nose, he is whispering, “I love you too.”

On the rest of the journey, Yoongi updates you on the status of the rest of his battalion:

Seokjin, as he mentioned earlier, is making arrangements to move into the royal palace as he will be taking the coveted position of the royal advisor to the Queens. Yoongi also explains that he will likely take a partner in the coming years and, that his family will be well-taken care of for generations to come.

Namjoon returned to his home village to reconnect with his beloved, Danielle. The two of them plan to move towards the ocean and, raise a family there. Yoongi explains that it will likely be awhile until he sees him again but, that you both can expect a wedding invitation in the next year or so.

As for Jimin and Taehyung- they will be following a similar path that you and Yoongi are. Their villa is positioned deep in the forest, even further from civilization than the one you’re headed to. The last thing Jimin said to Yoongi when they parted ways was that he plans on dropping by once every other month to catch up, emphasizing how much he would miss him.

Hoseok’s status was somewhat of a mystery and, Yoongi smirks with a sense of fascination as he explains where he might be. Years ago, Hoseok met a woman who matched his skill with a bow and arrow. She lived in a village not far from yours and, takes a rather firm position against any kind of authority. Hoseok took a liking to her attitude and, challenged her to a marksmen competition. She won. Naturally, Hoseok was both wounded and intrigued by this woman and, Yoongi suspects that they had been lovers for quite some time until his battalion eventually had to move on. Her name was Orion, just like the constellation and, Yoongi bets all the gold in his possession that Hoseok disappeared to look for her.

The ride to Yoongi’s villa comes to an end nearly half a day later and, you’re asleep on his lap when he gently shakes your shoulder.

“We’re here, darling.”

And here you most certainly were.

Beyond a massive wooden gate laid the most beautiful structure you had ever seen. The villa sits proudly in the middle of a massive stretch of emerald grass with an array of flowers blooming around the perimeter of the cherry oak that winds in intricate patterns up into strong pillars. The windows are tan and, made of a screen like material which is intended to keep pests out of the home. There is a pond just off to the side, which you are eager to explore later and, a balcony facing the right side of the forest. Yoongi had not exaggerated when he said that the villa was quite far from civilization for the backdrop of the scene before you were the mountains themselves, enormous and calm as they loom over the property.

Everything inside Yoongi’s villa was a brand of luxury you had never known: art, elaborate furniture, plumbing, and more space than you knew what to do with. Still however, it was uniquely Yoongi in that it was comforting.

It felt like home.

He explains some of the interior to you as he leads the way to his bedroom. He mentions that you can get comfortable and put your feet up while he checks the perimeter; something he says to expect every night.

Old habits die hard.

With a kiss, he opens the door for you and, promises he will return in shortly.

His bedroom, or our bedroom as he had called it, matched the rest of the villa. It was quaint but clearly displayed his immense wealth as he had an enormous bed in the center of the room covered in likely expensive linens. The windows were all shuttered for now, the only light coming from the lanterns hanging by the door and the entrance to the balcony.

Whilst Yoongi is checking the perimeter, you figure you only have a few minutes to prepare before he returns. Rushing over to your trunk, you settle beside it on your knees as you rifle through your belongings, looking for the one article you had been saving specifically for this evening. Tucked into the bottom, much neater than the rest of your items is a sapphire robe made from the finest silk your village offered. You had been working on it slowly every since Yoongi had left, preparing for the night when you two were finally alone.

You were buzzing with anticipation as you take off your clothes, neatly folding them and setting them aside. Then the cool silk is drawn over your body before you secure it with the tie just above your belly button.

With a deep breath drawn in through your nose, you pad over to the end of his bed and, take a seat upon the cream-colored linen. The rain begins marching prominently upon the outside of the villa bringing a cold breeze through the cracks in the shutters. The glow of the lanterns placed at the entrance of the chamber throw shadows onto the tile floor, entertaining you for only a moment until the creaking sound of the door grabs your attention.

Yoongi enters the room, not looking up as he relays the findings of his perimeter check, “Other than a few rabbits, the coast is clear and, I think after all my years of training I can handle-“ He is in the middle of this joke when he looks up at you, the rest of his sentence dying on his tongue. You see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, his eyes darkening as they trail over your figure.

It seems like forever before he says something, his body simply frozen by the door, unable to do much else aside from staring at you.

“I don’t remember you packing that…” He breathes, his tongue wetting his lips.

“That’s because I hid it from you intentionally.” A nervous but sly smile comes across your lips, your hands sliding over the tops of your thighs, smoothing down the robe for the millionth time, “Do you like it?”

He’s shaking his head, his lips kissing his teeth, as he steps just a little bit closer to you, “That’s really not the proper word to use…”

“Well-“ You swallow, standing up from your position on the bed, eyes searching for his, “You are free to use whatever words you’d like…”

“I’ve suddenly forgotten most of the words I know, unfortunately.” He counters, his eyes darting from you to the floor multiple times before finally focusing on your face. And he’s shaking his head all over again, a sort of desperate look in his eyes, “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

The sincerity in his tone takes your breath away but, you do everything you can to hold his gaze, trying to beckon him toward you, “I want you to see all of me.” Your hands are moving towards the tie that’s concealing you from him but, when you’re about to undo it, his voice stops you.

“Wait-“ He pleads, hands lingering out in front of him, “May I?”

You try your best to swallow but, the sheer look of desire in his eyes is removing all moisture from your mouth. Nodding, you hold a hand out to him, your fingers wiggling to beckon him toward you.

He finally seems to thaw out his frozen posture, heeding the gesture of your hand and, closing the distance between you. Almost involuntarily, he leans down and places a soft kiss against your mouth. His lips are dry, almost sticking to yours as he pulls away.

He’s nervous.

You both are.

But at the same time, you feel so incredibly at ease. There is a sense of peace between you now and, even though you’re about to experience something incredibly intense, you are both finally free from the bonds of the outside world.

Now, it is only the two of you and, all the unresolved passion that needs tending to.

Yoongi leans his forehead against your own, his hands slowly moving towards the tie at the center of your robe. You can see that they are unstable, the breath that leaves his nose is proof of that but, he continues forth anyway until his fingers are beneath the bow.

“You’re sure?” He whispers, his breath hot on your lips, making you want to kiss him all over again.

Your hands come up then, cupping either side of his face as you pull away, eyes desperately searching his own, “Certain.”

With your confirmation, he pulls the tie forward, drawing the robe apart and revealing your bare body to him. You never allow your eyes to leave his face, wanting to capture every bit of his reaction.

When you come into view, his expression seems to collapse slightly, his lips immediately parting in awe. Doing the impossible, he tries to swallow again when you use your fingers to slide the robe the rest of the way off.

And without saying a single word, he drops to his knees right in front of you, his hands coming up to grip your hips. Looking up at you, he shakes his head in disbelief, entirely overwhelmed by your beauty.

“There isn’t a battle in the world that could have prepared me for you.”

His words knock the wind from your chest, your breath leaving your lips in an unstable burst when your hand comes out to touch his cheek. When you do, he smiles, with nothing but bliss present in his expression. He turns his face so that he can press his lips into your palm a few times before rubbing his mouth over the area. Your other hand comes into play then, brushing over the clips in his hair and then allowing your fingers to slide down the length of his ponytail.

Right before he speaks again, he drags his lips to your wrist and, nibbles at the skin there, his grin broadening when he hears the change in your breathing, “Will you take my hair down for me, darling?”

His request is nearing the likeness of a coo. It’s a tone you’ve never heard before but, you now know you’d do anything if he asked you with this voice.

You pull your hand from his face and, allow it to join your other one in gently removing the accessories in Yoongi's hair. They might add a level of luxury to his look but, you know for a fact you prefer him without them.

He is beautiful without any embellishments.

When you start on undoing the elaborate work in his hair, he rests his chin just beneath your belly button and, simply stares up at you. The intensity of his gaze actually makes your cheeks hot but, you do your best to continue taking down his hair, scratching at his scalp once you’re finished removing the clips.

His eyes close as you do, a low hum resonating in his throat at the sensation. Yoongi’s hands begin moving down the sides of your body whilst his lips pepper kisses all along your stomach. They’re wet and lacking urgency and, they send a wave of pleasure directly between your thighs.

“Your hair is so beautiful- you'll have to let me practice my skills on it one day...” You murmur with a smile, letting out a sigh as he takes a bite out of your hip.

“You may do whatever you wish with me...” Yoongi smirks, sponging his lips down towards the ache between your leg, “For however long you wish.”

“I wish to undress you-” You reply, coaxing his gaze up towards you, “and then maybe have a turn on my knees...”

At your comment, Yoongi takes another bite out of your hip, his eyes blazing with lust. And almost defiantly, he begins kissing towards the tuft of hair between your legs, his tongue licking and just barely tasting the skin above your core.

Your fingers are back in his hair when he buries his face in yours and, you hear him inhale deeply before exhaling with a groan.

“You smell so good…” He nearly whines, kissing over the mound of your pussy, “…wont you wait your turn? I want to taste you first.”

And it’s so unbelievably lewd isn’t it?

The two of you had only pecked each other’s lips and, your lover is still completely dress and yet, he is begging to bury his head between your legs.

“Before you’ve undressed?” You tease, trying to maintain some level of sanity but, the way he’s looking at you is making that an impossible feat.

He looks absolutely maddened.

His response comes in the form of his tongue, licking over the top of you whilst his hands grip the outside of your thighs to coax them apart.

“Do you want me to starve?” He accuses, a sense of darkness in his eyes. Before you’re able to answer, he licks up the length of your pussy, his fingers pressing into your flesh, “Hm?”

The lust that’s running through your body is peaking at dangerous levels from his touch but, the way he’s talking to you is sending you into frenzy.

You feel like you’re going to explode.

“No, of course n-“

He cuts you off then, his eyes nearly black with desire, “Then let me eat.”

Your head is on the pillows seconds later with Yoongi nudging your legs apart so that he can situate himself between them. The silk of his own robes tease across the surface of your sensitive skin with every movement of his body. He still seems to be taking in the rest of you with hungry eyes but, as soon as he uses his hands to part your legs, his gaze turns ravenous.

Bared before him, you can feel how wet you are when the cold air of the room hits the moisture between your lips. You’re positively drenched and, he hasn’t even touched you yet.

This fact doesn’t go unnoticed by Yoongi who is now smirking darkly betwixt your thighs. He says nothing as his index finger draws a line straight down the center of your pussy before curling towards himself as he follows it back up, collecting the evidence of your arousal.

Even in the dimly lit room, you can see the way you’ve drenched his finger but, he emphasizes the visual by rubbing his index against the tip of his thumb, only to pull them apart and display your arousal drawing a string between them.

Yoongi stares at you with slight quirk to his lips as he raises his fingers to his mouth. He makes a show of sucking each of his digits until his cheeks hollow out, his eyes closing at the taste of you.

Your cunt quivers at the sight of him, mouth parted in disbelief at how unbelievably good he looks.

When he pulls his lips from his fingers, he allows the smirk to form on his mouth once again before whispering, “Oh- I’m going to devour you.”

And then his head is buried between your thighs.

Yoongi’s tongue moves with contradiction, like lightening and mud all at once. He traces the tip of it around the circumference of your clit slowly but, sucks it into his mouth with fervor. In an effort to torture you with pleasure, he never does one movement for too long, knowing that this would draw you to your end far too quickly.

You can feel your breath leaving your lips at an unstable rate, your fingers searching for something to grasp onto. Yoongi has this covered of course, his hands reaching for yours before resting both of your intertwined digits on your hips.

His tongue continues to explore each fold of you. It’s as if he were collecting every ounce of moisture from your cunt before becoming determined to make you to make it all over again.

When Yoongi is satisfied with cleaning you up, he sets his sights on your clit, his tongue licking over the throbbing bundle of nerves three times before releasing his grip on of your hands and, placing one atop his head.

With an adoring glance, he slurs, “Use my mouth, darling. Show me how you like it…”

His gesture makes you let out a breath you had been unconsciously holding, your grip tightening in his hair at his request.

The sensation sends a shiver down his spine that he most certainly plans on addressing later. For now however, he is preoccupied with learning how you like to cum.

You tug his hair gently so his mouth his back over your clit and, slowly you move his head up and down. Ever the fast learner, he quickly picks up on the pattern you want and begins licking his tongue over the throbbing muscle.

The relief that comes with consistent pleasure finally pulls a moan from your lips, to which Yoongi immediately mirrors between your legs. You find yourself parting your legs further, your hips angling up to get closer to his mouth which only causes him to increase the pressure of his tongue.

The pleasure is mounting inside of your stomach like a hurricane and, for some buried reason, you bite your lip to attempt from crying out. Yoongi stops what he is doing and pulls his lips from you, which are completely soaked with your arousal.

His brows are drawn together in disappointment, his hair tickling your thighs as he shakes his head, “Oh please…let it out my love, no one can hear you but me.”

He pulls his tongue up the length of your clit slowly, his gaze nearly predatory as he reinforces his request, “Won’t you sing for me, darling?”

You nod, licking over your lips as you guide his mouth back to your cunt. He seems to work twice as hard now, flattening his tongue as he continues to rub it against your clit.

The muscles within your core are fluttering inside of you, your orgasm not far from reality. At Yoongi’s pleading you allow yourself to be more vocal, whimpering his name when he sucks at your clit.

He groans again at the sound of it, his fingers digging into your hips for the moment and then, suddenly pulling back. Eyes locking with yours, his wet lips get to work on lubricating his digits before positioning them at your entrance.

Yoongi licks his lips and, with a salacious look he says, “Deep breath…”

And try as you might, the feeling of his fingers curling up inside of you, yank the breath you attempt to take right from your throat.

“Ah-“ You preen, leaning up on your elbows to watch him fuck you with his fingers, “Oh Yoongi…yoongi…”

He grins up at you, securing his fingertips against the spongy tissue you inside of you whilst his other hand comes down to rub at your clit, “I shall ban anyone else from uttering my name, only you know how to say it correctly.”

With the increase in speed and pressure, you can feel something mounting inside of you that you’ve never felt before. You don’t quite know what it is, you just know that you’re going to make a mess.

Slightly panicky, your shaky hand reaches out for him, “These are clean linens…I feel like I’m going to soil them.”

The breathy and desperate nature of your tone goes straight to Yoongi’s throbbing erection but, instead of burying myself in you as he wants to, he merely increases the pace of his fingers.

“They will be much cleaner if you do, my love.” He assures you, his voice nearly cooing, “Just remember to say my name.”

His right hand is massaging against your clit at the perfect pace as his fingers curl up harder inside of you. The squelching sounds from your body would normally embarrass you under different circumstances but now, the pleasure is too overwhelming for you to care.

“Oh- oh Yoongi…yoongi…” You whine, your back arching off the bed as the dams inside of you break, your orgasm gushing out of your cunt in a way it never has. And although you can’t see him because your eyes are screwed shut, you feel Yoongi’s breath grow closer to your core until his mouth is back on your clit.

“Yoongi!” You whimper, toes curling into the sheets as he draws the pleasure from you.

He groans against you once again, his tongue repeating the same pattern you showed him earlier until you are shivering mess beneath him. Once he can sense you growing sensitive, he gets to work at slurping up every ounce of your release. His lips are sucking at your folds, your entrance, the inside of your thighs, nibbling and licking up every single thing you gave him.

With spotty vision, you anxiously reach down for him, suddenly despising the distance between you. He takes notice instantly, crawling up the length of your body and, placing kisses on every bit of you that he can.

Yoongi’s hair forms a platinum curtain around your head, which closes quickly when you grip the back of his neck to pull him down towards you. You meet each other’s lips with a type of hunger you now fear that you could never satisfy, tongues intertwining with desperation.

Ever so tenderly however, Yoongi his cupping your cheek and whispering sentiments to ease your overstimulated body.

“Shhh it’s ok, its ok my love.”

“You did so well.”

“You fed me so well.”

“I love you- I love you so much…”

With each phrase, he seals it with a kiss, the rest of his body settling between your legs and its then you are reminded that he is still clothed and, desperately hard.

“I love you too.” You whisper shakily against his lips, “I want to see you, I want to please you now…”

You’re practically begging, filled with disdain that his body is hidden from you, especially after you’ve just cum all over his face.

And he’s grinning against your lips, a rather sly look twinkling in his eyes, “And how do you plan on pleasing me?” He hums, kissing up the length of your nose.

“Well…” You begin, allowing a hand to travel down the black silk adorning his body before finding the solid length of his cock, leaning away from his hips. Smirking softly, you place your palm against him, relishing in the way he twitches up towards it, “You said you’d give me your soul didn’t you? I want it down my throat first.”

Your comment causes him to groan, hips pushing forward against your hand as he furrows his brow. Almost frantically, he stares down at you and shakes his head, “I know you think of me as a strong man but, I don’t think I could contain myself if you put your mouth on me- not with the taste of you still on my lips.”

Using your hand, you encase his length in the silk of his pants, squeezing gently as you move it up towards the tip of him. And you have his head hanging on his shoulders now, arms trembling beside your head whilst he tries to hold himself together.

“I don’t remember asking you to contain yourself. Those have always been barriers you designed.”

Yoongi looks up at you, eyes drawn in with a mix of pleasure and apprehension. When you squeeze him again, he shivers, a wanton groan leaving his lips. When he opens his eyes again, they look more nervous than when he stood before you at the end of the bed. In fact, it’s a look that you’ve never really seen before.

It compels your hand away from him slowly as your other one comes to cup his face, “What’s wrong?”

He breathes out a laugh, his mouth turned up at the corner, “Why is it that you can always find your way into my head and yet, I can never find my way into yours?”

You ignore his attempt to lighten the mood, your thumb brushing over the apple of his cheek, “Yoongi- what is it?”

The tone of your voice is gentle but, the look in your eyes compels Yoongi to bear his truth, no more how vulnerable he feels.

“My body is-” He sighs and restarts his sentence, leaning his face into your hand, “The last battle, it left me with many injuries. Most of them have healed but, I don’t want them to startled you.”

You sit up then, causing him to take a seat on the backs of his legs. Unable to help your saddened expression, you simply shake your head, “Yoongi, the only thing your body can be is beautiful. You have laid your life on the line for the people of this land, myself included. I could only ever love everything about the body that brought you home to me.”

With glassy eyes Yoongi is reaching out for you, placing a searing kiss upon your lips and, through it he murmurs “I have never let anyone undress me before…”

You kiss him once more and pull away a bit to lock eyes with him, “Do you trust me?”

And looking like a much younger man, his wide-eyed gaze full of innocence he nods, his hand coming up to brush against your cheek, “You’re the only one.”

His response accounts for several sentiments. His trust, his love, his dedication…

All meant for you.

“May I undress you then?”

His answer comes in the form of another kiss, lips attaching to yours with passion as his hands reach out for your fingers. He leads them to front of his robe, which covers the length of his tunic and his pants and urges you to remove it from him. Taking his lead, you push the material from his shoulders and, allow it to drop behind him before finding your way to the hem of his tunic.

The two of you find each other's eyes once again whilst you slowly draw the material up his torso. He follows your motions, lifting his arms above his head and placing them back by his sides when his tunic is removed.

The first thing you notice is his hair, flowing in prominent waves down his chest and, stopping just above his belly button. Then come his arms, strong and lanky all at once, much of their surface littered with the evidence of his missions. You can see what he meant and, you try to control your expression when you gaze upon the bruises and, cuts that have yet to heal.

You want to scold him for not acknowledging his injuries earlier so, that you could tend to them. But, you can clearly see that they have been taken care of by someone with much more skill.

His eyes are on you, searching for any sign of disapproval, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

He wish you could hear what you are thinking.

But just then, a soft smile comes over your lips as you carefully take his chin betwixt your fingers, “Just as I thought- you are molded from the gods, Min Yoongi. There has never been a man who contained more beauty.”

Your words hit his heart like a dagger, some of the air nearly forced out of his lungs. And he’s wanting to kiss you again, his lips desperately chasing yours before your hand comes to rest on his chest.

“Easy tiger…” You giggle, causing his lips to twitch into a smile, “I haven’t finished yet…”

He eases up, moving back into place with both of you still on your knees, facing one another. With tender hands, you move the tendrils of hair from his chest so that they flow freely down his back. His chest is fully exposed to you now, the swollen muscles beneath his pecks also displaying traces of the life he has lived.

Of the life he is finally able to leave behind.

Now, with just your fingertips, you trail your them across his clavicle, stopping for a moment at the ball of his shoulders before trailing them all the way to his wrists. A prominent shiver rattles through him, his hands twitching by his sides with the need to reach out and touch you.

But he doesn’t.

He stays perfectly still with only his eyes falling shut as you explore the surface of his skin. You take your time, dipping your fingers into the lines of his muscles, tracing the maze of veins beneath his skin, and smoothing your palms across the tops of his shoulders.

He’s properly turning to mush when you whisper, “Lay down…”

Like a man bewitched, he feels the urge to obey every command that comes from your lips and, commit every statement you make to memory.

He pushes his hair back, allowing it to settle on the pillows in various directions. And beneath you now, with his arms outstretched above his head, he looks like a king.

A sort of curve settles on his mouth when you position yourself between his thighs and, although he may look strong and confident beneath you, you can’t hear the way his heart is hammering in his chest.

Sex is familiar to Yoongi.

Intimacy however, is not.

Smoothing your palms down the muscles in his stomach, you use your fingers to hook under the band of his pants.

“You might need to help me with this part.” You smile and it only broadens as he chuckles, lifting his butt in the air and maneuvering his body so that he can help you pull the material down his legs.

Settling back into his position, Yoongi takes a deep breath whilst you take in the sight of him. He’s so hard. The skin of his dick, reddening towards the tip, the veins winding patterns up his shaft, the whole length of him begging to be touched.

“My, my- so the rumors are true…” You muse, slowly tickling your fingers up his inner thighs, which send his dick twitching in response.

His brow is furrowed however, wondering what you’re getting at and, you answer him before he ends up asking you.

“You do keep a viper on you at all times.”

And for the first time this evening, he is laughing. The full bellied and rickety sound leaves his lips as he wipes a hand over his face.

“You are incorrigible.”

His tone is disapproving but, his eyes are still filled to the brim with adoration. Because of course you would make this so easy for him.

Of course you would make love so easy.

All of his fears seem to mean nothing when he is with you, even when he is at his most vulnerable like he is now.

“And you, my dear Yoongi-“ Your tone lowers a bit as your brush your fingers over his balls, smirking when you see his chest puff out, “-are beautiful.”

With that, you lean down and lick slowly up the length of his cock, collecting the bit of precum that has collected on the tip. He tastes like the salt of the earth and, with that small bit of him- you now find yourself craving so much more.

His lips part, a sharp breath leaving the confines of his throat, his fingers quickly rushing to the sheets in anticipation. It’s been nearly half a year since he received any sort of pleasure from another person but, seeing as it’s now coming from the woman he loves, he is overwhelmed.

You are licking up the length of him again, your ass sticking up there for him to gaze upon as you slowly encircle his throbbing dick in your palm.

He is melting.

With his chest rising and falling unsteadily, Yoongi’s stare blazes right through you, when you suck him into your mouth.

“Oh fuck-“ He swears under his breath, the sound of that word coming from his lips sending an ache back to your core. You start him out slow, your cheeks hollowing out with the force of the suction you’re providing him.

His fingers toy helplessly with the linen beside him, the pleasure from your mouth numbing the tips of his toes.

With your free hand, you cup his balls, sighing through your nose at the almost desperate groan that leaves his mouth. He looks beautiful, his lips parted, stomach caved in at the pleasure he’s experiencing, his hands fisting in the sheets beside him.

“’sso good…” His brow is furrowed now, hips jolting a bit when you take him deeper towards your throat, “Be c- careful love, I don’t want to hurt you…”

But you don’t listen and, instead you continue your motions, your two fingers pressing behind his balls as you attempt to swallow his length.

“A-ah…” He throws his hand over his mouth, still slightly apprehensive at the sounds he wishes to make. You watch him as he breaths through the gaps in his fingers, eyes squeezing shut whilst you take him further down your throat.

He moans into his hand, his toes curling into the linen. And to address his attempt to conceal his sounds of pleasure, you simply walk your fingers across his trembling stomach and tap lightly.

Instinctually, he looks down at you- nearly cumming when you suck off of his length, your lips swollen and covered in saliva which you then spit back down on his dick.

Rubbing your lips against the sensitive underside of him, you coo, “We’re the only ones out here, my love. Let it out…”

He leans down, rubbing his thumb over your lips for the moment as he nods rapidly before allowing his head to hit the pillow again.

Chest heaving, he tries to prepare himself for your mouth all over again but, fails miserably. The pleasure is just so intense.

You waste no time in easing him back into your mouth, paying careful attention to relax your throat. He is confident, even in all of his years of sexual exploration, that he has never felt like this before.

He feels like he barely has a grip on his sanity and, when you take him down your throat- he has no choice but to whimper.

The sound only encourages you, your eyes unable to leave him as you watch his nipples harden, his stomach cave again, his eyes roll back…

“Fucking- fuck…fuck fuck…” He mutters through gritted teeth before his mouth parts again, “Please- don’t stop.”

Fucking him into your throat is no easy feat but, the sheer state of ecstasy he seems to be in, allows you to continue.

You rub at his hips, attempting to sooth him, your motions on his dick now becoming hands-free as his hips start pumping at their own pace. Despite the burn in your throat, you don’t ease up, wanting to see him overcome with the sensations, wanting to please him completely…

He shakes his head, eyes blown out and searching for an explanation as to why it feels so good but, he comes up empty.

Its just you.

Yoongi slams his head against the pillows, exposing his Adams apple when he swallows back the scream that wants to leave his chest. But when he feels his balls tighten and throb with his impending orgasm, he caresses your cheek.

“Please, my love- wait a moment…please…” He’s only pleading because it’s the only thing that can properly leave his mouth right now, for your motions on him have left him bewildered.

You’re careful to suck off of him cleanly, kissing the tip of his dick as you bat your eyes at him, “Are you alright?”

He’s smirking now, and a breathless laugh comes from his lips, “I think you’re well aware of how I’m doing.”

You giggle at his comment, kissing his dick again before resting your cheek upon his hip, “Then what is it?”

And with that same rather innocent, slightly humble look in his eye, he confesses, “I’ve always pictured being inside of you…the first time.”

In his earnest and rather proper way of explaining himself, you are simply taken over by your love for him.

He looks at you as if he is asking for the world but, little did he know- you would think nothing of giving him such a thing.

You’re kissing his hip now and starting a trail up his naked body. His hands come to life beside you and take their time caressing over your skin.

One last trail is place up the valley of his chest before your lips are hovering over his.

“Then be inside me.” You whisper into his mouth, sucking the bottom half of it into yours.

A deep growl resonates within his chest and, the next thing you know he is flipping you over, arms placed on either side of your head as he reconnects your lips.

Wildly, he kisses at you, allowing your tongues to intertwine in a somewhat disorganized fashion, neither of you concerned with rhythm at this point.

Yoongi is pulling away to take a look at you, silently reassuring himself that this beautiful creature below him, desires him too.

It’s slightly hard to wrap his brain around.

But as you raise your middle finger to the scar marring his right eye, you are breaking down the last of his concerns. He closes his lids beneath your touch, his chest tightening as you whisper,

“No more wounds, my love. I will make sure you feel only pleasure for the rest of your life.”

With a last and exasperated sigh, Yoongi guides himself inside of you in one quick motion.

“Oh-“ He breathes, his eyes widening as he chokes back a moan.

Your own moan is forced from your chest, Yoongi’s rhythm not giving you a chance to last very long.

He presses his forehead against yours, his mouth hanging open even as you kiss at it, hips quickening with each thrust inside of you.

“I love you.” You moan, whilst your hands come up to secure themselves behind his neck.

He is hurling towards his release so quickly, he fears the intensity of it, but the only thing he can tangibly focus on is confessing his love to you over and over.

“I will l-love you forever, it is a-all I will ever do for the rest of m-my life…”

Even as he stumbles over his words, his eyes never leave yours, pouring all of the emotion he feels into his movements.

He pours and he pours…

And you drink and you drink…

Until there is nothing left to do but surrender to one another.

The first rope of his release leaves his body with a jolt, his hips jerking forward and, immediately his eyes screw shut, his face burying into your neck.

You rub his back, kissing all along the side of his face as another hot spurt of cum leaves his cock.

“Oh Y/N…” He whines finally, sounding in pain and relieved all at once, “Y/N…Y/N…Y/N…”

He calls your name over and over and, somewhere along the edges of bliss, you tip over the edge too, digging your nails into his back as you do.

You seem to take turns saying the name of one another, the two of you riding out your highs for as long as possible until finally, your lover collapses on top of you.

In the stillness of the night, the only sound either of you allow is the rainfall atop the roof and, the whispering sound of your breathing.

For awhile, you just trace shapes into the skin of Yoongi’s back as his lips sponge into your neck and across your shoulder, or any part of you that he can reach. Moments later, his concern for his bodyweight upon you takes precedence and, he finally rolls over, the two of you wincing at the loss of contact.

You quickly take your place atop his chest as he leans over to the bedside table and, grabs the goblet of water waiting there. There was one on either side when you came in and, you assumed the staff had put them there.

Yoongi takes a deep breath and, attempts to steady his hand as he brings the goblet towards you but, to no avail.

His hand continues to shake.

Placing your hand around his, you try to assist him as a soft bout of laughter leaves your lips, “You’re trembling.”

And with waves of messy hair framing his beautiful face, he simply grins and corrects you, “I am in love.”

He raises the glass to your lips and, admires you when you take several big gulps, feeling good that he is able to take care of you.

His reply sends butterflies into your stomach, which seems like a rather impossible feat considering the fact that they had taken up a permanent residence there months ago.

When the Tiger moved into your life…

You usher the glass towards his lips with a soft smile, feeling so much happiness at the peace present in his eyes.

“As I’m I.” You whisper, rubbing your hand over his hip as he drinks the rest of the water in the goblet. There is also a sense of exhaustion in his gaze however and, you are met with the reminder that he probably hasn’t slept properly in months.

Your telepathy pays off once more as Yoongi addresses the heaviness upon his lids.

“I always pictured this to end with one of our elaborate existential conversations…” He chuckles softly, laying back on the pillow. Before he continues, he is reaching up to brush his thumb over your lips, “…but I do believe you’ve drained me of energy for now, my girl.”

A kiss is placed against his thumb, “Sleep now. We have plenty of time to question our existence.”

Yoongi chuckles again, using the hand that’s on your face to pull you closer to him. He kisses you one last time, ensuring that it reaches your soul before he’s puling you beneath the covers with him.

The last thing you remember before drifting off is another exchange of those three words.

The three words you would never grow tired of saying.

Yoongi sleeps well past sunrise. His chest rises steadily beneath your head for the better part of the morning and, although you want to wait it out, your desire to see the view from the balcony finally overtakes you.

You’re careful not to wake the sleeping man beneath you as you slip out of his grip. And as you’re pulling on the silk robe he had left discarded the night before, you take the time to admire him. Cheeks puffed out, lips pouted, brow smoothed over, none of his features containing a single ounce of worry…

You planned on keeping him this content for as long as you both shall live.

The mid-morning air was cold but, it felt nice upon your skin. Sleeping with Yoongi was new and, you now know that he emits as much body heat as a fully grown bear.

Or a Tiger…depending on who you ask…

This of course is wonderful, especially given how harsh winter can get but, you were growing quite warm beneath his arm.

The balcony was simple. It was painted the same color as the rest of the villa: a deep cherry red and, other than a few plants in the right corner, there was nothing else aside from the view.

Overlooking the grounds of the villa, the balcony displayed all of the elaborate architecture as well as the natural aspects of the grounds themselves. You set your eyes on the mountains to the left of you and, are overcome with excitement at the thought of them being covered in snow.

A hawk flies high above your head, his call echoing off every surface around of the villa, connecting the two of you for that single moment. As your eyes move to admire the thick expanse of trees before you, a pair of strong silk-covered arms wrap around your waist.

And normally, you would jump in surprise but, this time you don’t.

You could sense him staring at you for quite a while now but, rather than disturb him, you just let him have his moment.

Most of your moments would be spent staring at him if you had it your way.

“I had feared for a moment that I had only dreamt of you again…”

The tone of his morning voice is much deeper and covered in gravel, the sound sending a shiver through you. You lean back against him, lips curving up in a smile.

“We are finally alone, General Min.” You assure him softly, rubbing over his forearms. He kisses up your neck, causing your eyes to shut, just basking in the feeling of him.

Of the man you love.

“Well-“ And you can hear the grin in his voice, “Not completely alone.”

You open your eyes, confused by his response but as you try and look back at him, he is jerking his head towards the trees. At first you are confused by the amazed expression on his face but, when you see the mix of orange and black moving through the forest in the distance, you gasp in understanding.

“Is that?”

“A tiger?” He chuckles and when you look back once more, to confirm your suspicion, he winks at you, “It most certainly is.”

“Should we be worried?” You breathe, quite amazed yourself. The tiger doesn’t seem agitated from what you can tell, they merely move through the trees slowly- seemingly locked onto a destination.

“No, this one I have seen before.” He replies confidently, “They maintain their distance just fine…” Yoongi pauses for a moment and, then smiles to himself, “Unless of course, he falls in love…then we’ll never get him to leave.”

[iridecsense]

𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘭𝘦 - 𝘮.

⤷ summary: “You’re blue, I'm red, I wanna kiss your neck and make you purple all over.”

ꕥ word count: 33.7k ꕥ pairing: credence barebone | fem!reader  ꕥ genre: fluff, angst, smut ꕥ rating: 18+ ꕥ warnings: mentions of physical and religious abuse, mild violence and angst ꕥ kinks: femdom, masturbation ꕥ author’s note:  Credence’s first time requested by anonymous. Experimenting a new writing style with this one, I hope you still like it! This is very soft, but also sinful. I always suggest using Interactive Fics extension on Google Chrome and Firefox when reading my fics. Enjoy. ;) ꕥ key: (y/n) - first name (l/n) - last name (e/c) - eye color (h/c) - hair color (s/c) - skin color

There are very few moments in life worth living for. Most things in life are mundane and repetitive. Humans aren’t as complex as they like to think. Humans are simple. Without realizing, it they put themselves into a routine. Eat, work, sleep, repeat. Eat, sleep, work, repeat. Eat, sleep, work, repeat.

Albert Einstein once said, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, but expecting different results.” And yet, most humans never fall into insanity. How is it humanity survives such a dreary existence? The answer itself is simple. It is because despite living simple, tedious, monotonous lives, they still have those few moments.

Credence wanted nothing more than to experience one of these moments. Life for Credence was human. It repeated on an infinite loop, no matter how much he prayed for it to stop. Unlike most people’s lives, Credence’s routine wasn’t something to accept comfortably. There was no eat, sleep, work, repeat for him. His day started with an unsavory meal. It was usually porridge or stale bread. Then he would go out and hand out his “mother’s” flyers while she ranted in the streets. After that, they’d return to the orphanage where he’d surely get beat for doing something wrong. After being denied dinner, he would return to his room and cry silently in his bed, trying to dream of a life better than the one he lived. Then repeat.

Today was supposed to be no different. Today, Credence would have to hand out flyers around Times Square until nightfall. He hated handing out flyers in Times Square. It was bright, loud, and crowded, and the rich people from The Eggs always came down to shop and attend the cinema.

Rich people are assholes.

For the most part, Credence was invisible amidst the hustle and bustle of the square. People were too busy chatting amongst themselves or rushing to the nearest store or restaurant to even bat an eye at him. He didn’t mind it. He welcomed invisibility with open arms. Being seen usually ended with new bruises and scars. That's what happens when you’re an outsider, and Credence was an outsider in every sense of the word. He was an outsider to the rich people that pushed past him on the sidewalk, an outsider to the orphanage, and an outsider to himself. 

So, the lowly outsider stood hunched over in the middle of the sidewalk next to a cinema. Above him was a large marquee lit up by five hundred flashing bulbous lights. Mobs of people dappered up in evening dresses and suits, tipping their fedoras and clutching their mink coats excitedly entered the theatre. Credence looked at the flyers in his hands. Mary Lou gave him three hundred flyers to give out, and he barely gave out thirty. Most of the ones he did manage to force into someone’s hand ended up on the ground not ten feet away from him. They couldn't even bother to find a trash can. He wouldn’t dare return home with such a disappointing turnout.

The sun had long since set. The roar of the night became corrupted with wealthy party-goers. The Square was alive with chatter and street music. The streets were filled with intoxicated drivers flashing their fancy topless automobiles and the pretty women that shouted inside them. It was rather scenic, and Credence often found himself staring longingly at all the people whose lives seemed much happier than his own. It was one of the few ways he could pass the time.

He would watch couples walk the street hand in hand, seemingly in love. The woman would occasionally point out something on display she fancied and sweetly coherence her partner to buy it for her—to which they always did. He would observe a gang of college gentlemen around his age hop from bar to bar, obnoxiously laughing and roughhousing in the streets, cat-calling passing dames. In his mind, he was one of them. He pretended he lived in a world where he wasn’t an orphan and grew up in a wealthy family. He would have a mother who loved him and a father who was proud of him. He would go to college and make friends with other boys. Maybe he’d fall in love with a girl along the way. Someone sweet to please the folks back home. Then it would be him parading down the streets with a pretty girl around his arms in Times Square, and some other poor guy would be miserable in his place.

As his eyes wandered the streets, watching the snippets of other people's lives and inserting himself in them, his eyes landed on her across the street. She stepped onto the sidewalk in front of a boutique. Her hair fell around her shoulders in waves, neatly placed under a velvet green beret. She had on a slim fitting wool coat with mink trim over a lace-covered silk dress that shined in the night’s light. When she began to walk, his eyes followed her down the street like magnets. The way she seemed to carry herself was unlike the others around her. She wasn’t pink with liquor, stumbling in her heels on the pavement. Each step she took was one of elegance and confidence. He couldn't look away.

“Hey, watch it, punk!”

Credence found himself shoved to his hands and knees on the ground, the flyers in his hands dispersing in the air around him. He winced in pain and looked up to see a man angrily peering down at him.

“Watch where you’re goin’, freak!” The man cursed at him.

Credence kept his head down. “I’m sorry, sir.”

The man sucked his teeth and purposely stepped on some flyers in front of him as he walked by, pressing them into the wet sidewalk. Only when he was sure the man had gone did he find it safe to move. He ignored the soreness in the palms of his hands and tried his best to salvage as many flyers as he could. Passersby couldn't have cared less about the papers they ripped and crumpled under their perfectly pointed shoes. He picked up what little there was left unscathed—about a hundred at least. He was lucky most of them were still stacked together. He went to collect the last salvageable stack across from him when another pair of (s/c) dainty hands reached for them.

Credence’s eyes landed on a pair of green pumps pointed at him. His eyes trailed up past long legs shielded from the cold by nude stockings, green silk, and tawny fur until they met painted red lips and glossy (e/c) eyes. Up close, she was much more captivating. He could now make out her soft, round features and see how her (h/c) curls perfectly framed her face. Her cheeks were dusted a lush red. Whether it was from the early winter chill, or a detail of her makeup was unknown. Either way, she was stunning. It took him longer than it should have for him to notice the flyers she was holding out for him to take.

Credence awkwardly stumbled to his feet, keeping his eyes trained on the tips of her shoes to avoid her gaze. Even in his slouched state, he towered over her, but somehow he still appeared small.

“I saw that.” Her warm voice filled his ears, catching him off guard.

He lifted his head to look at her once more. “What?”

The girl looked in the direction the man from earlier had left and frowned.  “The prick who knocked you over was half-seas over! He could barely tell his left foot from his right! If he had, he would have seen that it was his fault knocking you to the ground like that.”

Credence didn’t know what to say. That was the most anyone had ever said to him without spewing insults his way. Even more peculiar was that the strange girl talking to him was trying to defend him. His awkward speechlessness didn’t seem to phase her in the slightest. Instead, her targeted vexed expression relaxed into a warm smile.

She urged the flyers towards him once more. “Sorry about your papers. I don’t think there’s much left to save.”

He carefully took the papers from her hands, noting how perfectly manicured her nails were. “It’s okay... thank you.”

“No need to thank me. No sense in being praised for common decency, right?”

Credence found himself speechless. He wasn't sure how to respond to such a statement. It was definitely something he should be grateful for. Most people wouldn’t look twice at him struggling on the street, let alone go out of their way to help.

The girl spoke through his silence. “You don’t talk much, do you?” She chuckled.

He shamefully bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” she quickly assured him. “Sometimes, I think people talk too much. I don’t think people should say things they don’t need to, otherwise, words lose all valuable meaning. You know what I mean?”

He nodded slowly. “I think so.”

She seemed pleased with his answer, her smile growing ever so slightly. It wasn’t long before it was replaced with another frown. Unlike before, this wasn’t a frown of annoyance, but concern. Her brows turned upward and her red lips parted to let out a sharp gasp. She looked at him clearly for the first time, her eyes wandered over his slender form and taking in his appearance.

“Goodness! Aren’t you cold?” She asked, her voice laced with worry.

Credence shrugged half-heartedly. He was used to the cold by now. He only had a handful of clothes to begin with. He didn't have the luxury of having clothes that match the changing weather, he could only wear whatever clothes fit him from the donation pile. The warmest garment he obtained this winter was an old navy blue suit best designed for autumn’s chill, but useless against winter’s cold. She found it hard to believe he stayed in the cold for so long without freezing to death. Credence thought that was a bit of an exaggeration. It was a particularly cold November night, enough to keep the patches of ice and snow that had been shoveled to the gutters intact. With every shaky breath he took, a puff of white mist would follow. His nose and the tips of his ears were permanently colored red and, given his natural pale complexion, made him look rather sickly. But, he bore through it because he had experienced far worse.

Without warning, the girl took the liberty of placing her palms on the back of his hands. The gentle action was so alien, he flinched when he felt her warm skin.

“Your hands are like ice!” She gasped. “They’re two degrees short from falling off!”

It must have been true because the feeling of her hands was enough to send a fiery warmth throughout his body. Such affection was so foreign to him, he began to doubt it really happened. It wouldn't have been the first time his mind played tricks on him. Perhaps he was home in his bed, lucidly dreaming about a chance encounter with a pretty woman. In a moment, he would wake up, and the warm feeling of a woman’s touch would turn cold, and he’d find himself alone in his room again.

His theory was swiftly disproven when he felt her hands gently squeeze his. As if she had the brightest idea of the decade, the woman’s face lit up.

She took a step closer. “Say, why don’t I get you some tea to warm you up? There’s a coffee shop still open a few blocks away—I could drive you in my Ford!”

Credence blushed and swallowed. His eyes darted around nervously. “I’m not sure I should...” He mumbled.

“We can stand here in the streets like a couple of gulls if you’d like, but I’m not going to leave you out here to freeze, so you might as well say yes,” she smirked.

He wanted to say yes. But there was a voice inside him that warned him not to go. It was the same nagging tone Mary Lou barked in his ear. His mind spiraled, spewing scenarios of his adopted mother’s fury. He should be home by now. She never liked it when he returned home late. She would beat him again. She might even ice him—something she did when she was truly furious with him. The thought of it made his blood run cold.

“I-I can’t,” he stammered. “M-Mother is expecting me home—she’ll be wondering where I am.”

The woman’s once playful expression slowly faded. Her brows gathered at the center of her forehead and her smile faded. Credence was trembling and stuttering, helplessly trying to explain why he had to return home. His words slurred together into a tremulous speech. Passing pedestrians gave patronizing stares, actively avoiding the pair and whispering amongst themselves. The woman placed a comforting hand on Credence’s shoulder, silencing him almost immediately.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” She said softly. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to upset you by it.”

She looked him in his eyes and offered a kind smile. There was a skip of his heart. A strange feeling weighed in his chest he had never felt before.

“Why don’t I drive you?” She suggested. “That way you can be home twice as fast!”

Credence took a moment to think about it. He found it increasingly impossible to say no. Against his better judgment, he found himself wanting to extend their encounter, if even just for a minute. He had the smallest inference that if he said no, it would disappoint her. The thought of disappointing her was something he didn't want to do. He felt obligated to appease her. She had shown him a kindness that he may never get again. He thought he could at least keep her pleased.

“Okay,” he relented.

The girl grinned up at him and linked her arm around his. His cheeks grew warm, and he tucked his chin to his chest to hide his blush. Not that she would notice either way. She gingerly led him down the street, trying to engage him with small talk. He tried to listen, but he would get distracted whenever he felt her chest brush up against him. She was so close and so warm. Her touch burned through the thin material of his jacket and made his skin tingle. He could smell her perfume, like lavender and vanilla.

Such an alluring scent it was. It smelled familiar and sweet in its flowery nature. It reminded him of the transition from spring to summer, when the flowers became the most vibrant and fruit ripened to perfect sweetness. He wished he could smell it every day. It would be a refreshing change from the stench of mildew and boiled cabbage he often smelled. He wondered if she always smelled so sweet.

“So, what’s with the pamphlets? Are you a part of that Second Salemers organization?” she asked, pulling him out of his fantasies. He looked down at her and saw her looking up at him expectedly. He couldn’t help but grow hot with embarrassment.

“Y-yes,” he answered.

“Really? So, you believe in witches?” She teasingly wiggled her fingers in his face.

"My mother does,” He answered.

“How interesting,” she thought aloud. “I can’t say that I believe in witches, but if they do exist I wouldn’t mind.”

“You wouldn’t?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I mean, they’re human like us, right? People tend to demonize things they don’t understand. Just because they’re different doesn't mean we have to fear or prosecute them. I think we should embrace each other’s differences and learn to appreciate them, rather than forcing everyone to assimilate to one idea of normalcy. If we do that, then no one would be unique. We’d all be the same.”

He listened closely as she spoke. He was absolutely fascinated by her. It was rather profound, the way she thought. Most people would disagree with her sentiments, especially his mother. The world Credence knew was built on a system of separation. A system that separated classes, races, sexes, and the able-bodied—a system he was a victim to. Never once had he met someone who desired to rid of it just as much as he did, and he certainly didn’t expect to hear such scrutiny from someone who seemed to benefit from it.

When she finished her societal criticism, she stopped in her tracks and craned her neck up to face Credence.

“Excuse my rambling,” she flushed. “I talk nonsense when I go deep in thought. Don’t mind me, I probably sound crazy.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy,” Credence spoke up. “I wish everyone thought the way you think.”

Their eyes locked in a moment of tenderness. His bold sentiments were enough to make her heart skip a beat; unbeknownst to him. Their intimate trance was broken when a passing car flashed its blinding lights in their eyes, causing the girl to release her grip around Credence’s arm. The loss of contact made his arm feel too light; as if someone had taken a piece of his arm away.

The girl let out a sheepish chuckle. “Well, this is it,” she said as she walked over to the luxurious motor car parked on the side of the street. Luxurious seemed like an insult of a descriptor for the magnificent opulence of the machine. The streetlight illuminated the pearl-colored metal that matched the white-rimmed tires. Gold embellishments lined the rim. Tawny leather seats contrasted the exterior and matched the fabric roof. It was something Credence had only seen in advertisements.

“She’s a bit much, right?”

Credence hadn’t realized how apparent the astonishment written on his face was. He expected the girl to laugh at him, but the girl didn’t find joy in his culture shock. She was nervous, as if she were ashamed of her possession, like he had just discovered her most shameful secret.

“She was a gift from my father,” she felt the need to explain. “It’s not that I’m ungrateful or anything, I truly am. It’s just that I would never have bought something so ritzy for myself.”

“I like it,” said Credence.

His words seemed to relax her otherwise tense demeanor. “I’m glad you do,” she smiled as she opened the door. He watched her slide into the driver's seat. He approached the machine cautiously, eyeing the foreign object skeptically. The girl watched him closely, an amused smirk curling her lips.

“You’ve never ridden in a car before, have you?” She asked. Credence shook his head.

“I promise there’s nothing to worry about,” she chuckled. “I happen to be an excellent driver. My father wouldn’t have given me one so expensive if I wasn’t.”

This was true. Such a beautiful car wouldn’t be gifted to someone who would evidently wreck it. The girl pats the empty passenger seat invitingly, urging him to get inside.

Credence slid into the passenger seat, the cool leather seeping through the thin fabric of his suit, sending shivers down his spine.

“Here.” The girl reached in the back seat of the car and pulled out a large grey blanket. “The car will get warmer as we drive, but this should be good for now.”

Credence placed his papers on his lap and reached for the blanket.

“Wait,” she stopped him, a small frown appearing on her features. “You’re bleeding.”

Credence followed her stare to his left hand. He turned his palm upward to find the healing wounds on his palms had reopened. He didn’t notice the sting of the cuts before, but now his hand burned with the slightest movement. He couldn’t help but feel exposed. He hated his hands. They were ugly. Permanently blemished with raised scars that formed from healing and reopening and healing and reopening at contact with his mother's belt. It was unsightly. He shied away from her, mortified. She must’ve found them just as repulsive.

But the girl didn’t seem phased by his calloused and scarred hands at all. She didn’t hesitate to reach inside her breast pocket and pull out a pink handkerchief to wrap around Credence’s hand. Again he could feel her warmth. Her soft hands caressed his skin, pulling him closer. She handled him gently, delicately folding and wrapping the silk fabric around his cuts. She glanced at him as she did so, only to find him avoiding her gaze with his chin tucked into his shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” he muttered as she tended to him.

“You’re sorry?” She let out a breathy chuckle. “And what are you sorry for, exactly?”

“I-I don’t know,” he stammered. “For making you drive me home. For ruining your handkerchief,” he said.

The girl sighed as she tightened the cloth around his hand and tied it into a bow to keep it in place. “Bunny, you’re not making me do anything. I insisted, remember?” She reminded him. Credence felt the entirety of his face grow hot. He turned to face her again, only to be met with the same (e/c) eyes and kind smile she had before. His heart felt as though it were beating a mile a minute.

“And don’t worry about my handkerchief,” she adds. “I have dozens of them. They’re more for looks anyway, I never use them.”

Credence nodded and silently thanked her. She gave his hand another squeeze before leaning back in her seat and starting the car. The car made a sound like a lion and roared to life. The seats trembled beneath them, and the headlights lit the road ahead. When the car jerked into drive, Credence felt uneasy. She drove the car well, and he suspected that she was driving at a slower rate for his benefit, but the feeling of the car moving made his stomach churn with excitement and fear. He walked everywhere he went. He’d taken the subway once before when he was younger, but somehow this was different. He fidgeted in his seat, finding anything to distract himself from the tight feeling in his stomach. His eyes fixated on his hands, brushing his fingers against the smooth fabric of the handkerchief. It was colorfully embroidered with flowers and lacey patterns. He followed the design with his eyes until they came upon two scripted letters embroidered in gold on the corner that wasn’t tied into a knot.

“Are these your initials?” He asked to distract himself with small talk.

The girl gasped dramatically. “I never introduced myself, did I? How rude of me! I’m practically a stranger and here I am driving you around Manhattan without giving you a proper introduction.”

The girl took one hand off the wheel and held it out in front of him. “My name’s (y/n) (l/n).”

Credence took her hand and shook it lightly. “I’m Credence. Credence Barebone.”

“Credence. What an odd name. I like it,” she grinned before pulling her hand back. “So, where am I taking you, Credence?”

He told her he lived in the old chapel on Pike Street. She fell flustered while trying to explain she didn’t know exactly where that was. Credence then told her she was going the right way, and if she kept going straight, he would tell her when to turn. While they drove, she did her best to get to know Credence. He answered every question she asked with a short and vague response. She didn’t ask him many questions to begin with. She mostly talked about herself or the people she knew, like her family and friends. Almost everything reminded her of them.

He figured she did it to make him feel more comfortable. He didn’t mind. He enjoyed hearing her talk. While driving, she saw a dress in a boutique and mentioned that her friend, Darla, would love to have a dress just like it. When they passed a tea shop, it reminded of her mother, who only drank earl grey tea; which, to her, is the most boring of teas. On the sidewalk, there was a stray cat running into an alleyway. She told him how much she wanted a pet cat as a child, but she couldn’t get one because her father was allergic.

He couldn’t help but be enthralled by her. The more she talked, the more relaxed he became. He stole glances at her when she wasn’t looking. Watching her lips move as she talked, outlining the bridge of her nose and the curve of her cheek. He had been staring so intently he hadn’t even realized she’d asked him a question.

“Credence?” Her voice filled his ears.

“Yes?” He answered.

“I asked if I turn here.”

Credence turned to look out the window and saw that they had stopped at the corner of Pike Street. It was a quiet neighborhood filled with old apartments that had dim windows and unfriendly doors. Sticking out like a tabby cat among tigers was the Church of the Second Salemers. A rickety thing dwarfed by the buildings that surrounded it. Credence’s heart sank. If only the ride was a little longer.

“I can get out here,” he told her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

Her lips twitched into a bittersweet smile. “Alright,” she simpered. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you too,” He said truthfully.

There was a beat of silence. The two sat awkwardly, not really knowing how to say goodbye. Credence stared at his hands in his lap and began to untie the handkerchief.

“Keep it,” she stopped him before he could. “To remember me by.”

Would this really be the last time? He knew that she meant nothing by it, but hoped he didn't have to remember her. He wanted to see her again. He didn’t want it to end.

He gripped the cloth tightly in his hand. “Thank you.”

He reluctantly opened the car door and stepped onto the slushy street, closing the door behind him. She waved at him through the window, to which he returned in a less enthusiastic manner. He took a step back onto the sidewalk and watched as she drove down the street until she disappeared around the corner.

“Goodbye... (y/n),” he whispered.

It had been weeks since Credence’s chance encounter, and ever since his mind was consumed with thoughts and fantasies of (y/n) (l/n). Everything reminded him of her. The melting snow on the ground, the smell of flowers that mimicked her perfume when he passed the floristry, passing women in mink coats and tea shops; they all emulated her.

He often thought about how different things would have been if he did what he wanted that night. Would she be with him now had he gone to the café when she’d offered? Would she have liked to know him? Would she have enjoyed his company? The more he thought about it, the more he wished he’d taken the risk—his mother be damned.

Now all he had were memories and theories of what could have been. Though, fantasizing became his new favorite pass time. Reminiscing about her was one of the only things that gave light to his otherwise dark, mundane life. Like right now, he was thinking of what it would be like to make her laugh while scooping porridge into bowls for the orphans to eat.

He thought her laugh would sound feathery and jovial; the kind of laugh that makes you want to smile and laugh with her.

“You’re smiling.”

Credence was pulled from his thoughts by his sister, Chastity. He looked to the side and saw her smirking into the pot. “What?”

“It’s not just today,” she says. “You’ve been... different lately. Happier, I think. Always smiling to yourself. Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Did you meet someone or something?” She persisted.

Credence scoffed. “How could I have met someone?” He refuted.

Chastity she glimpsed at Credence skeptically. “I guess not,” she hummed, much to his relief.

“Doesn’t explain why you’re blushing, though,” she smirked.

Credence’s cheeks burst into flames as he attempted to sputter an explanation. Chastity giggled to herself, finding amusement in teasing him.

“What’s going on, children?”

The sickeningly sweet voice was enough to raise the hair on the back of their necks and shudder their hearts. They turned around, craning their necks up to the banister. Mary Lou Barebone towered over them just as menacingly as she could in her own prim and proper way.

“Nothing, mother,” Chastity answered for them. “Credence was just telling me a joke.”

“This is no time to be joking,” she scolded. “We have a very important meeting today with Father Blackwell, and I will not allow distractions. We can't lose focus. This is our chance to spread our message to the church— to the city! You should be preparing, not laughing.”

“I’m sorry, mother,” Credence apologized.

“Don’t let it happen again,” she warned, before sauntering away.

Even in her absence, Credence couldn’t find the will to relax the rest of the morning. The threat of her looming presence was far too great. After the orphans had finished their meal and left, Chastity washed all the dishes while he cleaned the dining hall. Once they finished their menial tasks, Modesty came downstairs to tell them Mary Lou wanted them to hurry and dress in their best attire for Father Blackwell.

Father Blackwell was the priest of St. Patrick’s Cathedral. He was the most famous priest in New York City and the priest of the mayor. Mary Lou was very anxious to present her case to him. According to her, once Father Blackwell hears her pleas and shares it with the church, the city would finally begin to take her seriously and put a stop to the heresy festering right under their noses.

So she believed.

It was Sunday. Today they would attend a mid-day service and attempt to get counsel with the priest. Though, Credence doubted Father Blackwell would even see them. As he got dressed, he looked himself over in the mirror. His ‘best’ attire was a dark plum suit so dark it looked black if you weren't paying attention. It made his already pale skin look even fairer and darkened the color of his raven hair and russet eyes. It was the only suit that fit him perfectly and had few blemishes. He’d probably look like a proper gentleman if his mahogany shoes weren't so terribly worn due to them being the only pair he owned.  

He took the matching hat off his dresser and put it on. Hidden underneath it was the pink handkerchief. He took the piece of fabric in his hands and held it up to his nose. It smelled like her. Remnants of her perfume still lingered between its stitches. He was grateful she allowed him to keep her handkerchief. He felt foolish for ever trying to part with it. It was the only proof he had that she existed; that their brief night encounter had truly happened.

“What are you doing?”

Credence instinctively hid the cloth behind his back, turning around to see Mary Lou standing in his doorway.

“I was straightening my tie,” he says, his voice wavering slightly.

Mary Lou looked him over for a moment, trying to find something out of place. “Come now,” she orders, having found no reason to torment the boy. “We’re leaving.”

She walked away. The sound of her heavy footsteps thumping down the stairs was Credence’s signal to breathe again. He pulled the handkerchief from his back and folded it neatly before hiding it underneath his pillow.

On their way to the cathedral, Mary Lou gave each of them a stack of flyers. She wanted them to hand out flyers to the congregation once the service ended while she talked with Father Blackwell. If there was one thing about Mary Lou, she was passionate and determined. When she set her sights on something, she will do everything in her power to execute it. She’d been planning this meeting for weeks. She readied herself in the only way she knew how: through constant prayer and tedious preparation. In a way, Credence was thankful for it. When Mary Lou became enlightened on an alternative approach, she was far too busy focusing on it to bother him. It was one of the few windows of relative freedom he had, and they came once in a blue moon. This meeting could mark the end, or the beginning, of this liberation.

Sitting in the pews during service, he could hardly concentrate. St. Patrick’s was a magnificent building, an authentic replica of the renaissance with its high, arched ceiling, stone engravings, and vibrant stained glass windows. It was the epitome of class and beauty. So, naturally, it would be the one church favorited by the high society. Wealthy families filled the better half of the sanctuary. While Credence and his family sat in the back with the rest of the commoners, they filled the front pews with tailored suits, mink coats, and Sunday hats. As Father Blackwell preached to the congregation, Credence searched the pews for a familiar face.

He knew his chances of seeing her were low, but he couldn't help but hope one of those Sunday hats would turn around and reveal those sparkling (e/c) eyes. His leg shook nervously, his eyes darting from one aisle of pews to another. It only stopped when a firm hand tightly gripped his thigh.

“Pay attention,” Mary Lou whispered, malice laced in her tone.

Credence swallowed, his body tensing immediately, afraid of even moving an inch in her presence. He turned his attention from the pews to the altar. Father Blackwell was standing in front of his pedestal, reading a scripture.

“We are living in a godless time,” He said. “Satan parades in the streets, preying on our sons and daughters! When the night comes, our children leave and venture into the streets. The devil and his minions tell them to wear promiscuous evening attire, commit sodomy, and fornication! Tempting them into Speakeasies to drink the Devil’s urine and feast on the bodies of Lilith’s daughters! Our city has become the devil’s playground. There is no God out there. Only sin.”

Flashes of her face imprinted in his mind. Credence frowned and tried to push it from his thoughts, but he couldn’t. His thoughts became consumed by her. As Father Blackwell spoke, he began to envision things he knew he shouldn’t.

“‘The body is not meant for sexual immorality, but for the Lord, and the Lord for the body.’” Father Blackwell reads. “Don’t you see? It isn’t ‘fashion’ or ‘modernity’. The devil has infested the media to infect our minds. He wants to taint our bodies to further stray us from God. ‘Flee from sexual immorality. Every other sin a person commits is outside the body, but the sexually immoral person sins against his own body’... and therefore, is a sin against God.”

His cheeks burned, and he prayed nobody would notice. He’d never thought of her like this before. Yet, somehow, the sermon unlocked one of his most shameful desires. He imagined the feeling of her warm body pressed against his. He reminisced about the feel of her soft skin. He pictured the curves of her lips, chest, and hips. He wondered how they would feel on his lips. Would they be just as soft?

“Brothers and Sisters, we must rid ourselves of all sin. Protect your children, for the devil, has his eyes set on them. The greatest sin against God is the polluting of our holy bodies. We must practice modesty and chastity. Only then can we be saved... Let us pray."

The congregation bowed their heads and listened as Father Blackwell lead the closing prayer.

The priest’s words echoed in the back of his mind. Even as he and his sisters handed flyers to those exiting the church, his mind would drift back to the sermon. Mary Lou had left him and his sisters to talk with Father Blackwell. He watched as she walked down the aisle to meet him at the altar. Father Blackwell was already conversing with a member of the church, a stocky man wearing a cream-colored suit and matching hat.

She nearly approached him before another man stopped her. Credence recognized him as Deacon Ripley. Deacon Ripley was as galling as his face would suggest. His face was pointed and far too wrinkled for his age. Deacon Ripley had a habit of sticking his unusually large nose into other people’s business. He reminded Credence of a sewer rat, just as unsightly and full of shit.

He couldn’t make out what was being said, but from the looks of it, Deacon Ripley was reprimanding Mary Lou. Mary Lou did her best to get Father Blackwell’s attention, but he and the mustachioed gentleman ignored her calls. Mary Lou was never really one to lose her composure, but in her desperation, she attempted to divert Deacon from obstructing her access to Father Blackwell. She rushed to the altar, calling Father Blackwell. She began stating her case, catching the attention of those still left in the church.  

“There are evil forces at work, Father!” She shouted. “Heretics walk freely amongst us, doing the devil's work!”

Deacon Ripley came behind Mary Lou. “Pay no mind to her, Father Blackwell, she speaks fabrications.”

“This is not fiction, Father, I can assure you,” she says. “I have seen them with my own eyes. The devil’s concubine.”

“What is this you speak of?��� Father Blackwell demands.

“Witches, Father. There are witches here in New York, working right under our noses—”

“I told you, Father, she’s insane,” Deacon Ripley cuts in.

“I am not crazy,” Mary Lou snarks. “And if we don’t stop them now, there will be hell to pay!”

“Enough, Ms. Barebone,” says Father Blackwell. “I will hear no more of these fairytales. Please, have decency.”

Father Blackwell turned to the gentleman and guided him to a back door where they disappeared from the sanctuary. Mary Lou, still determined to be heard, began shouting after them, preaching her testimony of witches infiltrating New York. This resulted in her being handled by a few clergymen and escorted off the premises. People whispered and gossiped as the Barebones walked by. It wasn’t hard to tell Mary Lou was humiliated. She put on a brave face, clenching her jaw and holding her head high. She grabbed Modesty by the hand and walked away. Credence and Chastity followed close behind with their heads down.  

It had been about a week since the church incident. Mary Lou hadn’t left her room since. The only one to see her was Modesty. Mary Lou always had a soft spot for the younger sibling. In any other circumstance, Credence would have taken such behavior as a blessing. Whatever wrath Mary Lou was feeling wasn’t being directed at him. But the looming threat of her presence left him little to no space to relax.

Credence was helping Chastity make pamphlets in the dining hall when the sound of Mary Lou’s door opening and closing halted their process. Small footsteps trotted down the stairs and into the hall.

“Credence,” Modesty called. Credence stood from his seat and walked to Modesty, who handed him a stack of flyers once he was close enough. “Mother wants you to pass out these flyers around town. She said not to come back until they’re all gone.”

Credence took the flyers in his hands and reluctantly walked to the door. It was snowing today. It wasn’t cold enough for it to stick, but it was cold nonetheless. He already wore his warmest clothes, which happened to be an old navy sweater vest, grey wool suit jacket, and matching trousers. He threw on a grey fedora and ventured into the streets.

He didn’t mind handing out flyers. Anything to get out of that awful place was enough for him. It was just about noon when he left. He thought it best to head towards the inner city. It was Saturday, so there were sure to be people bustling in and out of shops today. It usually wasn’t a long walk, Credence was used to walking long distances. However, the nipping cold slowed his pace a bit.

In the first hour, he spent walking around midtown and passing flyers around the park. Handing out flyers in winter rarely yields any results. People are far too cold and miserable to bother pulling their hands from their pockets to grab a piece of paper. After a very unsuccessful hour, he migrated further north, closer to Times Square.

“Credence?”

Credence stopped in his tracks, his heart jumping wildly in his chest. He slowly turned around to where the voice had come from. There, in all her grace, was the last person he expected to see. He could see her even more clearly than the last night he saw her. This time, she wore a large, white fur coat that stopped at her ankles and a matching fur hat. In her gloved hands, she carried a small beaded purse that glittered when light reflected off it.  In the day’s light, her skin radiantly glowed, much like her purse. Her eyes seemed bigger than what he remembered, mimicking that of a doll’s. They were enhanced by the brown eyeshadow that darkened her lids and the mascara that elongated her lashes. Today, her lips were raspberry pink instead of the deep red he remembered. Snowflakes nestled in the nooks of her curled (h/c) hair, making her appear even more angelic.

“Mi-Miss (l/n)?”

He hadn’t a moment to process her appearance before she rushed into his arms, catching him by surprise. She threw her arms around his neck and rested her chin on his broad shoulder. His hands instinctively gravitated to her waist, holding her steady as she stood on the tips of her toes. She felt lush in his arms, the heat from her body sent warmth spreading throughout his center. The expanse of his neck and cheeks blossomed into a dusty shade of rose. His mind raced as he tried to collect his thoughts. He was almost sure she could feel the rapid beating of his chest.

If she did, she didn’t seem to mind. She held onto him, squealing excitedly. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you!” She said between giggles. “I was hoping you’d be here!”

Credence raised his brows, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You... You were hoping?” he repeated.

She pulled away, falling back on her heels to look him in the eye. Her hands still held onto his arms. “Well, I wasn’t sure if I’d see you,” she says. “But every time I come down, I hope I do.”

“You visit often?” He asked.

“As much as I can,” she admits. “I live in Kings Point. Do you know where that is?”

He nodded. Kings Point was a village up North by the bay in an area commonly referred to as West Egg. Many wealthy families live there in their ritzy mansions, throwing parties, boating, and golfing.

“Yes, well, I can only visit on weekends. Mainly with friends. But, lately, I’ve made a habit of coming down on my own, since I met you.”

She had said it so casually he thought she must’ve not realized how it sounded. Had she been purposely coming to the city, hoping to cross paths again? A small smile formed on his lips.

Her hands slipped from his arms and returned to her side, much to his disappointment.

Just then, a man behind her coughed, drawing their attention. (y/n) looked back and gasped. “Oh! I’m sorry, Eddy. How rude of me! I completely forgot to introduce you.”

She stepped back to the man’s side. “Eddy, this is my friend Credence Barebone. I met him a few weeks ago in Town Square. Credence, this is Edmund Tully.”

Credence and the man made eye contact. The man, Edmund, was tall; even taller than him. He was built, with wide shoulders to match his thick neck and strong, clean-shaven jawline. His rectangular face was undeniably handsome, with strong, straight features Credence had only seen before on statues and hooded green eyes. His blond hair was almost completely hidden underneath his grey newsboy hat that matched the tailored grey suit he wore underneath a thick, black, fur-lined ulster.

Credence was already intimidated by the man. He was older, around his late twenties. If it wasn’t his overall overwhelming appearance that intimidated him, then it was definitely the pointed glower directed at him. (y/n) didn’t notice it. Her eyes were focused on him.

“It’s nice to meet you,” said Credence, bravely offering his hand.

Edmund looked down at Credence’s outstretched hand. “Yes, and you as well,” he said indifferently, reluctantly taking his hand and forcing a smile. (y/n)’s brows wrinkled slightly at the interaction as she looked between the two men.

When they stopped shaking hands, Edmund turned to (y/n). It was almost comical how drastically his expression changed when he looked at her. His face softened and his phony, tight-lipped smile became genuine.

“(y/n), darling, I’m afraid I have to go now,” He said.

“So soon?” She asked.

“Yes, actually. Your brother and I have a meeting with your father and Mr. Finnegan around lunch,” he explains.

“Oh, I see,” she hums in understanding. “Well, you better get going.”

“You’re right, I must.” He took a step closer to her. “It was lovely running into you today, (y/n).”

Credence watched as he bent down and placed a large hand on her waist. She too reached around to wrap your arm around his torso. He watched as the man kissed her right cheek before moving to kiss the other. This didn’t phase her at all. Instead, she smiled as if it happened all the time. Credence felt looked away, upset by the display. Why did he feel upset?

The two pulled apart, and Edmund began to walk away. “I’ll tell your brother you said hello, shall I?” He yelled.

“Yes! And tell him that mother wants him home by ten o’clock tonight!” (y/n) responded as she waved goodbye.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Credence spoke up.

(y/n) looked back to face Credence. “I have two older brothers, actually,” she told him. “Aaron and Channing. Eddy is Aaron’s friend. They met at Oxford University. He and my brother both work for my father now, so he’s around often. He can be a bit... overbearing sometimes, but he means well.”

“And your other brother?”

“Channing is only a year older than me, so he’s twenty. He’s my best friend,” she revealed. “He isn’t here, though—in New York, I mean. He’s currently studying abroad in Japan.”

“Japan?”

“Crazy, isn’t it? Between you and me, I think he’s only there to follow this Japanese girl he met. And I don’t blame him! I met her before and she’s very beautiful, sweet too! Though, I do miss him a lot. Sometimes I wonder if I should have gone with him when I had the chance.”

Credence looked down at his feet as he listened. For some reason, the thought saddened him. Did she miss her brother so much that she would end up leaving for Japan one day? Would he never see her again? Would she miss him if she did? He didn’t want her to go. He wanted her to stay so they could keep meeting like this. So he could see her face and have her smile at him so kindly, like she always did. Her brother might miss her, but he needed her.

Credence felt so selfish for thinking such things. How could he possibly think he deserved her time? If he told her what he truly thought, how would she react?

As if she could read his thoughts, (y/n) took a step closer to him. He picked his head up to face her and saw that she was smiling up at him.

“But, if I had done that, then I wouldn’t have met you,” she says.

Just as quickly as his deprecating thoughts had come, they left once her words reached his ears. Credence could only stare at her in disbelief.

“And he sends me letters every month, so, I guess it's all right,” she chuckled. “So, how have you been?” She asked, bringing him out of his daze.

“I...I’ve been well,” he says.

“I’m glad,” she smiles. Her eyes travel down his form. A small crease forms in the middle of her brows as she tilts her head to the side. “You still haven’t gotten yourself a coat, I see.”

Credence looked down at his clothes as though he had forgotten what he had on. “No, I haven’t.”

She cocked her head to the side and furrowed her brows. “I suppose I could just buy you one.”

Credence shook his head, not wanting to inconvenience her for a second time. “You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“I wasn’t really asking,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he insisted. “Really.”

She stared at him for a moment, squinting her eyes slightly. “Fine, then.” She began unbuttoning her coat. Credence watched her, confused by the sudden action.

“W-What are you doing?” He asked.

“If you won't let me buy you a coat, then I won't wear one either,” she says simply.

Credence furrowed his brows. “But you’ll be cold.”

She scoffed. “And you’re not?”

Credence was rendered speechless. A small smirk curled on her painted lips. “Either you let me buy you a coat, or I won’t wear one at all. I can’t walk with you knowing you’re freezing and I’m perfectly comfortable.”

She was impossible. No matter what he says, she would always find a way to make him give in.

“O-Okay,” he concedes.

(y/n) grinned brightly, fixing her coat back over her shoulders and hooking her arm around his as she had once before.

“This will be fun!” She beamed.

She led him back in the direction she had come while eagerly telling him about the boutique she knew would have the best selection for him. He increasingly became more comfortable in her presence. He even properly engaged in conversation, much to her delight. And whenever she smiled up at him, he found himself smiling too.

The boutique wasn’t far—about three blocks away to be exact. It was a small blue shop with gold painted windows. Through them, Credence could see posed mannequins dressed in all kinds of fancy coats, dresses, and suits. Written above the entrance in the scripted font was a sign that read: Vendicci’s.

Upon entering the store, their ears were filled with Italian opera. The shop appeared to be empty. There were no other shoppers, and the front counter was left unattended. Credence followed her to the counter. On its surface was a small golden bell that she tapped lightly. The bell rang, signaling their presence.

Shuffling could be heard from the back of the shop, catching their attention. From the back of the shop, they could hear harsh whispers and unintelligible curses. A short, thin man came stumbling in. He had dark olive skin and chestnut brown curls that fell around his Grecian face. He was disheveled—the first three buttons of his pink dress shirt were unbuttoned, and the fabric of his pressed white pants were creased. Without looking, the man made his way to the back of the counter, mumbling in a language he couldn’t make out.

Following behind him was a woman equally disheveled in appearance. Her short black hair stuck up in odd places, and she had missed one button of her blouse. She wandered the shop, to mind some clothes on the rack as the man drew near to the front counter.

“Stupidi Americani... Sorry, we are closed for now. You can come back later when—,” The man stopped when his eyes landed on her.

(y/n) smirked. “Hello, Raül,” she waved.

“Bella!” He gasped and hurried towards her with open arms. “How wonderful to see you!” He said in a thick Mediterranean accent. He placed hands on her shoulders and pulled her in to kiss both of her cheeks. “You look even more lovely since the last I saw you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Raül,” she chuckled.

“Where have you been?” He pouts. “It’s been so long I’ve barely been able to survive without you.”

“I’m sorry, Raül, I’ve been trying to be more mindful of how I spend my money,” she explains.

“Mind your money here! I have so many new items you would look molto bella in. I saved them just for you,” he winked.

“That’s sweet of you, Raül. I promise I will come by and try them on at another time.”

Suddenly, the man became aware of Credence’s presence in the room. He looked at him like something had left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. Raül raised a skeptical brow and asked with pursed lips, “Is this man with you?”

“Yes, he is,” she says as a matter-of-fact. “We’d like to buy a coat. Something thick for the winter.”

Raül nodded and hummed, turning back to face her. “You’re just in luck,” he says. “Early this week I got a shipment straight from Italia: a fine selection of winter coats designed by Feliciano Romano himself.”

(y/n) gasped, clasping her hands together. “That’s fantastic! We’ll try those first!”

She took Credence by the arm and they followed him through the shop where they came upon a round archway covered by red velvet curtains. Raül pulled back the heavy curtains to reveal a separate room. It was small. The carpet was also red to match the curtains and the loveseats and chairs that decorated the room. In the center of the floor, was a circular platform. Above it was a circular ring of white drapes that had been pulled up. Across from the platform was a wall of mirrors, reflecting the room from different angles.

The woman from earlier had come in as well. With her, she brought along a rack filled with many expensive coats. She pulled it to the side of the room, right next to the platform. Raül thanked the woman with a playful pat on her buttcheek.

Credence blushed, having put two-and-two together about what was going on between the two co-workers before he and (y/n) had shown up. (y/n) was unfazed at all by the promiscuous interaction. Instead, she took off her coat and hat and threw them on one of the sofas facing the platform before taking a seat.

“Let’s begin!” Raül said excitedly.

“Stand up there, Credence.” (y/n) pointed to the platform. Credence did as he was told, and stepped onto the raised surface, awkwardly awaiting more instruction.

The dark-haired woman came up to Credence with a large coat in her arms. He didn’t need to put it on to know it wasn’t something that would suit him. She stood behind him and slipped the sleeves of the coat over his arms and shoulders. The coat itself was heavy enough to make him slouch slightly and tense his leg muscles to carry the added weight. The warm fabric engulfed his lanky form. It was made of strange, thick fur—not mink, but from another animal, he couldn’t guess. It was dark brown, and in some areas, it looked black. The length of the coat ended just above his ankles and the sleeves practically covered his hands, the tips of his fingers were all that were visible.

It was definitely a coat well suited for a more muscular type of man. It was the kind of coat that would be perfect for a large Russian mobster. However, on his lanky form, it just looked plain silly. (y/n) looked at him in the mirror, catching his eye.

“Do you like it?” She asks. “Be honest. I won’t buy you something you don’t like.”

“It’s fine,” he lied.

“Absolutely not!” Raül said as he took a step onto the platform and stood in front of Credence, looking him over intently. “I never thought I would say this to anyone, but, my dear, sable is not for you.”

“You don’t think so?” (y/n) chimed in.

“Miss (l/n)!” He gasped. “You are my most fashionable client! Tell me you don’t think this works for him!”

She looked him up and down, a smile stretching across her lips. “I think he looks cute,” she says. “like a cuddly bear.”

Credence blushed and shied away from her gaze. Raül tuts his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Well, he must be the skinniest bear in the forest,” he mutters as he pulls the coat off Credence’s shoulders.

“Want to try another one?” She asked. Credence nodded.

Raül went through the rack before pulling out another coat for him to try. He found one he thought might look best and took it off its hook before helping Credence try it on.

After he helped him slip his arms in, he took a step back to look him over. “How's this?”

It was a slim-fitting burnt orange fox fur coat that stopped halfway. It had a low collar and large brown buttons that trailed from his chest to the hem. He noticed how it was tighter around his waist and made his hips look bigger than he’d like. He thought it was a coat he would see on a woman. 

“It’s a bit bright for winter, don’t you think?” She pointed out.

“Nothing is ever too bright,” Raül argued.

She squinted at Credence’s reflection in the mirror, pondering the look. His face burned red and he silently pleaded she disliked the coat as well. His flustered expression made her stifle a fit of giggles. “I think we’ll try another one,” she smirked.

Raül sighs and slips the coat off Credence’s shoulders, much to his relief. The next coat was a black and white trench with large black buttons and a belt. Credence stood uncomfortably in front of the critical pair.

Raül crossed his arms, a small approving smile plastered on his lips. “Now this, I like!”

“I don’t know...” She hummed. “What do you think, Credence?”

“It’s itchy,” he says.

“It’s tweed,” Raül said, as though it made it better.

She giggled and looked at Raül. “Another?”

They went through several different coats, most of which were unflattering or uncomfortable. Credence thought the others were doing it on purpose — at least, he felt like she was. There was something about the playful smirk that curled the corners of her lips whenever he was dressed in a seemingly ridiculous or feminine coat that made him feel as though she had taken joy in dressing him up and watching his cheeks turn red from embarrassment whenever she expressed how ‘cute’ he looked. While there may have been no initial mal-intent when she initially insisted on buying him a coat, he was starting to feel like she was toying with him; teasing him for her own pleasure. 

Raül pulled another unsatisfying coat off of his shoulders only to replace it with another. The weighted coat comfortably slipped onto his shoulders. When Raül properly fit the coat onto him, he took a step back, a small smile gracing his features. Credence turned his neck to look back at (y/n) who had a similar expression of approval.

“Wow.” She whispered.

The coat was indeed impressive in a simplistic kind of way. It wasn’t too flashy or extraordinary. Just a simple black trench that fell to his knees. It was a sharp, angular cut, one that seemed to broaden his shoulders to imitate a somewhat muscular appearance. The shade of black complimented his pale skin and matched his raven locks, making him appear more porcelain than before. 

“Magnifico! So handsome, like a dark prince!” Raül cheered. His assistant then too voiced her agreement.

(y/n) moved from the sofa to the platform where Credence stood. She eyed him closely, circling him before stopping in his eye-view. She ran her hands up his arms, feeling the material under her skin. She dragged them up and across his shoulders, before stopping at his chest. Credence’s heart drummed against his chest, excited by her touch. He wondered if she could feel it through the coat.

“Do you like it?” she asked him.

“I do,” he says, truthfully this time.

She smiled and turned to face Raül. “We’ll take it!”

(y/n) left with Raül and the woman from earlier to pay for the dashing coat, leaving Credence alone in the dressing room. He looked himself over in the mirror, admiring how he looked in the black material. He couldn’t deny how good he looked in it. For the first time he looked, normal. Better than normal—he looked like a proper gentleman. Sure, a real ritz could snuff him out in a heartbeat, but to the average New Yorker, he could pass for someone on the same caliber as (y/n). It was like looking at the version of him he always wanted to be.

It wasn’t long before the fleeting fantasy soured. The rational part of his brain picked at the flaws of this entire interaction. How would he explain to his mother where he got such an expensive coat? If she saw him wearing it, she would definitely ask questions he was afraid to answer. Either way, he knew he couldn’t be seen with it on while she was around. But he couldn’t throw it away; not when she went through all the trouble of buying it for him. And it was such a nice coat... Credence shook the worries from his mind. He couldn’t think about it now. 

After (y/n) paid for the coat, the two bid Raül goodbye and ventured back out into the cold. Already, Credence noticed a stark difference of the cold with the coat protecting his skin. It dulled the nipping chill that never left during the winter months. 

“Much better, isn’t it? ‘Not cold’ my ass,” she snarked playfully. She fished around her coat pocket and pulled out a pair of black leather gloves. “Take these.”

Credence eyed the gloves questionably. (y/n) sighed and took his hand from his side, sliding the gloves on before doing the same with the other. “There,” she grinned. “I wasn’t sure if these were gonna be the right size, but look! They’re perfect!”

“But... you didn’t have to buy these for me,” said Credence.

“I didn’t buy them,” she says. “Raül gave them to me—well, to you. He says those gloves must go with that coat. I have to say I agree; they really complete the look.” She began walking down the street again, prompting him to follow her. “And don’t worry about the coat, okay? Like I said before, it’s on me,” she reminded him.

Credence still felt couldn’t accept something so valuable without thanking her. She bought him a coat because she cared about how he was feeling, just like when she helped him off the street all those weeks ago. He felt indebted to her—grateful to her. He wouldn’t be satisfied until he returned the favor tenfold. 

To her, this was obvious. She could tell buying the coat bothered him. He was so tense. He probably would never relax around her unless he somehow proved that he deserved to. Perhaps she can help him see. She glanced at the taller boy from the corner of her eye.

“But,” she sighed. “If you’re still looking for some way to repay me, I can think of something I’d like you to do.”

Credence perked up. “Really? What is it?”

She grins up at him, showing her pearly white teeth. “Go on a date with me.”

Credence’s eyes widened. “W-What?”

(y/n) chuckled. “If you don’t want to go on a date with me, that’s fine.”

“No!” He said all too desperately. He blushed at his own excitement. “I mean... Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“It’s why I suggested it, isn’t it?”

Credence blushed. A date? He’d imagined taking her on a date in his head about a hundred times. He thought of what he might say and do on the chance he got to be alone with her again. Maybe this time he’ll follow through.

“Okay,” he gave in. “Where do you want to go?”

“How eager are you!” She laughed. “I didn’t even say when and you’re already trying to sweep me off my feet, huh? Either that or you’re just trying to get rid of me.”

“T-That’s not how I meant it!” he stammered.

(y/n) giggled at his demise. “I’m just teasing you, Bunny. No need to turn so red,” she smirked.

She didn’t help his case when she slipped her arm between his to link their arms. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to her being so close to him. No matter how many times she touched him, he always managed to get flustered. It’s probably why she did it so much, just to see him blush.

“Now is as good a time as any,” she said while smiling up at him. “Are you hungry? I’m starving!”

They walked through the city together, arm in arm. Unlike last time, Credence attempted to be more interactive with her. (y/n) was definitely the more dominant converser, but his attempts to be more engaging with her didn’t go unnoticed. He asked her the questions that have been collecting in his head since they met.

He asked her what she did in her spare time (paint) and what her favorite food was (chocolate). He learned that she was a Columbia scholar currently on break and that she recently adopted a hairless cat named Onyx (it was the only cat her father wasn’t allergic to). Talking with her became easy. He even made her laugh a few times.

While they walked, Credence felt like they passed about twenty different restaurants and cafés he thought she would like. But whenever he thought they were about to stop, she kept going. He was wondering where exactly she was taking him. 

“Are we eating somewhere in particular?” He asked discreetly.

(y/n) nodded and hummed. “I’m taking you to one of the best places on earth. Salone’s! It’s not that far from here. It’s been a while since I’ve been, but I’m really craving it. Have you ever been there before?” She asked.

Credence shook his head. “Never,” he said, causing her to gasp dramatically.

“Oh, now we definitely have to go! What kind of person would I be if I let you go on living without experiencing God’s gift to man? And by ‘God’ I mean Dixie Salone, the owner.”

When they turned the corner, there was a small restaurant named Salone’s across the street. Taking precautious measures, (y/n) gingerly led Credence across the street and to the restaurant. When they opened the door, the smell of grease and peanuts filled the air. The place was reasonably packed, with average looking people all looking at them as they entered the room. (y/n) looked out of place in her rather extravagant attire, though now—with her on his arm and his new coat—he probably looked just as pretentious as she.

If (y/n) noticed the leering eyes of the other customers, she didn’t show it. Instead, she scoured the area for a place to sit, before landing on a booth tucked away in the back. They claimed the booth for themselves. Credence took the booth facing the door, shedding his outer attire and tucking it away in the seat corner. (y/n) slid into the seat across from him, shrugging off her coat and hat, revealing her clothes underneath.

Underneath the mound of fur, was a matching white dress. Unaccommodating to the weather, the dress underneath hung off her shoulders. It had long sleeves, but the upper half of her chest and her shoulders were exposed. Though, Credence figured when you have fur to wear over your clothes, it doesn’t matter much what you wear under it. The fabric was velvet, which must have also helped. From what he could see, it hugged her body well. Credence looked down at his hands on his lap, realizing he had been staring a bit too long. Lucky for him, she hadn’t noticed.

On the table were two menus placed before them. He looked down at the large printed sheet. Credence had never been to a restaurant before. He had eaten nowhere else but the church. He ate once a day (if he ate at all) and it was the same thing almost every time: porridge and stale bread. But on the menu before him, there was no porridge or stale bread at all. There was soup, steak, chicken, and almost every kind of pie. He felt his mouth watering just thinking about it. 

“Don’t bother looking at the menu,” (y/n) told him, gaining his attention. “I’m going to order for you. This place is really only good for two things, everything else is subpar, trust me.”

He looked at the menu again, mildly disappointed. He was looking forward to trying fried chicken. He took a moment to look around the diner. Most of the people there looked like working classmen: factory workers or nannies. Some still wore their uniforms under layers of sweaters and scarves. Others wore regular everyday clothes. Many of those who eyed them upon their entry returned their attention to their food and prior conversations. Though, there were a few that still snuck looks at their table in the back. Some were harmless, like the little girl who was staring at (y/n) in awe. Some were more menacing, like the rugged-looking man sitting on a stool by the counter who seemed annoyed by their presence.

(y/n) noticed that Credence’s eyes were shifting around the room pointedly. “Is something the matter?” She asked.

“It’s just...” He began. “I never thought you would be the type to eat at a place like this.”

“I guess it does seem a bit funny, huh? I look like someone who’d frequent an uptown steakhouse, right?” She chuckled. “Truth is, I’ve never had a big part in that lifestyle. Banquets and fine dining, I mean. It’s all fake and pretentious. But this—” she gestured to the room around them. “This is real. The food is real. The people are real. Do you know what I mean?”

Credence nodded. “I think so.”

“Some of my favorite memories take place here. My father would take me here when I was little on his days off. It was one of the happiest times of my life. I guess I wanted to relive that with you today.”

Credence took notice in the look in her eyes. He could tell that recalling such memories saddened her. He didn’t like seeing her upset, but, at the same time, he was glad she wanted to share something so important to her with him. One day, he hoped to do the same.

Not long after that, a young woman dressed in a red dress and a white apron with a stitched red S on the bottom corner walked up to their table with a notepad in hand.

“Hello and welcome to Salone’s, what can I get the lovely couple today?” The waitress asked. Credence couldn’t help but blush after being referred to as a couple.

“Yes,” (y/n) said happily. “Today we’ll—” she stopped mid-sentence before glancing at Credence across the table. She smirked and waved the waitress down to her.

The waitress smiled and got down on her knees next to her. (y/n) grabbed a menu and held it in front of their faces so Credence couldn’t tell what she was whispering. He watched in confusion as (y/n) whispered their order to the waitress.

The waitress nodded, and every once in a while he heard her giggle. “Yes, alright... okay... got it!”

The woman stood back up on her feet and smiled down at the two diners. “If you two just wait here, I will be right back with your orders,” she said cheerfully before trotting off.

“What did you get?” Credence asked once she had left.

(y/n) shook her head and held her fingers to her lips to imitate the motion of closing a zipper. “It’s a surprise,” she winked.

Credence nodded, having decided to trust her decision. In the meantime, while they waited for their food, (y/n) engaged in another conversation with him. It was a continuation of their earlier conversation about pets. (y/n) wanted to know if Credence had any pets. When he told her he never had a pet, she asked him what kinds of animals he likes. He told her that he never met many other animals before. He’d seen many rats in his life, but that just came with the joys of living in New York City. But he thought it appropriate to mention he once made a bond with a stray cat when he was younger.

It was a black skinny thing, with a chewed off ear, and part of its tail was missing. One day, when he’d been left out on the streets as a punishment (he told her he was walking home), the cat came up to him and was begging for food. Lucky for the cat, he had a piece of bread in his pocket. He gave it to the sad creature, and it ate it from his hand. He’d never pet a cat before then, but he liked how it’s fur felt when he brushed it, and the sounds of the cat’s meows. After he told her that story, he stated that he probably liked cats the best.

“We’re just alike! Maybe one day I can take you to meet Onyx,” she suggested.

The corners of Credence’s lips curled up softly. “I’d like that,” he said.

Just then, the woman from earlier came up to them with their order on a large silver platter. The waitress placed the hot food onto the table, along with their drinks before leaving them to enjoy their meal. Credence looked down at the plate of food in front of him.

“Burgers?”

“Burgers,” she repeated excitedly. “If there’s one thing this place can make, it’s a damn good burger. Well, that and a mean vanilla milkshake! The fries aren’t half bad either,” she says as she pops one in her mouth.

Meat and fried potatoes filled his nostrils. The burger was as big as the plate it came on. The sesame bun was soft and round, and the edges appeared to be lightly toasted. Crunchy lettuce, cheese, and two slices of bacon coated in mayonnaise and ketchup poked out from the sides on top of a thick beef patty. (y/n) smiled in amusement as she watched Credence carefully take the burger in his hands. His eyes were practically sparkling with excitement.

“Go on,” she encouraged. “Take your first bite! I want to see the look on your face when the juicy meat hits your tongue.”

Credence glanced at her across the table, before opening his mouth and taking a generous bite out of the hefty burger. Various flavors overstimulated his senses. The beef and pork collided with the onions, lettuce, cheese, and condiments to create an unfamiliar taste he’d never experienced before. The meat was succulent and juicy, just as she said it would be. The cut of the beef was thick and chewy, and the bacon was crispy and flavorful. The bun was soft and crunchy and tasted as though it was toasted with butter. It wasn’t stale at all! It was like it came fresh out of the bakery just before it wound up on his plate. 

It was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“Well?”

Credence hadn’t even realized he closed his eyes, but when he opened them, (y/n) was looking at him expectantly. He swallowed the delicious food and licked his lips greedily, chuckling softly.

“It’s good,” he smiled.

A wide grin stretched across her painted lips. It was the first time he’d laughed around her.

“You have a pretty smile, you know that?” She told him.

Credence’s cheeks reddened for the thirtieth time that day, and he lowered his head to hide it from her.

(y/n) chuckled softly before taking his basket of fries. “Here.” She took the red ketchup bottle from the side of the table and drizzled the condiment over the fries in a zig-zag pattern before sliding the basket back towards him.

“Thank you,” he muttered bashfully through a mouth full of food.

“You’ve got ketchup on the side of your mouth,” she told him.

Without thinking, he stuck his tongue out to lick the spot clean. (y/n) smirked in amusement, watching him do so, finding it cute.

“Did I get it?” He asked.

She snickered and reached her hand across the table to the side of his face. Her thumb gently swiped the corner of his mouth. The action took him by surprise. He sat tensely as she did it. It was a quick moment— a gentle touch, and yet his entire body burned with heat at the contact. When she pulled away and leaned back in her seat, the warmth still lingered. She looked him in the eyes, not breaking contact as she brought her thumb to her lips. The pink flesh of her tongue darted out and lewdly flattened against the pad of her thumb, cleaning it of the ketchup.

Credence felt his body ache at the simple action, the tips of his ears burning incredibly hot. (y/n), who was by no means ignorant to the effect she had on him, could only smirk and marvel at the rosy tint of his cheeks. Credence was grateful she didn’t draw attention to it. It was easier to hide how flustered she made him when they were outside, and he could blame his feverishness on the cold. Now that they were inside and it was warm, it made it harder to deny. He couldn’t bear being teased by her further, he felt like he might explode. She must have sensed it too, because she made no other moves to make him blush after that. She acted as though it didn’t happen and continued to eat her food. Credence then too returned to eating, praying that the ache he felt went away. 

It did, with the help of other distractions. (y/n) continued innocent conversation as they ate to keep the peace. As they talked she could tell that her earlier display still hindered his interaction. While they talked, she’d notice his eyes would linger on her lips rather than her eyes; and whenever they did lock eyes, he would trip over his words and look away.

It was cute, she thought.

Before she could decide to tease him further, the waitress had returned to their table, having noticed that their plates had practically been licked clean. She asked if they were finished with their plates, and they both nodded.

As she collected their dishes she asked, “Can I interest you two in some dessert?”

(y/n) pursed her lips and turned to Credence. “What do you think? Still have room for more, pretty boy?”

Credence flushed.  “I-I’ve never had a milkshake before,” he stammered, referring to the claim she made earlier.

She smiled, before gingerly holding up a finger to the waitress. “We’ll have one large vanilla milkshake with extra cherries, please!”

The waitress returned her smile and winked. “Coming right up!”

It wasn’t long before she came back with the milkshake. It came in a large glass cup filled with vanilla milkshake and topped off with a generous swirl of whipped cream. It was decorated with a cherry, but the extra cherries (y/n) asked for layered the bottom of the glass. The waitress placed the glass on the center of the table between the two. She handed them two big, red and white striped straws before leaving them once more. They both took one and put it into the glass.

(y/n) smiled eagerly at Credence across the table. “You get the first sip,” she said.

He thanked her as he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around his straw. He sucked on it how he normally would without realizing how thick the milkshake was. (y/n) watched him struggle for a moment as he nearly ran out of breath trying to suck the ice cream up the straw. He got it eventually, the cool, sweet, vanilla filling his mouth. It wasn’t what he was expecting at all. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, really, but he just knew that the taste surprised him. He never had sweets before. Sugar is a gluttonous indulgence that Mary Lou found sinful. But as the sticky sweet cream slid down his throat, he wondered if all sin was just pleasures he was being denied.

He didn’t have to tell her he liked it. It was written all over his face. It was probably the most relaxed she’s ever seen him. She enjoyed seeing him that way, with a small smile on his face and flushed cheeks. Credence was so invested in the milkshake, (y/n) was sure he would drink it all if she didn’t get her sips in. Credence nearly choked when he looked up and saw her face mere inches from his own, sipping on the other straw in the glass.

She didn’t seem to mind at all, being so close to him. Her eyes were closed as she sipped. Her curled lashes brushed against her full cheeks and her glossy lips circled the straw delicately. This close, he could see the texture of her (s/c) skin, seeing the few freckles and moles that decorated her features he hadn’t noticed before.

When she did open her eyes, he didn't look away. This time he looked in her eyes and saw for the first time that her eyes weren’t just one shade of (e/c), but a combination of different shades and colors to make the color that was distinctly her’s. Similarly, she saw that his eyes were a deep brown, almost black if it weren't for the few streaks of chocolate brown and burgundy that reflected in the light.

(y/n)’s lips curled into a smile. She bashfully looked away from his eyes and into the glass. The two drank in comfortable silence, savoring both the milkshake and the tender moment. They drank the contents of the glass, leaving nothing but the leftover cream and cherries at the bottom. They wouldn’t go to waste. Cherries must have been (y/n)’s favorite because ate most of them. She did however offer one to Credence for him to try. She held the cherry by the stem and encouraged him to take a bite. He thought it was a bit embarrassing that she insisted on feeding it to him, but he took the cream covered fruit into his mouth and found it just as sweet—if not sweeter—than the milkshake itself.

She let him eat the remaining cherries himself. While he was eating, he watched (y/n) gather her things, putting on her coat before sliding out of the booth.

“I’m going to go pay while you finish,” she told him as she got up.

She walked over to the front counter where the waitress was counting money from the cash register. Credence watched as the two women talked. (y/n) smiled at the waitress and said something that made her laugh. She reached into her purse and pulled out several bills. She handed it to the waitress, who looked at the cash in her hands with wide eyes.

“For me?” He overheard the waitress ask. When (y/n) nodded, the young girl squealed in excitement and rushed from the counter to hug her. The two stumbled due to the unexpected force, but (y/n) didn’t seem to mind. She laughed and hugged the waitress back, patting her back in a friendly manner. Credence, having finished his cherries, got up to stand by (y/n)’s side.

“Thank you so much, miss!” Credence heard the waitress gush as he came up.

“It’s nothing, you deserve it,” (y/n) insisted. (y/n) turned her attention from the young girl to Credence beside her when she felt his presence. She looked up at him with a smile. “Are you ready to go?” She asked him. He nodded.

The waitress looked between the two and grinned softly. “You two make a sweet couple,” she said.

(y/n) returned the grin, hooking her arm around Credence and leaning her head on his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, playing into the waitress’s assumptions.

“You two have a blessed day!” The waitress left to tend to a waiting customer leaving him victim to (y/n)’s smug grin. At this point, even his neck was red. (y/n) couldn’t help but find  it amusing. No matter how flustered he got, he wouldn’t protest.

She lightly squeezed his arm, making him look down at her. “Are you ready to go, pretty boy?” She asked him.

It was the second time she called him that, and it was just as startling as the first time. The pet name made his heart swell in his chest and his brain stutter. But again, he didn’t protest. He just nodded his head and turned his face away to hide his reddened cheeks. (y/n) giggled, satisfied with the reaction she got, and they both walked out of the restaurant and back into the cold.

Outside, the snow had stopped falling, but the sidewalks were still slick with slush and ice. (y/n) took a deep breath, breathing in the crisp air as she looked up at the sky.

“Is it that late all ready?” She muttered to herself, her happy features falling slightly. Despite the heavy, grey clouds blanketing the sky, they could still see the sun shining brightly behind them. Credence too looked up at the sky. From what he could tell, it was around three in the afternoon..

He turned to (y/n). “Do you have to go now?” He asked her regrettably.

Her eyes fell down from the sky to his own. Her lips pressed into a small smile and shook her head. “Not just yet,” she said.

“Why don’t you walk with me to the park.” She demanded more than asked and pulled him off down the sidewalk.

He walked with (y/n) a little while longer, back towards the park. Along the way, (y/n) would stop outside shops and look at the items displayed in the windows. Some things of the things she expressed an interest in were for her, sometimes she would see an item and would say something along the lines of “Mom would love this” or “Aaron has something like this”. But sometimes she would stop and turn to Credence and ask, “Do you like this?”

He had to talk her out of buying him things multiple times. She seemed so eager to spoil him. She wanted to buy him a new pair of shoes and a watch she’d seen on display. There was an expensive-looking suit outside of a tailor’s shop, and her eyes practically sparkled upon seeing it. She tried to convince him to go in and try it on, but he knew if he did, she would end up buying it for him. How he deterred her from the idea was a miracle in itself. But eventually, she dropped the idea, and the two continued on their walk. 

The two reached the park without buying a single thing. When they reached the entrance of the park, (y/n) stopped, and pulled away from his side. Credence halted in his tracks, turning around to face her. He looked down at her as she smiled up at him.

“Do you have anywhere to go after this?” She asked him.

Credence shook his head. His mother wouldn’t be expecting him until dark.

She pursed her lips and tilted her as if in thought as she sighed.

“Should I just kidnap you?”

The question took him by surprise. (y/n) laughed at the perturbed look on his face. “I’m joking, Credence,” she said between snorts. “I won’t kidnap you. Not unless you want me to.”

Credence smiled softly, letting out a soft chuckle of his own. This made (y/n) smile even bigger than before. She took a coy step closer to him, taking one of his gloved hands in her own and swinging it playfully.

“I had fun today, Credence,” she told him. “As first dates go, this is probably the best one I’ve ever been on.”

“Just probably?” Credence mumbled jokingly.

(y/n) smirked, amused by the sudden remark. “Yeah, just probably.”

Credence looked down at their hands, admiring how small her hands were compared to his. Somehow he hadn’t realized just how much shorter than him she was. He always felt smaller than her. He didn’t mind it: feeling small. It was different from how other people made him feel small; like his mother or strangers on the street. They made him feel tiny, like a bug— like something disgusting and inconvenient. To them, he was something they could easily step on. But with her, it was different.

With her, he felt small, like a flower. And to him, she was the sun. She was so big and so bright. Whenever she was around, he felt alive. And whenever she wasn’t, he felt like he might die. He didn’t mind feeling small around her, because, at least when he’s with her, he is consumed by light. 

“I had fun too,” Credence spoke up. “I really enjoy spending time with you, Miss (l/n).”

“Are you always this formal?” She teases despite her obvious blushing. “I enjoy spending time with you too, Mister Barebone.”

She gave his hand one last gentle squeeze before letting go. She brushed past him, striding down the street. Credence watched her as she walked, his heart sinking just a little.

As though she could sense it, (y/n) looked at him over her shoulder as she walked and grinned. “Don’t look so sad,” she yelled to him. “I’ll find you again.”

With a chaste wink, she disappeared around the corner and away from his line of vision, leaving him with a full stomach and an even fuller heart.

That night, Credence returned home alone. He reluctantly walked back to the crooked chapel. His mind was fogged with thoughts of her. When he came to the front of what he, unfortunately, called ‘home’, he hesitated to go in. He looked through each window. It was dark inside. Could everyone have fallen asleep already?

He looked down at the coat on his body. He quickly shrugged the heavy material off of his shoulders and folded it in his arms before quietly entering the house. The house seemed empty, and it was almost too quiet. He pushed his way through the dark and carefully made his way up the stairs as to not make a sound. He’d gotten good at being quiet in the house. He memorized each squeaky board and mastered the art of moving in silence despite his height. 

He crept up the stairs as he’d done many times and tip-toed to his bedroom, where he then quietly shut his door. Once he heard the door click softly, he released his breath and sighed in relief.

His room wasn’t much. It was small and comprised a bed with an old iron frame, an armoire, a sink, and a metal tub that he uses to bathe. He looked down at the coat in his hands. He moved to the armoire by his bed and opened its doors. There wasn’t much inside; he had little to put in it, anyway. But today, he would be thankful for that. 

The armoire was a rather fancy piece of furniture. It stood out in his otherwise destitute room. The armoire was just as old and worn out as the rest of the room, but it wasn’t hard to tell it was an ornamental relic of the 19th century. It had enough space to fill two weeks’ worth of clothes. It was almost offensive how little there was inside it. One detail about it was its hollow bottom. Credence could slide the bottom plank of wood to reveal a cubbyhole. Its original purpose must have been for shoes or winter blankets, but now it would serve a new purpose. 

Credence kneeled on the ground and packed the coat neatly into the cubby before throwing his new gloves on top. They fit perfectly inside and he was allowed to slide the wooden plank back on with ease. With that accomplished, he rose to his feet and closed the armoire doors. He began undressing, stripping his clothes until he was left in nothing but his boxers.

It was as cold in the house as it was outside, but credence had no pajamas that would keep him warm. He had but one pair of old satin pajamas that were too small for him. He decided not to wear them tonight. The naturally cool material wouldn’t provide him warmth or comfort.

After putting away his dirtied clothes, Credence fell back on his bed and stared up at the rotting ceiling above him. As he lay there, his mind would drift to the memories of his ‘date’. Just thinking about her made his heart beat faster. He pictured her in his mind, reliving the time he spent with her.

It was the most surreal thing. Being with her made him feel things he never felt before. She made his heart flutter and his cheeks warm in a pleasantly addicting way. When he was with her, he forgot everything bad. There was no anxiety, no judgment, no harsh words, or abuse. He was just a normal man with a normal woman. He wished he could feel that way all the time.

His hand reached behind his head and slipped under his pillow to retrieve the soft pink piece of fabric he kept there. He held it up in front of him, rubbing it between his fingers. The moonlight from his window reflected on its threads, and he could read the stitched initials in the corner.

“(y/n)...” He whispered her name so tenderly. Just saying her name aloud made his lips tingle. He loved saying her name for the simple reason that it was her name. He would say it a thousand times aloud if he could.

He brought the cloth down to his nose and inhaled its scent. Her fragrance still lingered on the soft fabric, clouding his senses. Credence felt a familiar stirring rise in his stomach. Heat rose to his cheeks, and he pressed his legs together. His mind flashed to the other day in the church, remembering the lewd images of her he had fantasized about. A part of him was ashamed. Sexual desire was a sin he shouldn’t act upon. It was a vile, disgusting act. That’s what the church told him, at least. And his mother would have no part of it either.

Mary Lou made sure to reprimand him whenever she suspected him of sexual temptation, so much so he shied away from girls all together. Yet recently, he’s felt a bumbling desire well up inside of him. He knew what it was; he felt it before. Only once before had he fallen victim to his lusty desire. It had been in his adolescence. He was sleeping when he had a dream about a red-haired woman he’d seen on the street. She was most likely in her twenties at the time, but she was so captivating he remembered her face for a week. He dreamed of that red-haired woman touching and caressing him. She’d even kissed him like he’d seen couples on the street kiss. This mild fantasy woke him from his sleep with a shameful mess on his bed.

He was so humiliated and ashamed he rushed to confess to Mary Lou, who punished him greatly for his lasciviousness. He didn’t dream of the red-haired woman or any woman at all after that. That is, until he met her.

At first, his thoughts of her were innocent. He would fantasize about holding her hand and laying on her chest as he slept. She would caress his face and run her fingers through his hair.  He would give her chaste kisses on her cheek, and she would giggle and laugh, returning the favor. But that changed that day he went to church and listened to Father Blackwell’s sermon. That was the first time he thought of her in such an erotic way.

It was because of this he felt particularly suffocated by her presence today. He became even more aware of her touches. His eyes would stare at her lips more often and glance at the curves of her chest. He thought about how she held on to his arm; How warm and soft she was; Her small hands. He thought about how her finger felt brushing against his lip. About how her tongue darted between her plump lips to lap at her thumb.

Credence bit his lip to keep his whimpers from escaping. His thoughts were filled with images of her, his body reacted on its own. He curled on his side and pressed his legs together to relieve himself of his growing hardness. Instead of discouraging his growing lust, it seemed to only spur it on. The feeling of his thighs pressing against his length brushed an itch he desperately desired to scratch.

He wanted her by his side so terribly. If only he were as confident and manly as the men he saw on the street, she would be. If he were as confident as the man she was with today, then he could call her by her name. He too could take her by her delicate waist and kiss her cheeks. And, oh, did he wish to kiss her.

He wanted to kiss her many times today. He wanted to kiss her the moment he saw her. He wanted to kiss her again in the boutique when she pressed her hands on his chest, and again when she asked him to go on a date with her. He wanted to kiss her multiple times in the restaurant for teasing him so viciously, and he wanted to kiss her deeply before they said goodbye.

He imagined what it would be like to be that kind of man; what it would be like to have her with him now, and what he would do if she was. If she was there on his bed laying next to him, he would want to kiss her now as well. He would have her under him, staring up at him with her beautiful (e/c) eyes. He would brush the hair away from her face and stroke her cheek. Her hands would hold his sides and pull him closer so their bodies lay flat against each other. He would feel her and she would feel him. Her warmth would consume him, and their bodies would mold together.

Credence closed his eyes and smelled her pink handkerchief. If he kept his eyes closed, he could pretend she was there.

“(y/n)...” He whispered her name once more. His hips rocked hesitantly, the undeniable bulge in his boxers was now too evident to ignore. Rocking his hips caused a pleasurable sensation in his stomach. It felt so good, he did it again... and again... and again; rocking his hips as he held her handkerchief to his nose and imagined her.

He thought of kissing her soft lips as he pressed into her, feeling her hands run up and down his sides as they had done before. He wanted to rock his hips against her like he was doing now. Would it feel as good for her as it felt for him? Would she breathe as heavy as he was now? Would she pant and whisper his name?

“A-ah...”

He panted lewdly, pleasuring himself with these thoughts. But it wasn't enough. He needed more.

He laid on his back on the bed. His body seemed to know what to do without thinking about it. He kept his eyes closed as his free hand snaked down his body to palm himself over his boxers. He rubbed himself through the fabric, his shallow breaths filling his ears. But to him it wasn't his hands, but hers; her soft, small hands touching him gently.

It was her delicate hands that slipped past the waistband of his boxers and gripped his length. It was her hands that stroked him slowly. She was there, whispering his name while he whispered hers. The more she stroked him, the shorter his breaths became. Each breath he took was filled with her scent. She consumed him, wrapping her essence around him, and filling his body with heat.

She stroked him faster as they kissed. He kissed her deeply, slipping his tongue past her lips as he’d seen couples do before. He could taste the cherries and vanilla on her tongue, as sweet as they were in the milkshake they’d shared. She moaned his name in her mouth, driving him crazy.

“Ha..-ahh. ahaa...”

More, he thought. All he could think about was how he wanted more. More of her scent, more of her touch, more of her.

Her hands became wet with his slick, gliding up and down his length with vigor. His body was overtaken with a foreign sensation, buzzing through his body, collecting where he wanted to be touched the most. The faster she stroked him, the better he felt. She felt good, so so good.

“H-Ha...-haaaa...(y/n)...”

He wanted to say her name over and over. He wanted to shout it, loud enough for the heavens to hear. He didn’t care if God heard him. He wanted God and the angels to hear so they would know how she made him feel. He was overwhelmed by love and lust for her. He wanted them to know that his body was hers and he willingly gave it to her. He wanted to touch her, please her, feel her.

His eyes clenched shut. Her hands pumped his twitching length excitedly, the buzzing heat collecting at his center. His legs began to shake, his back arching from the bed. Lavender and vanilla, that’s what he smelled as his vision blurred and the buzzing heat tingling in his core burst and was replaced with a cool wave of overwhelming pleasure.

His body trembled, somehow coated in a thin layer of sweat despite the room being cold. He stayed still, laying in silence as he let his body calm. When he finally opened his eyes, he half expected to see her hovering over him with that playful smile on her face, only to be met with the rotting rafters of his ceiling.

He sighed through his nose. Once the euphoric cloud in his mind cleared, shame and regret replacing his lusty desire, he moved from his bed to the sink across the room. He turned the knob and a low stream of water fell from the faucet. Taking the dingy rag that rested on the sink’s bowl, he wet it, using it to clean up his mess. As he wiped himself, he wondered if that was what sex was like. He never touched himself like that before, though he wanted to many times. Now that he had, the answer to his question was clear. Sins were just pleasures he was being denied. 

He returned to his bed, burying himself beneath the covers. He took the handkerchief back into his hand and held it by his face as he slept on his side. His eyes grew heavy, the scent of lavender slowly drifting him to sleep. A passing thought in his mind wondered if this is what it would feel like to sleep by her side. He would do anything to just hold her once, to lie on her chest and listen to the sounds of her breathing.

That was his last thought before falling asleep.

Several days would pass since the last time he saw her. They would be long, dreary days spent in the chapel. It snowed relentlessly for three days, making it impossible to venture out. During that time, he would clean and help Chastity serve meals to the orphans that sought refuge from the streets. The day when the snow finally ceased to fall, Mary Lou tasked him with shoveling the street in front of the chapel while she took Modesty and Chastity into town.

It was once he finished shoveling that he realized he had the rest of the day for himself. He pondered staying in the house for a moment, but quickly threw the idea. He couldn’t bear another minute in that house. Instead, he went on a walk. It wasn’t unusual for him to do this when he had the time. He would walk aimlessly just to get away. He only could afford to when his mother left him alone.

Today, Credence found himself at Central Park. It was no surprise that the park was packed. The low temperatures of the past week allowed the lake to freeze over, thick enough for people to skate on. Men, women, and children scattered across the area. Carolers were singing Christmas songs and street vendors peddled treats. It was a pleasant and lively scene.

He had almost forgotten that Christmas was so soon. He’d been so caught up with his duties it had slipped his mind. He liked Christmas, even though he didn’t celebrate it the way most people do. His mother forced him and his siblings to attend church on Christmas Day. But he could appreciate what others did on Christmas. He liked seeing the kids play in the snow, showing off their new toys. He liked the idea of parents spending time with their children by the fire. He even liked listening to Christmas songs that would play on repeat outside the record store.

Credence watched the people as he walked through the park. He liked to imagine himself in their place. Sometimes he was a kid playing fetch with his dog. Sometimes he was a woman making snow angels, or a man building a snowman. Right now, he was the man of a couple skating on the ice, holding hands with his partner. The pair laughed as they spun in circles, occasionally grasping at each other’s arms when they slipped.

He was too busy projecting he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings. Like any other creature, he was susceptible to attack. He flinched as he felt icy-cold pellets burst against the back of his head. He heard a sharp gasp not far behind him, followed by a heap of childish giggles. Credence turned around, expecting to see a group of devious looking children. Imagine his surprise when he saw her standing ten feet away from him with a group of children looking incredibly guilty.

“Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry, Bunny! I was aiming for your shoulder, I swear!”

“(y/n)?” He muttered in disbelief.

How did she always appear in the least expected places? He stared her down as she rushed towards him. Today she was wearing a heavy, brown fur-lined coat and a green cloche hat that matched her boots. When she reached him, her hands immediately reached behind his head to dust the remaining remnants of her snowball from his hair.

She looked at him apologetically. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I feel like a total gink,” she pouted.

His cheeks burst into flames. The position she put him in had her chest brushing pressing against his as her hands brushed through his hair. At this angle he could see how neatly curled her hair was under her cap, falling in styled swirls around her face. Her swollen nose was red from the cold. Her breath that smelled distinctly of coffee beans warmed his cheeks.

Credence’s expression softened, a faint smile ghosting his lips. She was still apologizing to him, frantically brushing snow from his hair and shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he said in hopes to calm her. 

She closed her eyes and sighed. Her head lulled forward, hiding her face in his chest. “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” He heard her muffled voice say.

Credence swallowed the lump in his throat and nervously licked his lips. This was the closest she’d ever been to him. He reached a dithering hand to grasp hers and rubbed the back of her gloved hand with his thumb.

“I’m not angry,” he assured her.

(y/n) lifted her head from his shoulders to meet his eyes, searching for any sign of irritation. “Are you sure? You can get me back, if you want.”

Credence nodded his head. “I’m sure.”

She believed him this time, her relief washing over her face. “I really am sorry,” she said one final time. “I just saw you walking past by chance and I wanted to surprise you.”

“I was surprised!” He said a bit too excitedly.

This made her laugh and playfully push his shoulder. Her laugh alone was enough to put a smile on his face, one that made dimples appear on his cheeks. He felt her hand firmly grasp his, holding it properly.

“Why aren’t you wearing your new coat and gloves?” She asked. “Don’t you like them?”

Credence had forgotten he wasn’t wearing the coat you got him. He couldn’t, not without his mother seeing it. If she knew about the coat—if she knew about him seeing you—she would be furious. He kept the coat (y/n) had given him hidden with the rest of the precious things she gave him. He wore the old navy blue coat out that Mary Lou had recently acquired and given to him. It wasn’t nearly as warm or stylish as the coat (y/n)  had gotten for him, but it was enough for the winter, and it was the only thing he could wear in front of his mother.

“I do like them,” he answered. “I was afraid of ruining it. I don’t want to wear it out too much.”

It was the best excuse he could think of at the time, and after mulling over it for a brief moment, she seemed to accept it. She then told him that, if he did end up damaging his new coat, she would simply buy him another, and spoke no more of it.

She nodded towards the lake behind him. “Did you come here to skate?”

Credence looked back to the lake. “Oh, no,” he said. “I never learned.”

Another gasp left her lips. “You’ve never been ice-skating before?”

He shook his head.

“Then we’ve got to fix that, now don’t we?” She reckoned.

Before he could ask what she meant, she’d already left his side. He looked in all directions until he saw her talking to an older couple sitting on a mess of picnic blankets under a tree. It appeared she’d asked him a question because their answer was a shake of their head. She waved goodbye to them before walking off to pursue another person, who gave the same answer. He watched her do this a few times around a small area of the park with no luck. At one point, she stood in the middle of the snow pondering while she scanned the area. Curious, Credence walked up to her.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Looking,” she replied simply.

Her squinted eyes panned across the park, her lips pursed as though she were thinking very hard about something.

“Ah!” She shouted, a triumphant smile stretching across her lips. She turned to Credence and winked. “Follow my lead.”

She walked down a small hill towards a small group of children who were playing in the snow at the bottom. Credence followed a few steps behind.

“Hey, kiddos,” She waved.

The kids stopped what they were doing to look up at her. She waved her hands towards her, beckoning them over. The children shared confused looks, before cautiously making their way towards her. She squatted down Asian style to meet their eyes. Credence stayed a couple of feet away, but he could still make out what was being said.

“Can you keep a secret?” He heard (y/n) ask the children.

The kids nodded and hummed in confirmation. (y/n) grinned.

“You see my friend over there?” She pointed behind her, directing the children’s attention to Credence. “He’s never been ice-skating before!”

The children snickered whispered teasingly among themselves. Credence looked away, embarrassed to be taunted by children. (y/n) giggled with them and easily brought back their attention.

“I really want to teach him,” She revealed once their jeering ceased. “But he’s so silly, he forgot to bring a pair of skates.”

“That is silly!” One of the little girls yelled.

(y/n) looked between Credence and the children. “Now, I see you have a pair of skates.” Sure enough, there were a pair of skates laying in the snow where the kids were once playing, far too big to fit on their small feet.

“Do they belong to any of you?” (y/n) asked.

“No,” The little girl shook her head. “They were already there.”

“We think someone left them by mistake,” An older boy chimed in.

“I see,” (y/n) hummed. “Do you think I can take them for my friend, then?”

“But we was gonna use ‘em! We saw them first!” A small blond boy frowned. (y/n) looked at the boy and flashed her kindest smile.

“Oh, were you now? How about I just borrow them? I’ll bring them right back to you, I pinky promise!” She held out her pinky for him to take. The boy looked at her hand in front of him. He lifted his hand and stretched out his pinky.

“I guess that’s okay...” He mumbled through puffed red cheeks.

(y/n) hooked hers around the boy. “Aren’t you sweet?” She affectionately pat the top of his head. “I hope my kid will be as kind as you are.”

The boy blushed and swat her hand away from his head, adjusting his hat. “Whatever, Lady!” The blond boy ran away, the rest of the children chased after him with childish taunts.

(y/n) chuckled and rose back to her feet. She walked up to where the skates were laying and picked them off the ground before making her way back to Credence’s side.

“Are you ready?” She asked excitedly.

Credence shrugged his shoulders, still processing the events of the last fifteen minutes. (y/n) scoffed and rolled her eyes, forcibly taking Credence’s hand.

“Just come on,” she groaned as she dragged him towards the lake.

When they reached the edge of the ice, she handed him the skates and ordered him to strap them onto his boots. Credence did as he was told and sat down on the nearest bench, securely strapping the skates onto his shoes. After (y/n) had double-checked to make sure they were on right, she held out her hand for him to take. He grabbed it, using her to find his balance. When he stood to his feet his ankles wobbled, disrupting his balance.

(y/n) gripped his arm tightly to keep him from falling. “Careful,” she warned.

He held on to her as she guided him to the lake. She stepped on the ice with ease. She grabbed his other hand and helped him step on the ice. Immediately after his skates touched the ice, his heart raced.

“I don’t think I want to do this anymore,” his voice fluttered anxiously.

“You’re okay, I got you,” she promised.

She pulled him further out onto the ice, still clasping his hands. Credence gripped her hands for dear life while silently trying to figure out how it was he ended up in this position.

Other skaters flew past them as he stumbled on the ice like a baby deer. (y/n) didn’t give up on teaching him. No matter how many times he slipped or tripped, she was always there to catch and pick him back up when he fell. Eventually, he got the hang of it. He started balancing himself on his own, gliding somewhat smoothly without having to hold on to her. It didn’t take long for him to relax and reciprocate her playful activities.

(y/n) eventually stepped off the ice, giving him the space to skate on his own. She watched him fondly, taking in the smile glowing on his face. He went around in circles, almost bumping into others a few times, but he directed himself easily. She would say he was a natural.

He went on like that for a while as she watched. When he’d had enough, he made his way back to the edge of the lake where she stood.

“Was that fun?” She asked when he skated towards her. Credence nodded his head and smiled bashfully. She helped him stop by taking his outstretched hands. 

“You’re a fast learner. I’m kind of jealous. I didn’t get the hang of skating until I was twelve,” she brooded jokingly. “Are you done?”

“Yes,” he said as he stepped back on the snow. 

They walked towards the bench, and Credence sat down to take off his skates. (y/n) stayed standing. “There’s a vendor selling treats across the street,” she told him. “Why don’t you give those skates back to the kids while I get us something to drink?”

“But––” Credence tried to protest, not having the courage or social skills to approach a group of children. It was quickly ignored, however, for (y/n) had already made up her mind, and began walking to the street. 

“I’ll be right back!” She said as she left him alone on the bench. 

Credence looked around, silently doubting his ability to find the kids. His eyes scanned the park until they landed on a group of children having a snowball fight. He recognized one of the children as the bratty boy (y/n) convinced to let them borrow the skates. 

He reluctantly got up from the bench and walked over to the children, skates in hand. The closer he got, the louder their shouting laughter became. Most of the children were boys between the ages of seven and thirteen, but three girls around their age had gained their friendship. One girl stayed off to the sidelines watching the others play. He recognized her as well.

“Excuse me... little girl?” He called. The little girl turned around and held out the skates. “Here.”

The girl took them and smiled. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome.”

She looked behind him, frowning when she saw nothing there. “Where’s that nice lady?”

Credence pointed across the street towards the street vendor where (y/n) was patiently waiting in line. “She should be back,” he told her.

“I like her!” said the girl. “She’s very pretty, like a princess!”

This made him smile. It made him happy to know others, even children, saw her the way he did. “Yeah,” he agreed. “She is.”

The little girl looked at Credence, noting the soft smile on his face as he watched you. “Do you like her or something?” She probed unexpectedly. 

“Uh... I...?” Credence struggled to find the words to say. It's not that he didn't know the answer, it was just that he hadn’t expected to be asked that question. Especially not from an eight-year-old girl. Were his feelings that transparent? Did you know how he felt too?

The little girl didn’t wait for an answer. “Well, I think she likes you,” she told him, surprising him for the second time.

Credence flushed pink. “Really?”

The small girl reached her hand to pat Credence's arm and imitated the look of someone wise beyond her years. “Trust me. Women know these things.”

Oddly, he couldn’t help but feel a bit hopeful despite the words coming from a child. He never felt about anyone the way he felt about her. The way he is when he’s with her—the way he talks to her and touches her—he can only be that way with her because he likes her. He could never be that way with anyone else. But he always felt that, for her, it was different. Seeing her interact with others like the children, the waitress, Raül—even Edmund—made him realize that she was kind to everyone. She didn’t treat him that way because she liked him. She treated him that way because that’s just the kind of person she was.

“Hey, kiddos!” (y/n)’s voice caught his attention. Both Credence and the girl looked up to see her holding a cardboard box of steaming paper cups. “I got something for you!”

The children playing heard her too and ceased their fight to run towards her. They circled her like a litter of puppies, excitedly asking what she was holding.

She lowered the box for them to see, showing off cups filled with light brown liquid. “For letting us borrow the skates. Be careful though, it's hot!”

The kids yelled enthusiastically as she began handing them each a cup. Credence walked to her side to help her.

“What is it?” He asked.

(y/n) frowned. “Hot chocolate. Have you never had hot chocolate before?”

He shook his head, causing her to gasp.

“I wish I had known sooner!” She pouted. “I got this is from a vendor across the street. I could have gotten better hot chocolate with marshmallows at a cafe a block from here.”

“I think it’s delicious!” The little girl interjected. 

(y/n) smiled down at her. “Well, if you think so, then it must be.”

Credence ended up being the one to give the bratty boy his cup of hot chocolate. (y/n) watched him as he drank it greedily. 

“What about you?” She asked him. “Do you like it too?”

“It’s pretty good, I guess,” he said, trying his hardest to sound indifferent, but it was hard to take him seriously with the chocolate mustache on his lips.

(y/n) laughed and took his cheek between her fingers, pinching them gently. “Gosh, you’re so darn cute! Do you have a big sister already? I can be yours, if you want. I’ve always wanted a little brother!”

The boy blushed and pulled his face away from her hand. “Lady, you’re crazy!”

He threw his empty cup on the ground stormed off angrily. The other children finished their cups and handed them back to her nicely before running off too, leaving her and Credence alone. 

“What did I say?” She mumbled to herself.

Credence couldn’t help but find it amusing. It was nice seeing her tease someone else for a change. 

“Maybe he already has a sister,” he answered sarcastically.  

(y/n) scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, just drink your cocoa,” she chuckled after handing him a cup. 

The two threw away the empty cups and cardboard box in a nearby trashcan. (y/n) suggested they take a walk around the park and talk. She asked him if he liked the hot chocolate, to which he answered yes. She then asked which he liked better: vanilla milkshakes or hot chocolate. He told her milkshakes. They talked like this for a while. Occasionally she would ask about his family and what he liked to do at home. He didn’t give her many satisfying answers, but that didn’t stop her from prodding.

“So, did you give up on hunting witches?” She asked.

Credence swallowed another sip of his hot chocolate. “I’m sorry?”

“You don’t carry around flyers anymore. Did you give up?”

“Oh. No, it’s not that,” he said. “I don’t think my mother will ever give up on exposing witches. It’s just that right now she’s kind of stuck.”

“Stuck? Stuck how?”

“She wanted to speak at the church to let everyone know about what she’d seen, but the priest, Father Blackwell, wouldn’t allow it.”

“I know Father Blackwell,” she told him.

Credence perked up. “You do?”

“Yes! My father is a big supporter of the church. Personally, I identify as agnostic, so I don’t go to church with him unless it’s for a holiday like Easter or Christmas. I wonder if you’ve seen him. Not that you could miss him. He’s a rather large man,” she joked.

“Does he wear a white suit?” Credence asked, remembering the stocky man talking with Father Blackwell the last time he visited the church.

(y/n) grinned and nodded excitedly. “That’s his Sunday suit! He has four of them. For some reason, he only likes wearing cream-colored suits on Sundays.”

“I have seen him,” he admits.

“Small world!” She exclaimed. “Well, anyways, I can definitely tell my father to put in a good word for your mother to Father Blackwell.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course! Better yet, why don’t we go right now?”

“N-Now?” Credence gaped.

“It’s Wednesday, they have a service tonight. Father Blackwell will be there, and I can try to convince him to let your mother have a set this Sunday!

“But what about your father?”

“We might not need him. I know Father Blackwell well enough. He might be swayed on my word alone. It won’t hurt to try,” she explained.

“I guess not,” he agreed.

“Come with me, my car is just a short walk from here!” She grabbed his free hand and directed him towards the street where she’d parked her car. 

After they reached the car, she drove him to the church. It was a short fifteen-minute drive from Central Park. It was still too early for the service to start, but when they entered the church, a few people were sitting in the pews praying. An older woman was playing the organ at the altar while Deacon Ripley read scriptures from the Bible. He stopped only stopped when he noticed the two walking down the aisle. 

“Oh, God,” Credence heard (y/n) mutter under her breath. “Not this clown again.”

He wasn’t used to you outwardly showing your distaste for someone; you were always so nice. But considering it was Deacon Ripley, it wasn’t too surprising. 

He was a cunt.

As they came closer, Ripley marked the passage he’d finished reading and closed the Bible. 

“Miss (l/n),” he called her name with a sneer. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?”

“I’m here to speak with Father Blackwell,” she replied coldly. It was the first time Credence had ever heard her use such a tone. 

Ripley frowned, taking a step down from the podium. “What business could you have with him?”

(y/n)’s lips curled into a sly smirk. “My business with him would be his business and mine, so why would I tell you our business if it isn’t your business to begin with?”

Her witty remark clearly got under Ripley’s skin. His frown deepened and splotches of red began appearing under his grey skin. He didn’t get the chance to respond before Father Blackwell stopped him. 

“Give it a rest, Ripley.” Father Blackwell had come out from the door to his office. He moved between Ripley and (y/n), and held out his hand for her. “(y/n), it’s lovely to see you. It’s been a while. A year, I think?”

She took his hand and shook it. “Don’t be silly, Father. You saw me earlier this year, remember? For my parent’s Easter party.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he nodded, chuckling softly. “Must’ve slipped my mind. What brings your here, child?”

 “Ah, yes, about that...” (y/n) eyed Ripley. “Can we speak somewhere private, just the two of us?” 

“I don’t see why not. Step into my office.”

(y/n) turned to Credence and gave him a reassuring smile before following Father Blackwell to his office and disappearing behind the heavy door. Credence could feel Ripley’s eyes burning a hole in the side of his head. He obviously wanted to say something to him. 

“Seeing that godless woman walk through God’s doors was not something I expected to see today,” he began, excited to get his two cents in.  “But I must admit, seeing you by her side surprises me more. I didn’t realize you two were so close”

What was his problem? Why did he hate her so much? Then Credence remembered what she said to him in the park. Could that be why Ripley hated her? Because she didn’t believe in the church? No, it had to be something else. His pointed anger felt too personal.  

“We’re not really,” Credence answered. “I only just met her.”

“So you say.” Ripley circled him. “I wonder... Does your mother know about you and Miss (l/n)?”

If there’s one thing Credence hated about Ripley, it was his talent for stirring up trouble. His hobby of collecting and relaying gossip often caused spouts within the church. Credence fell victim to this twice before, each time resulting in a beating from his mother. He had to be careful with what he says to Ripley because he will most definitely relay it to his mother if he thinks it will cause conflict. 

“She does,” he lied as best he could. 

Ripley raised his brows. “Really? I never took her for the kind of woman who would allow her son to stroll the streets alone with such... unholy company. If there’s one kind of person Mary Lou hates, it’s women like her.”

Credence frowned. “What do you mean by ‘women like her’?”

“Don’t you know? Not only does she not accept the Christian God, but she fully denounced him. Instead of saving her divine feminine for holy matrimony, she committed salacious acts with various men that would make the Virgin Mary cry.”

Credence fell silent. So this was the reason. The malicious smirk on Ripley’s cracked lips proved that he couldn’t wait to tell him what he knew. 

“Oh my,” Ripley sighed. “I suppose you didn’t know.”

Credence clenched his fist. He could feel his body vibrating with heat. He was so angry. How dare he speak about her that way? How dare he disrespect her? Spread rumors about her? Was gossip not a sin?  Who was he to degrade and scrutinize her?

So what if she did? He didn’t care. It didn’t matter. It didn’t change what he thought about her. It didn’t change how he felt about her. But hearing such demeaning words come from Ripley's mouth made his blood boil. 

There were times where Credence would get like this. It wasn’t often, but when he did, his mind would think dark, violent thoughts. They build up in his head until anger and rage blinded him. He wanted to say something—do something. He probably would have too, if her voice hadn’t rung in his ears, immediately calming his nerves and the growing anger inside him. 

“Credence, I did it!” 

He saw you rushing excitedly towards him with a big smile on your face. You came up to him, grabbed both of his hands, shaking them wildly. 

“Tell your mother that she can speak this Sunday at the end of the service!”

Credence swallowed the lump in his throat. His tightened chest released the tension it was holding and his hands unclenched to hold hers. Looking into her shining (e/c) eyes made all his violent thoughts disappear as if they were never there. 

He blinked a few times, already forgetting how upset he’d just been. “H-How?”

“Magic,” she winked. 

She hooked her arm around his and began walking him back down the aisle to the exit. “Do you want me to drive you home?” She asked, looking up at him.

Credence smiled, Ripley’s taunting comments fleeing his memory. “Yes.”

The drive took longer than expected. There had been an accident on Manhattan Avenue that detoured them to Harlem. Credence didn’t mind it. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye just yet. Driving through Harlem was an experience in itself. He’d never been past the Upper East Side. Harlem was a lively neighborhood. People played music and danced in the streets despite the cold. Murals lined the walls, and there was a hopping joint around every corner. Credence looked out the window in silent awe, taking in everything he saw. 

“Have you never been here before?” (y/n) asked, noticing his astonishment. 

“No,” he told her truthfully. “It’s really nice.”

“You know, I used to live here,” she revealed.

That, he found hard to believe. His doubt must have been visible on his face because she laughed and shook her head. 

“What? You don’t believe me? It’s true, I swear! I wasn’t always like... Well, we didn’t always live in Kings Point.”

Having something to prove, Credence watched as she made a sudden turn, off course from where they were heading. The townhouses they passed were tall, skinny, and faintly worn down. The further they drove from the commercial streets, the quieter it became. They rounded about four blocks before turning into a barren street. Some houses were completely dark, while others had lights in their windows. The car slowed to a stop in front of one of the dark houses. It wasn’t terribly worn, but chipping blue paint covered the exterior and there were cracks in the brick fence that protected it. 

(y/n) parked the car and moved to get out. Credence did the same, opening the door and stepping onto the pavement. (y/n) came to his side and eyed the house. 

“This was my house,” she spoke after a while. “I lived here until I was nine.”

She walked up to the gate and pointed at the mailbox inside it. Faded letters that spelled her last name were imprinted on the stone from where a sign used to be. He tried to imagine her living it; it was almost comical. He only knew her to wear mink coats and designer clothes. He’d only pictured her living in a palace—somehow it felt fitting. Imagining her in such a small house and living an average life didn’t seem right. But perhaps that’s why she kept surprising him.

“No one lives here now. Sometimes I come back just to look around and remember as much about the place as I can.”

Credence walked to her side. “What do you remember?”

A smile fluttered on her lips. “I remember chasing my brothers around the house. We sat by the fire during the winter while my father read us stories and my mother knitted blankets and scarves. I learned how to ride a bike right on this street!” She looked down at the cracked pavement. “We were happier, I think.”

“Are you not happy now?”

(y/n) looked up at Credence and flushed. “I am! I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. It’s just...” She sighed. “Now that my father has his own architect firm, he’s been so busy I rarely see him anymore. My mother and I were never really close, and it’s pretty easy for us to avoid each other in such a big house. I don’t know... Sometimes I wonder if it was all worth it.”

“What about your brothers?” asked Credence. “You seem close.”

“We are,” she smiled. “We always had each other, and most of the time it was enough. Even when Aaron left to study at Oxford, Channing paid extra attention to me. Still, I want us all to be as close as we were.”

He could sympathize with that. Blood-related or not, Modesty and Chastity were his sisters. They’d been through a lot together, and that was enough for him. He didn’t know what it was like to lose a close relationship with a parent, having never had one in the first place—but he figured that’s what made it worse. 

“Anyway,” she elbowed him playfully. “D’you believe me now?”

Credence nodded. She chuckled softly, taking his hand and guiding him back to the car. They continued the rest of their drive uninterrupted. It was relatively quiet aside from the few comments she made along the way. By the time they reached Pike Street, it had started to snow again. It wasn’t heavy like the days before. The snowflakes fell slowly and softly, fluttering down gracefully on the window-shield. 

The care halted to a stop on the street corner. (y/n) turned to Credence, who was already looking at her. 

“Thank you,” he said. “For helping me.”

She smiled and looked down at her hands. “You don’t need to thank me,” she blushed. “I was happy to.”

“Still, I want to. Thank you, for everything.”

“You’re welcome.”

They regrettably said their goodbyes, something Credence hated doing because he was never sure when he’d see her again. He stepped out of the car and onto the icy street, turning to wave goodbye at her one last time before watching her drive off down and disappear behind the buildings once she rounded the corner. Credence turned on his heels and walked back to the snow-covered chapel. His feet dragged behind him to stall his arrival. He walked up the creaking steps to the door and opened it lackadaisically. 

He began stripping himself of his outerwear when he noticed another presence in the room. He looked to the stairs and found his mother, Mary Lou, sitting there. Her icy blue eyes bore into his skull. Credence got a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach, a vestigial remnant of primal instinct that signified impending danger. 

“Hello, Mother...” He said upon seeing her. She didn't respond. She only looked at him in a way that made him increasingly nervous. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

“I have some good news.” His mouth began moving before he could think. “Father Blackwell said he would let you speak this Sunday. It’s towards the end of service, and he is only giving us three minutes to speak, but that’s better than nothing, right?”

“Did your jezebel tell you that?” She spoke dangerously.

Credence’s body tensed. “What are you talking about, mother?” He asked, fearful he already knew the answer.

Mary Lou opened her hand to reveal the pink handkerchief. His stomach dropped as she threw the cloth down at his feet. Mary Lou rose from the stairs, her heels thumping loudly as she climbed down.

“I saw you at the cathedral, Credence. You and your little harlot,” she said as she walked towards him. “I was on my way to speak with Father Blackwell when I saw the two of you skip outside with her clinging to your arm.”

Credence kept his head down, staring at the handkerchief by his feet. Mary Lou circled him like a vulture ready to pick at a rotting carcass.

“I always knew your flesh was weak... but I didn’t know all it took was a pair of big (e/c) eyes to make you fall from grace.”

“Mother, I—” The sound of her heavy hand slapping across his face cut his sentence short, sending him to the ground. 

“Silence!” She ordered. Credence felt tears prickling behind his eyes. He stared at the handkerchief lying pathetically on the floor. Mary Lou’s pointed black shoe came into his view and stepped on the delicate silk. Mary Lou was never one to yell, that’s what made her anger so much more terrifying. She spoke barely above a whisper, in a sickeningly sweet and proper tone, the cruel words that left her thin lips.

“The worst part of it is: you tried to hide it from me. You knew what you were doing was a sin. You knew that God was watching, and you did it anyway.”

“Mother, it’s not what you think,” Credence said through his strained tears. “I didn’t touch her!”

“Don’t lie to me, Credence, I saw the way you looked at her!” Mary Lou seethed. “You think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking in late? That I wouldn’t smell the perfume on your clothes?”

Credence fell silent, realizing that denial was futile. It didn’t matter what he said. Mary Lou had already set her mind about his relationship with (y/n). He knew it was too good to be true. He had been happy for far too long. He should have expected it wouldn’t last. He always screwed everything up somehow. This was his own fault. He deserved this.

“You know what I have to do now, don’t you?” She whispered.

Credence did know. His heart thrashed in his chest, fear coursing through his veins. “Mother, please, don’t!” he begged feebly. “I won’t see her again, I promise!”

Mary Lou kneeled in front of Credence. Her hand reached up to lift his head. He forced himself to look her in the eyes, his vision blurred from his tears. They were unfeeling and as cold as the words that left her lips. 

“I know you won’t. We’ll make sure of that.”

More people die in winter than in any other season. That is a known fact. The blistering cold is more dangerous than the smoldering heat. During the winter, everything dies. The plants die, the animals die, even the sun dies just a little.

“Credence?”

There was nothing worse than winter, he thought. There was nothing worse than being left in the cold, wet, nodding in and out of consciousness—somewhere between life and death. Maybe he was being dramatic. He’d survived this at least twice before. He will be allowed back home, eventually. He would be given a hot bath and warm clothes. He would be wrapped in a blanket and laid on his bed. He would be forgiven.

But, in this moment, he had no warmth. The clothes on his back were damp, sticking to his skin like icy sheets. His already pale skin looked almost as white as the blanket of snow that covered the city, save for the faint blue tint of his lips.

“Credence.”

At first he’d thought walking would make him warmer. Maybe if he moved his muscles, his body would produce what little heat it could. Thinking back on it now, it was a pretty stupid idea. If anything, it made it worse. The wind had picked up, and the snow fell faster than it was earlier. How long had he been out here? It could have been twenty minutes or an hour, he couldn’t tell. Time moves slower when you’re miserable. What he did know was that he had walked about four blocks from the chapel. He thought he might find a place, a warm place where he could sit and rid himself of the cold.

He’d try a tea shop, a restaurant, and a bookstore before giving up. No one would let him in. They were all closed early for the holiday season. He then became increasingly aware how late in the afternoon it was, and how much colder it would be once the sun finally set. And he would still be here, cowering in a filthy alleyway that smelled heavily of rotting food and urine.

“Credence!”

How did she always mange to find him? Her large eyes bore into his own, wide and unyielding. She was close enough that her short breaths gave him the first gust of heat he’d felt since he was thrown out of the chapel. Unlike before, it didn’t smell of coffee beans, but of the hot chocolate they had shared just hours before. If the sweet scent hadn’t filled his nose, he would have sworn she was a hallucination. This was the last place he’d expect to see her. Yet, she always had a knack for turning up in places he’d least suspect. Regardless of what she always said, it felt a little more than coincidence—something just shy of fate.

“What are you doing out here? Where’s your coat?” Her hands flew to his shoulders, her own body reacting to the lack of warmth jolted and shivered.

It was her kind eyes he liked the most. Her eyes had the greatest warmth, the kind that filled your chest whenever you looked at them. He could stare into them forever and never get cold. Her eyes are what he’d miss the most.

“You’re soaking wet! You’ll freeze half to death out here! Come to my car, It’ll warm you up.” She reached for his hand, but he would not give it to her.

“Go away.”

This he could not say while looking in her eyes. It would only make it harder. There was an unpleasant pause, one that continued for a second too long. Her voice, he would miss the sound of her voice as well. He wanted to remember it as best he could, even if the last words she would say to him were full of resentment.

“What?”

He turned his back to her, hiding his tears. He had to do this. It was bound to happen anyway. What was the point in watering a dead plant? The fantasy should have long since ended. It shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

“I’m fine. Just go away,” his voice was barely above a whisper.

But he wasn’t fine, and he didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to follow her to the car, where she’d wrap him in the wool blanket she kept in the back seat, and she’d hold his hands to keep them warm.

She scoffed, her heels scuffing on the asphalt as she stepped back, exasperated. “Yeah, right, you’re one minute away from mummifying out here! Just get up and come with me!” She reached for him again, taking his hand. Her touch. He’ll miss her touch.

“No!” He jerked away from her gentle hands.

He didn’t need to see her face to know it hurt her. It hurt him just to say it. But he had to. He made a promise he had to keep. No matter how much it hurt. The next words to fall from his lips would be nothing but lies to mask the truth.

“I don’t need you.”

I do.

“I don’t need your help.”

Help me.

“I don’t want to see you anymore!”

Please don’t go.

Another pregnant silence. The lump in Credence’s throat was large enough to suffocate him. Every time he tried to swallow it down, it would grow bigger, prompting more tears to stain his cheeks.

“You don’t want to see me anymore?” She repeated. Her voice was as cold and steady as the snow that fell around them.

Everything dies in winter. The plants die, the animals die, even the sun dies just a little. The sound of her heels knocking on the asphalt faded along with her warmth. He’d call out to her if he wasn’t a coward. He would tell her the truth and beg for her forgiveness if he had the strength. But when he couldn’t smell lavenders or vanilla, or feel her unwavering warmth, he knew that it was too late. She was gone.

He fell to the ground, burying his head in his knees to muffle his pained cries. The icy ground didn’t phase him. He felt nothing but the ache in his chest and the swell of his throat. He wondered if that pain would ever go away. Could he continue on like this? With the feeling that a part of him had been taken?

He unclenched his fist, revealing frayed pink fabric; the stitched golden letters staring back at him mockingly. It was the only surviving piece of the handkerchief his mother burned. He’d picked it from the ashes before she threw him out on the streets. The smell of ash and smoke dulled the scent of lavender and vanilla it once carried. But, if he focused hard enough, he could still smell the traces of her perfume. For now, it will be enough.

He sat in the alleyway until the early night sky replaced the setting sun. He would sit and listen to the passing cars and pedestrians in silence, until he could no longer feel the fabric in his hands, or the sting of his aching muscles. His swollen eyes grew heavy, barely staying open longer than a second. He closed them, letting his body relax and fade slowly into nothingness.

Slipping in and out of consciousness, he stayed curled in the alleyway, unaware of his surroundings. Unaware that a car had parked outside the alley entrance. Ignorant to the footsteps that neared his meek form and the shadow that loomed over him. He was oblivious to it all until he felt a weight on his head and shoulders. He pried his eyes open to find himself wrapped in a thick wool blanket.

A dainty (s/c) hand opened for him, tempting him to take it; his saving grace.

“I’m not going to leave you like this. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

Her eyes weren’t angry. They weren’t cold or full of resentment. They were as kind and warm as they always had been, perhaps even more. Her rosy lips held a gentle smile just for him.

“You don’t have to see me again after tonight,” she concurred. “But I need you to get in the car. Please, Credence. Just one more night, then you’ll never have to see me again.”

Had it been anyone else, he would have refused. The hold his mother had on him was stronger than the yearnings of his heart. His fear of her would keep him from acting on his desires—what he truly wanted. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. But now, with her hand outstretched for him to take, there was no nagging fear pulling him away. No voice in the back of his head vilifying him from acting on his whims. Because, for the first time, someone had heard what he didn’t dare to say aloud. For the first time, someone cared. 

Had it been anyone one else, he wouldn’t have taken their hand. He wouldn’t have stood from the frozen ground or walked towards their car. Anyone else, and he wouldn’t have gotten inside and felt the heat melt his frozen muscles. If it was anyone but her, he would still be wasting away in the freezing, damp alleyway. 

“Just try to relax and get warm,” she told him as they drove off. He didn’t have the strength to speak. He was far too tired. She could see from the corner of her eye that he was falling asleep. His head rested on the window, his bloodshot eyes struggling to stay open. She took his hand that rested in his lap. It was cold to the touch, like ice, as if no blood coarsed through his veins. 

She refused to let go, instead she held it tighter. “Rest. I’ll wake you up when we get there.”

If he wasn’t already drifting to sleep, he would have asked where she was taking him, but his eyes refused to open, and his lips would not open to pose the question. Instead he let the motion and hum of the car lull him to sleep. 

New York City was known for many things: its gigantic skyscrapers, the lively scene, the people. But it was easy for tourists to see what the locals could not. New York City was by no means as glorious as its reputation would like you to believe. Everything great about it was reserved for people who could afford it. Shopping, clubbing, broadway, the cinema; it was all novelty. The grit of New York City was something the average New Yorker would like to escape. If the city was as great as it was made out to be, then why did the wealthy live upstate in their palatial mansions? It’s because beyond the smog and stench of the city was fresh air, and acres of woodlands and grasslands to admire. 

That’s all Credence could see when he opened his eyes from what felt like a year’s rest. From the passenger window he could make out the shadows of tall, snow covered maples and oak trees rushing past. The road was long and winding, twisting through the scenic route with ease. 

Beyond the trees, he could make out the orange lights of houses drawing near. It wasn’t long before the trees were replaced by vast mansions with plunging yards, overly decorated for the holiday season. The drowsy fog had barely lifted from his mind to take in such a foreign sight. As his mind awoke, so did the rest of his senses. He became aware of his body, and how it was no longer cold and wet. He could feel his blood circulating in his hands and feet, allowing them to move and wiggle as he pleased. His nose was no longer stuffed, and the numbness in his face had left. 

Taking a peak through the corner of his eye, he saw her; her eyes focused on the road. The light from the passing mansions cast shadows over her features. She was otherwise relaxed, if it weren't for the faint wrinkle of her forehead, the kind that appeared when she was deep in thought. He was too afraid to say anything. Even if he wasn't, he wouldn’t know what to say. Things had happened so suddenly, he couldn’t keep up.

Instead, he kept silent and watched the houses roll by as she drove. Trapped in his thoughts, he began to realize just where she was taking him. He didn’t know why she thought to bring him here, or what she planned to do, but he concluded she was taking him to her home. He’d never been to Kings Point before and he never imagined going within his lifetime, but he could say with confidence that it did not disappoint.

Kings Point was exactly how he imagined it, save for a few minor details. Under different circumstances he would be awestricken, but tonight he didn’t have the energy for it. All he had the energy to do was count the mansions they passed in his head. It was better than thinking of the events that lead him there.

He counted seventeen pompous manors before the car’s speed gradually reduced to a cruise. He watched as a large manor with swooping gable roofs and multiple chimneys came into view. An untouched layer of snow blanketed its long front yard. Windows were plentiful, all of which were lit with those distinct orange lights.

The car pulled into the long driveway, normally protected by a gate, but tonight that gate was left open, allowing them to drive through with ease. As they drove closer to the main manor, he could see the two other sprawling houses that surrounded a large courtyard highlighting a marble fountain.

When the car came upon the front of the manor, there was a man in a black tailcoat tuxedo waiting for them. The car came to a stop, and the man came around the hood to the driver’s door.

“Miss (y/n), welcome home,” he said as he opened the door. (y/n) thanked him, taking his outstretched hand and stepping onto the scalloped cobblestone.  

When the door closed behind her, leaving Credence inside. The two were clearly conversing, presumably about him. She would steal a glance at him through the window a few times while she spoke. The man, who he could now see was no longer in his youth, only nodded compliantly. When the two seemed to come to an understanding, (y/n) walked around to his side of the car, opening it for him to step out.

“Follow me,” She said, taking his hand.

She wasted no time pulling him from his seat and leading him off to some side entrance of the manor. The door they entered was smaller than the wide, double-doors he saw at the front entrance. Inside was just as grand as the outside. The door they took lead to a kitchen as big as the chapel he lived in. Currently, it was packed with chefs prepping large platters of food and servers organizing the trays.

(y/n) clasped his hand tightly as they bulldozed their way through the kitchen. She apologized to the passing help, weaving her way through to the door that stood on the opposite end of the room. Credence kept his head low, allowing her to guide him. Once they reached the adjacent door, she pushed her way through, pulling him down a hallway that he could see led to a set of stairs.

They were rushing down the hall when they passed a side room they didn’t realize was occupied. Their footsteps prompted the voice of a woman to call out into the hall.

“(y/n), honey, you’re back already?”

(y/n) stopped in her tracks, cursing under her breath. She held her finger up to her lips, telling Credence to stay quiet.

“Yes.” She answered.

The woman called out again. “I thought the shops would be busy today.”

“They were.”

“Well, did you get everything you wanted?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment’s pause before the woman spoke again.

“Alright,” she said. “Don’t go picking at the food in the kitchen! You’ll just have to wait until tonight like everyone else!”

(y/n) rolled her eyes. “Alright, Mom.”

She signaled for Credence to continue walking towards the staircase as her mother continued to talk from the room.

“And once you put your gifts away, come back and help me finish arranging the poinsettias in the foyer!”

“I will!” She yelled back while pulling Credence up the stairs.

She practically dragged him down the upstairs hall and pushed him into a room, closing the door behind them. That flowery scent that was distinctly hers immediately overtook his senses. The wide, circular room was lit up by various lamps and a sparkling chandelier made of iridescent crystals that hung at its centre. The dark wood panelling of the walls contrasted the rosy accents: blush pink art deco wallpaper, tall white drapes that covered balcony doors, the various mix-match carpets that covered the wood floor like patchwork. The broad circular bed enclosed in a silky white canopy sat against the wall next to a small fireplace. On the other side was a door he assumed led to a bathroom.

(y/n) stood awkwardly by a three-mirror vanity, bashfully fiddling with a silver hairbrush. She’d shed her coat.  

“Sorry about her,” she muttered. “She gets like this around the holidays.”

It was overwhelming, being in her room. He’d barely had a moment to register all that was happening. Now that he had the chance to breathe, his anxiety got the better of him. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He should be in the city, on his knees begging his mother to forgive him, not miles away in King’s Point; and definitely not in her bedroom.  

“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here—”

“You promised me, Credence,” she interjected, silencing him. “Please... Just let me have tonight.”

He clenched his jaw, turning his head to stare at the wall. It was better than looking in her eyes. He heard her move from the vanity. The sound of a cabinet being opened caught his attention. She had an armoire of her own, though hers was grander than his. It towered over her, composed of white and gold painted wood. From inside, she retrieved a blueberry colored suit. Credence recognized it as the suit she eyed in the window the week before. 

“I got you something,” she said, placing the suit on the bed, along with a fresh pair of brown oxfords. “I know you told me not to... but I just couldn’t help myself.”

Credence walked to the edge of the bed, brushing the material with his fingers. She got this for him.  

She moved to a dresser, where she pulled a neatly folded white towel and cloth from the drawer. She walked back to his side, holding the towels out for him to take.

“There's a bathroom behind that door. You can take a bath and get yourself ready. I’ll come back once I’ve finished helping my mother.”

He took the towels from her hands, leaning towards the idea of a bath. His body still hadn’t completely warmed from the ride, and his clothes still stuck uncomfortably to his skin. She left him alone in her bedroom, closing the door behind her as she left.

Credence stayed by her bed even after she had left. He took the suit into his hands. The material was thick and soft. He could tell by the fine stitches it was of high quality, unlike the suit he currently wore. He collected the pants and shoes in his arms and walked to the bathroom door. Much like the bedroom, her bathroom was big. A porcelain bathtub resting on top of golden legs facing a large window that looked over one of the gardens. Credence walked across the mosaic floor and turned the knob of the tub. Hot water rushed from the faucet and filled the tub. Steam rose into the air, forging the mirror above the sink. He placed his clothes on a stool away from the tub so it wouldn’t get wet.

Stripping himself of his clothes, he dipped his foot into the warm water. Pleased by the feeling of the hot water heating his skin, he pulled the rest of his body into the tub and submerged himself until only his head remained above water. He sat in the water unmoving for a while with his eyes closed. The water relaxed his tense muscles, ridding his body of the prickling cold. As he sat there, resting his head against the edge of the tub, he thought about how long this would last. Why did she bring him here? 

Credence opened his eyes and found a rectangular bar of soap sitting on the tub’s edge. He lifted his hand from the water and took it, bringing it to his nose. Lavenders. 

He really shouldn’t be here. There was a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that was sure something would go wrong. His mind went back to what she’d said. He promised her he would stay with her tonight. He supposed he did, even if he hadn't explicitly say the words ‘I promise’. Taking her hand was more than an answer. 

But he had made another promise—a promise to someone he never dared to disobey so brazenly. He promised he would never see her again, to wipe her from his life and pretend like she never existed. And yet, here he was, laying in her bathtub, washing himself with her soap, wearing the clothes she bought him, and standing in her room. 

Credence stared at himself in the mirror by the armoire, now dressed in the blueberry suit she’d given him. It fit perfectly, as though it were made for him. It probably was. The shoes on his feet were comfortable. At first, he didn’t think they would fit; they were much larger than the pair of shoes he always wore. But after he pulled his socks up and slid his foot inside, he realized it wasn't that the shoes were too big, but his were a size too small. He could walk in them without his toes uncomfortably pressing against the tip. His toes could breathe and soles of his feet didn’t ache with every step. 

He almost didn't recognize his reflection. It was like another person was staring at him in the mirror. He looked like one of the men he admired in Times Square. The handsome scholars who came down from The Eggs to frequent the speakeasies to unwind after a long day of doing whatever rich boys do. He looked like the kind of man she belonged with.

A knock came from beyond the door.  “Are you decent?” Her muffled voice called from behind it. 

The door opened, and she peaked her head inside, meeting his eyes immediately.

“I knew it’d look good on you,” She smiled brightly, making her way towards him. “Does it fit nicely? I tried my best to guess your measurements. I was afraid it would be a bit off.”

He let her place her hands on his chest, smoothing the fabric of any wrinkles. His heart beat in his chest loudly, like it always did when she got this close. He watched her closely as she looked him over, avoiding his eyes. Her hands flew up to the black tie around his neck. 

“Your tie is a bit crooked.” She chuckled softly, taking the tie into her hands. “Let me.”

“Why are you nice to me?” He spoke lowly as she untied the knot. 

She furrowed her brows, her hands halting. “I’m sorry?”

“Most people would have ignored me had they saw me lying on the streets like I was today, and the day we met. Many people did. But you...” Credence struggled to find the words. “You helped me after I had fallen and dropped my papers, then you drove me home. The other week you insisted on buying me a coat, even though I told you I was fine without one, and then you took me to that restaurant. And then today, you convinced Father Blackwell to let my mother speak. You’ve been kind to me without even knowing me. Why?”

(y/n) lifted her head to meet his eyes. “Do I need a reason?” She countered. “Can’t I just want to?”

When he didn’t answer, she understood that wouldn’t be enough. She sighed, focusing her attention back on the tie. 

“Why did I do those things?” She bit her cheek in thought. “The night we met, I saw what that jerk did and wanted to help you. You looked so... sad. People walked over you—ignored you. It was like you didn’t exist, like I was the only one who saw you. I didn’t like it—seeing you like that. I just thought it would be nice to see a smile on your face. Maybe if I saw you smile, it would make me feel better.”

“Now that I’ve seen your smile, I’ve become a bit fond of it. Addicted is probably the better word. After seeing you smile for the first time, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I wanted to see it all the time. If stuffing you full of burgers and teaching you how to skate put a smile on your face, I would do it. I would do anything to keep you smiling.”

She looped the tail of the tie and pulled the knot, tightening it around his neck. She adjusted his collar and let her hands fall to her sides. Her eyes flickered up to meet his. 

“So, I guess the answer to your question is: I did those things because I like you.”

Credence swallowed the lump rising in his throat, sending it back down to his chest. His eyes glistened in the light, glazed with rising tears. His heart ached in his chest, still hanging on to her words. ‘Like’? She liked him?

“And now?” His voice cracked. “Do you still fell that way? Even after the things I said?”

“Why did you say those things?” It was clear she had been wanting to ask this for a while. “Did I do something—say something to upset you?”

Credence vigorously shook his head. “No!” 

He clasped her hands tightly, taking her by surprise. “It’s not you,” he tried to explain. “It was never you.”

She held his hands just as tight, like she was afraid he would fade away if she let go. “Then?”

He swallowed again, looking down at his feet. “It’s my mother... she...” 

(y/n) frowned. She lifted Credence’s hand, turning his palm upward to expose the raised scars on his palms. 

“Was she the one who did this to you?” She whispered, though it sounded as if she already knew the answer. 

Credence stayed silent. He didn’t have the strength to say it out lout. 

“Did she leave you out on the street?” She asked, anger rising in her voice. 

“She doesn’t want me to see you anymore,” He muttered, shamefully. 

“Is that what you want?” 

Credence stilled. Nobody had ever asked him what he wanted. They locked eyes, (y/n)’s stared deeply into his, yearning for an answer. He barely opened his mouth to answer when a knock came from beyond the door, the person behind it bursting into the room. 

(y/n) dropped his hands, turning to face the culprit.

“Aaron, how many times have I told you to wait for me to answer before coming in my room?”

Aaron was a stocky man, just a few inches shorter than Credence. His angular face was covered with a tapered beard. He had the same (s/c) skin and (h/c) hair as (y/n), but his eyes were a light brown. He wore a black formal tuxedo with a matching bowtie. The smile on his face fell slightly as he looked between her and Credence. 

“Sorry sis, I didn’t realize you had company.”

(y/n) sighed, crossing her arms. “What do you want?”

Tearing his eyes from Credence, Aaron turned his attention to his sister, his smile widening. “I just thought you might like to say hello to someone.”

(y/n) raised a curious brow. “Who?”

The answer to her question walked in not a second later, dressing in a black fitted full dress tuxedo. He too shared a similar complexion to (y/n) and Aaron, but unlike Aaron, his eyes were the same has hers. He smiled, displaying a row of perfectly straight white teeth. “Hey. Did you miss me, street rat?”

(y/n)’s eyes widened, “Channing?”

Channing chuckled as she sped towards him. “The one and only—Ow!”

(y/n) had punched him hard in the shoulder. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?!”

Aaron snickered to the side. “Told you she would do that.”

“Well, that would defeat the purpose of it being a surprise, now wouldn't it?” He said, clutching his sore shoulder. “Can’t you act like a normal sister and be happy I’m back?”

“I am happy, you jerk,” she smiled, pulling him into a hug. He hugged her back gladly. It was clear the two missed each other greatly. 

“(y/n), who’s this?” Channing asked, looking over her shoulder at Credence.  

(y/n) too looked over her shoulder, her lips still holding her elated smile. “Aaron, Channing, this is Credence. He’s my plus one for tonight.”

“Right.” Aaron skeptically squinted at Credence. “And do Mom and Dad know that you have a boy in your room?”

(y/n) placed a hand on her hip. “I don’t know. Do Mom and Dad know about you and Mr. Finnegan’s daughter?” She deflected with a glare. 

Aaron cleared his throat, wrapping an arm around his younger brother and pushing him towards the door. “We’ll see you downstairs.”

“Wait,” (y/n) went to grab Credence by the hand and pulled him towards her brothers.  “Why don’t you show Credence around? You can bond and do whatever boys do while I get ready.”

They all looked at Credence, who was too petrified to protest the proposition. Aaron gave Credence a look that made him think he wasn’t too keen on the idea, but kept his otherwise cheerful smile. 

“I don’t see why not,” said Channing kindly, flashing an inviting grin much like the one (y/n) had given him many times before. He was starting to see the similarities between the two. 

“Yeah, come on, Credence,” Aaron agreed, throwing his free arm around Credence’s shoulder. “Hang with us guys for a while, we’re much more fun than she is.”

(y/n) rolled her eyes, escorting the men out of her bedroom. Credence’s pleading eyes silently asked for her not to leave him on his own, but she said nothing to stop them. She only gave him a comforting smile from the doorframe as they pulled him from the door. 

“I’ll see you in a bit.” She promised. 

Aaron and Channing dragged Credence down the hall, guiding him to another set of stairs. Unlike the ones (y/n) had sneaked him up an hour before, these stairs weren’t hidden in a corner at the end of the hall. It was a grand bifurcated staircase, with wide, velvet-clad sweeping steps that plunged into a wide landing that split in two directions: upwards to another wing of the manor, and downwards to the foyer. He could hear the music and babbling chatter clearly from the top of the staircase. The two brothers led him down the many steps, and again down the steps to the foyer where a great crowd of well-dressed men and women conversed under dropping garlands and mistletoe.

Without warning, they pulled him into the crowd, weaving their way through fur shawls and padded tuxedos. Tucked away in a corner of the room, Credence saw something he’d least expected: a familiar face. 

There, resting against a paneled wall, was Edmund Tully, drinking from a half finished glass of brandy. His eyes were distant and seemed to dart around the room, looking for something or someone. He wasn’t entirely sure if Edmund found what he was looking for, because when Aaron had called out to him, he gave up on his previous endeavor. 

It appeared that Edmund was not only friendly with Aaron, but Channing as well. They greeted each other as old friends do, with open arms, harmless roughhousing. Credence stood idly by, feeling out of place. It was only when Edmund set his green on him that Credence was pulled into their circle. Aaron noticed his friend’s stare and pointed his attention towards him. 

Aaron gestured to Credence, snapping his fingers. “Eds, this is uh—this is—give me a second—”

“Credence,” Edmund made up for Aaron’s forgetfulness. “Am I right? We met before.”

Aaron and Channing looked between the two unlikely acquaintances. “You have?” The eldest brother asked. 

Credence nodded, confirming Edmund’s claim. 

“Through (y/n), of course,” Edmund clarified. 

“I see,” Aaron hummed. 

A server in a tight vest came up the group of men with a tray full of glasses filled with a pinkish liquid. Credence watched as they each took a glass from the tray. 

“Do you drink, Credence?” Asked Channing, noticing Credence’s empty hand. 

“Sure he does!” Aaron exclaimed, taking an extra glass and shoving a it into Credence’s unsuspecting hand. “It’s Christmas!”

Giving into the pressure of the situation, Credence accepted the drink. It wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s done today. The gentleman made a simple Christmas toast, before taking their own respectable gulps. 

Credence brought the glass to his lips, letting the strange liquid slow past his lips and hit his tongue. Somehow the cold liquid felt like heat on his tongue, vibrating down his throat and spreading that warmth into his chest. It was a strange sensation, but not entirely unpleasant. While it was strong with alcohol, the sugary sweet after-taste made it palatable. He took another sip. 

Credence found Aaron and Channing to be decent men. Channing was more friendly to Credence that Aaron, but it had more to due with the age difference and the extenuating circumstances in which they’d met. He supposed it must have been hard warming up to the strange man who was found alone in your younger sister’s room. 

Edmund on the other hand didn’t address him much at all, only speaking to him when obligated. He had the sneaking suspicion that Edmund didn’t like him at all. Credence could care less. To be fair, Credence wasn’t sure he liked him either. 

Like (y/n) had asked, the two brothers, along with Edmund, showed Credence around the mansion. They took him upstairs and downstairs, through long halls and into opulent rooms that were also filled with partygoers. All the while, they continued to keep a full glass in their hands. Credence had drank four full glasses of pink drink by the time they circled back to the foyer—and they hadn’t even venture half of the vast manor. He wasn’t fully convinced that just one family lived in such a palace. 

They loitered the foyer, the music in the next room traveled well, distracting him from the conversation he wasn’t completely involved in. His eyes darted around the room, glossing over the painted and shaven faces of the other guests. He didn’t know what he was looking for until he found it—or rather— her. 

Descending from the heavens that was the staircase landing was her elegant figure, clothed in a velvety red dress that hung off her shoulders. Her hair fell in waves around her face, adorned with pins that resembled holly. The long pointed sleeves clung to her skin along with the rest of the dress, hugging her figure dangerously. He was the first to see her, and in parallel, she saw him first; her painted red lips curling into a wide grin once their eyes met. 

His chest was filled with a fluttering excitement as his eyes followed her movements drawing nearer. She walked straight towards him, bowing her head shyly as she got closer. The others noticed her too, hooting and hollering as she came, embarrassing her more. 

“The Princess has finally decided grace the party with her presence,” Aaron playfully jeered. 

“It’s not easy being the most attractive in the family, it takes a lot of work to look this good,” She bantered. 

“Tons of it, if you ask me,” Channing muttered snidely as he took a sip of his drink, causing a fit of harmless laughter between all of them but Credence. 

“You look amazing,” Edmund complimented over the giggles. 

(y/n) thanked him, her eyes drifting back to Credence expectingly. Flustered, Credence sputtered the first words that came to mind. “You look beautiful, you always do.”

(y/n) blushed, her girlish smile reaching her ears. Her brothers found the interaction equally amusing, stifling their laughter. Though Edmund didn’t find it so amusing, his once joyous expression faltering. 

“I have to steal my brothers for a moment,” (y/n) revealed. 

“What for?” Channing asked, unaware that he was needed. 

“Mom wants to see us all for a portrait. You were supposed to have been there by now. Daddy’s getting restless,” she told them.

Aaron cursed under his breath, having forgotten about the detail. He turned to his friend and handed him his drink. “It will only be a minute.”

Aaron and Channing hurried off towards the stairs whence (y/n) had come. Before she left, she met Credence’s eye. “Just wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back.” 

She then disappeared up the stairs with her brothers, leaving him alone with Edmund. And then there were two. 

“Why don’t I show you to the gardens,” Edmund suggested after an awkward beat of silence. 

Credence didn’t get the chance to deny the offer before Edmund turned on his heels and headed towards the door, beckoning him to follow. Out of pure obligation, Credence followed, venturing from the manor and out into the cold (though the consistent warm buzzing in his head and chest kept him warm enough). 

Edmund guided Credence around to the main garden that sat in the center of the sprawling houses. Snow covered the hedges and statues that scattered the grounds. 

“Where are you from, Credence?” Edmund asked suddenly as they walked the garden path. 

Credence shrugged his shoulders. “Here.” 

“No, you’re not,” he said. “You might be from New York, but you’re not from here.”

Credence’s brow furrowed. What was he playing at?

“How did you meet (y/n)?” He pestered. 

“In Times Square,” Credence answered. “She helped me when I fell on the street. We kept running into each other ever since.”

Credence wasn’t sure why he was telling him all this, but he felt if he wanted to know, why not tell him? 

“You know, it's charming,” said Edmund. “How you’re sweet on (y/n). It’s pretty obvious. You look at her like a little puppy dog. It’s almost endearing. But it’s pointless.”

“Pointless?” Credence repeated. 

Edmund stared blankly at the younger boy. A sly smirk teetered on his lips.  “Oh, come on. Do you... Do you actually think you have a chance with her?”

Credence’s silence only amused him more, spurring him to laugh tauntingly. “Oh my God, you do! I almost feel bad for you!” It was only now that Credence noticed the subtle slur of his words. “Listen, mate, I’m only saying this because I feel like we could be friends. It's not going to happen. (y/n) is a sweet girl, almost too sweet. She’s oblivious to these kinds of things, you see?” He leaned against a stone post.

“How should I explain this? I’ve watched her grow up, and I have seen many young chaps like you fall all over her. She doesn’t realize her kindness attracts people. There have been many broken hearts left at her feet. You don’t want yours added to the pile, trust me.”

Yes, Credence decided in that moment he didn’t like Edmund at all. He took too much of a likeness to Ripley; they had the same condescending leer. The buzzing of his head wouldn’t allow him to hide his obvious disdain, and for the first time Credence would speak his mind, unafraid of the consequences. 

“Is yours one of them?” He asked boldly. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your heart,” he reiterated. “Is it one of the ones she broke?”

“I—”

“Do you feel threatened by me? Are you afraid that she might not like you as much as you think?” 

“What did you just say to me?” Edmund sputtered. 

Credence continued, feeling no shame for what he was about to slur and stutter. “She’s only nice to you because you’re friends with her brother and she’s known you for so long. But that isn’t enough to win her affection. Deep down, you know that.”

Edmund took Credence by the collar, “I suggest you stop talking,” he whispered dangerously. 

“You say that I don’t have a chance, then what do you have?” Credence chuckled provokingly. “She said she likes me. Has she ever said she likes you?”

“You don’t know a damn thing!” Yelled Edmund, red in the face. “To her, you’re just a pet. A sad little puppy she has to take care of. She’ll give you treats and dress you up like a doll, but it doesn’t mean anything. She’ll never see you as a man.”

“Is this what you do?” Asked Credence. “You drive away any person who you think might come between you and (y/n)? There’s nothing to come between. She’s not yours. She never was. And she’s not mine either. I don’t care if she doesn’t feel the same way I do. That doesn’t matter. But she said she liked me... and I like her.” Credence smiled. “And that is more than anything you’ll ever have with her.”

A powerful fist collided with his left cheek, sending him to the ground. The pleasing buzz in his head was replaced with rushing blood pounding against his temple. 

“I told you to stop talking,” the assailant heaved. 

Credence struggled to his hands and knees. The punch left a metallic taste in his mouth, and a bubbling rage in his stomach. Without thinking, he lunged forward, tackling Edmund to the ground. The two fell in a heap on the cobblestone, wrestling and thrashing violently. Credence got the upper-hand, landing a satisfying punch in the face, leaving Edmund with a bloodied nose. It didn’t last, because as soon as Credence wrestled his way on top, he was back under him, taking blows to the face and ribs. 

He couldn’t react fast enough to defend himself, and honestly, it was a miracle he landed a punch in the first place. He curled into himself to protect his face and ribs. The same vibrating rage he felt earlier that same day with Ripley danced under his skin. His thoughts faded in and out between consciousness, each unfamiliar thought being one of violence and rage. Pure, dark rage. 

Edmund may have got a peak at this entity—a glimpse into it’s glassy white eyes. If he had, he didn't say so. He only hesitated, a look of both confusion and fear flashing over his once blinding anger when their eyes locked. If he had seen those shining white eyes, they disappeared as soon as they came, her voice retreating the beast inside. 

“EDDY! CREDENCE! STOP IT!”

It was a trick of the lights, Edmund would later conclude. A figment of his drunken imagination. But it wasn’t true. The truth was Credence had a part of himself he couldn’t control—a part of himself that could destroy buildings and uproot roads—a part of him he couldn’t control, that is, until he met her. Until the sound of her sweet voice reached his ears and calmed the blackness to its dormant state.  

Edmund was pulled off of him, pushed several feet back while she dove for him on the ground, dirtying her red dress. The light from the lamppost and house gave the illusion that she glowed in the night.

Her eyes were big with worry. “Credence, are you okay? Does it hurt?” She helped him sit up, taking his face gently in her hands. It didn’t hurt. He couldn't feel anything but her warm hands caressing his cheeks. 

“I’m hurt too, (y/n),” Edmund croaked from his place. Aaron and Channing were there, barricading him away. “I got hit too. Why don’t you ask me if I’m okay? Huh?!”

(y/n) glared back at him. “You’re drunk!”

Edmund’s red face became wet with hot, angry tears. “WHY DON’T YOU ASK ME, (Y/N)?! DON’T YOU LIKE ME TOO?”

She held on to Credence's arm, holding him close. “I think you should go,” she muttered. 

Edmund sniffed, a look of pure heartbreak slapping over his chiseled features. “(y/n)...” He called for her one last desperate time, but she turned away, shutting him out completely. 

“Come on, man,” Aaron said sternly, pushing him back. “Let’s take a walk, okay?”

“GET OFF ME!” Edmund pushed Aaron away from him, staggering backward. He took one last long look at (y/n), hoping that she would look at him again. But she didn't. Her eyes stayed trained on Credence. He stepped back, defeated. 

“I can walk by my bloody self,” he slurred bitterly, retreating further into the garden, Aaron chasing after him. 

“Can you stand up?” (y/n) asked softly, taking Credence by the hand and pulling him to his feet. 

Channing helped as well, guiding them both back into the house. They stayed away from the festivities, taking the hidden stairs back up to her room. Channing had retrieved a medical kit after they reached her room, leaving once (y/n) insisted she could care for Credence on her own. 

Now, he sat next to her on her bed, while she shifted through the medical kit. His eyes trained on a young, black, hairless cat played curled up in a stuffed bed by the fire. This must’ve been the cat she had told him about. 

“Do you mind telling me what that was about or are you just going to stay silent?” Asked after the long silence. 

“It was nothing,” he told her, as she took his face in her hands to examine the wounds on his cheek and lip. 

“Yeah, right.” She muttered, taking a wet cotton swab and dabbing it on his scraped cheek. It burned, causing him to wince. She stopped immediately, looking apologetic. “Sorry.”

She went for the medical kit again, rummaging through it messily before stopping abruptly.

“You know what, I’m not sorry! Serves you right worrying me like that! I leave you for one minute and you’re picking fights in the street! Just look what he’s done to your face!” She cupped the side of his face where Edmund had punched him. She sighed, taking another cotton swab from the kit. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to yell. I don’t like seeing you hurt is all.”

He looked at her deeply through lidded eyes as she dabbed the cut on his lip. 

“We were fighting about you,” he confessed.

She stopped, her eyes flickered to his for a moment, before focusing back on his lip. “Me? Why on Earth would you be fighting about me?”

He didn’t say. She waited for an answer, but soon concluded she wouldn’t get one. He hissed when she began applying cream on his cuts. “Fine, then,” she mumbled irritably. “Don’t answer me. Just hold still—”

His lips were on hers before she could finish her harping. The swab fell from her hand in shock, her eyes wide as saucers. He was kissing her. His eyes were closed, his lips plush against hers. He ignored the sting of his cut as he pressed his lips onto hers like he’d seen couples do many times before. His heart pounded in his ears. He would have kept kissing her if he hadn’t held his breath for too long. When they parted, and he opened his eyes to see her staring, awestruck. 

His ears turned red, and a wave of embarrassment crashed over him, realizing what he’d done. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t have—”

Her soft lips crashed into his with passionate force, her hands flying to caress the nape of his neck. Now, it was his turn to be taken aback. Credence had kissed her how shy young couples do: pressing his lips onto hers. But she kissed him like lovers do, moving her lips feverishly against his, licking his lips coyly with her tongue. Imitating her actions, Credence let his eyes fall shut, opening his mouth for her. Her tongue slipped passed his lips and swirled around his, welcoming the foreign sensation.

“(y/n)...” He whimpered out of pure instinct. 

She pulled away, leaving him a blushing, panting mess. 

“That’s the first time I’ve heard you call me by my name,” she whispered. A smile stretched across her lips.  “Say it again.”

Credence’s cheeks burned, but he gladly did what she asked. 

“... (y/n),” he called her name again.

“Again.”

“(y/n),” he repeated.

“Credence,” she whispered his name, sending shivers down his spine.

“(y/n),” he whispered breathlessly. 

“Credence.”

“(y/n).”

She captured his lips in another sensual kiss, pushing him back onto the bed. The medical kit fell to the ground, forgotten. She laid on top of him, her legs wrapped around his thin waist, pressing her body against his like he’d imagined many times before. His heart thundered in his chest, his mind consumed by her. Lavender and vanilla, it was all around him; pressing against him, kissing him, caressing him.

“Credence,” she said between fiery kisses. “I want you.”

“Y-You want me?” He flushed, making her giggle. 

“Yes,” she chuckled, taking his hand. “Do... Do you want me too?” Her voice was small and unsure. 

Credence nodded, lacing his fingers between hers. “I’ll always want you.”

His words seemed to spur her on, reviving her confidence. “Is this okay?”

The touch of her hand on his thigh traveled down to his waist, sending shivers up his spine. The beat of his heart pulsed powerfully in his chest, ringing in his ears. He watched expectantly as she drew nearer, hovering over him. One of her hands rose to tenderly cup his cheek. Her hand was soft and warm against him. The way she touched him was unlike any other. She was always so gentle with him, so kind. 

Their lips were mere inches apart. So close he could feel her warm breath on his skin. She looked at him through hooded lids, her eyes darkened to a deep shade of (e/c).

Credence swallowed. “I...I’ve never...”

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” 

She grinned, kissing his lips tenderly to calm his nerves. He felt her fingers move to unbutton his suit jacket. She pulled it off his shoulders, discarding it to the floor.

“Just relax,” she cooed. “I’ll take care of you.”

His black tie slipped off with ease, the buttons of his white dress shirt opened one by one the sound of fabric rubbing against each other and sultry sighs filling their ears. His shirt joined the jacket onto the ground, leaving him half-naked under her. He felt exposed, his eyes nervously fidgeting around the room. 

Her warm hands grazed the sides of his waist, delicately dancing up to his chest. She noticed the change in his breathing, his chest rising up and down in anticipation. He’d never been touched like this by anyone, not once. But now, as her hands glossed over his torso causing goosebumps to rise even though his skin was burning hot, he realized he wanted to be touched by her all the time, in every way. He wanted to kiss her over and over again; to feel her lips against his. He wanted to be close to her in the closest way possible.

As if answering his silent prayers, she pressed her chest against his, her breath tickling his cheeks. She kisses the mark on his cheekbone tenderly, then the corner of his lips, then his jaw. His eyes lull back. He let his head fall to the side, presenting his neck to her. Her hot breath on his neck excited him. Her lip pressed soft kisses down his jaw and neck, marking him with her red lipstick. Her wet tongue licked a stripe up his jugular, and he made a sound he’d only made once before in the confines of his room. 

She did it again, licking, sucking, and biting at the sensitive flesh of his neck. Credence bit his lip, muffling his desperate mewls. 

Her lips kissed up to the spot just under his ear. “It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear. “No one else can hear us. It’s just me.” 

Hoping to drive out more sweet moans, she sucked on the flesh of his neck she learned to be the most sensitive. His hips bucked upwards, grinding between her legs. He squirmed pathetically under her, his desperate pants and moans filling the room. 

His body was sensitive to her every touch, each kiss sending jolts of electricity through his body. She left love bites on the expanse of his neck and collarbone, coloring his pale skin purple and mauve. 

She caught his lips in another open-mouthed kiss, assaulting his mouth with his tongue at her pleasure. 

“Is... C-Can I touch you?” He asked through her kisses. 

She pulled away, her nose brushing against his. “Always,” she breathed. 

His hands daringly glided over her arms, reaching around her back. His fingers found the zipper to her dress and pinched, pulling it down her back until it stopped at her waist. She slid out of the dress with ease, slipping it off her body and letting it pool around her waist. His eyes glued to her bare chest, turning red from the neck up. She took his hands and guided them up her sides, outlining her feminine curves. 

She brought his hands to cup her breasts. His touch was hot on her skin, her own blush burning undeneath. He could feel her heart pounding wildly in his chest, and he knew she was just as excited as him. He let his body act on its own, his hands massaging her breasts. She let out a shaky breath, her mouth falling open. 

He continued, brushing his thumbs against her hardened nipples. Her hips rocked sensually against his twitching member. Her name slipped past his lips, his eyes trained on her figure above him. Her hands pressed on his chest, her hips moving in circles over him. Credence sat himself up, snaking his arms around her hips, gripping them firmly. They stared at each other breathlessly through half-lidded eyes. Credence’s already dark eyes turned to black pools reflecting in the moonlight. 

He mimicked her affections, placing chaste kisses under her jaw. He kissed the expanse of her neck, tasting her soft skin. He pulled her hips into him, guiding her movements in his lap. His length strained against his trousers, aching to be touched. 

“You said you want to touch me, right?” She panted. “Touch me here.”

She moved his right hand from her hip, slipping it under the velvety veil that covered where she wanted him most. He could feel her through thin lacy fabric, her heat already slick with arousal. He experimentally rubbed his fingers up and down her slit, studying the twitches and jolts of her body. She seemed to really enjoy when his fingers brushed against a certain spot, so he kept his attention there, rubbing steady circles around the sensitive area. 

Her hands gripped his shoulders, her head falling to rest in the crook of his neck. He enjoyed hearing her high-pitched moans, even as they were muffled against his neck. He pressed harder, picking up his pace to hear more. Her hips jut against his hand, jerking every so often. Her breaths quickened, and she whimpered his name in his ear. 

“Faster,” she’d pant desperately, her grip on his shoulders tightening. 

He did, circling his fingers as best he knew how. Her thighs tightened around his legs, her body stilled but he didn't stop. Only when he felt her body shake and relax against him did he stop, her sweet satisfied moan reaching his ears. 

He held her in his arms, peppering kisses on her shoulder and neck as she steadied her breathing. When she did lift her head from his neck, she pecked his lips and cheek. She held his face in her hands and moved to lie on her back, pulling him down in the process. 

He planted his hands on either side of her head. He admired her from above. Her red lipstick was faded, smudged messily on her chin, having been transfered on his own lips and neck. She didn’t break eye contact as her hands unbuttoned his trousers, pulling them down his waist and kicking them off with her feet along with his boxers. They lingered like that, just staring and admiring one another. He didn’t feel embarrassed. He felt strangely calm. The rest of the world seemed to float away. Nothing else mattered. Not the party down stairs, or the people laughing and drinking. Not Edmund and his jealousy, and not his mother and her vilification. Nothing mattered but her and him together in this room, together in her bed. 

He bent down to kiss her with all the passion and love he could muster. She was everything he could ever want and more. She was his saving grace, his goddess. He wanted to show her how much he loved her. ‘Closer,’ he thought. He needed to be closer to her.

Their lips and hips magnetized, their bodies melded together. He whispered her name like a mantra because he knew she liked hearing it as much as he liked saying it. He felt her hands slip between their bodies, grasping his length. She guided him to where she needed him, his tip pressing teasingly at her entrance. With her help, he eased inside, feeling her wrap tightly around him. They sighed in each others mouth, devouring their intoxicated moans. Her legs wrapped around his waist, urging him further. 

She opened for him like a flower in bloom. His hips moved without having to think. Being with her felt so natural. Every move he made came to him like second nature. His thrusts were slow and gentle, drawing wanton moans from her lips. Her hips rocked into him with equal fervor. She collected his moans with her kiss, her fingers tangling themselves in his hair. 

He lost himself in the feeling of her, his pace quickening. He watched her pretty face morph into varying expressions of pleasure, each thrust of his hips creating a new one. He’d never felt so good in his life. His body tingled and his skin burned pleasantly. He didn’t know it was possible to feel such pure, utter euphoria. 

He fisted the rosy silk sheets, his breath stopping in his throat. She tightened around him, and like a wave crashing down on a cliff side, he came. His body vibrated and twitched above her. He called her name into the air, his spastic thrusts edging her to her end, which—by the sounds of her shameless cries—was as powerful and illustrious as his. 

There was a moment of stillness; a moment in which they heard nothing but their shallow breaths and the crackle of the fire. They could do nothing but stay in their connected position with eyes locked. Credence fell to his side next to her on the bed. His muscles ached and his skin was slick with sweat, but he was filled with unwavering adulation. Eyes still locked, they said so much without needing to say anything at all. His hand found hers, lacing his fingers between her small ones.

They laid there, staring lovingly in each other’s eyes for what felt like hours. He silently adored her, memorizing the details of her features until his eyes grew heavy from exhaustion, slowly falling shut as graceful as the falling snow outside.  

Credence pried open his tired eyes. The fire still burned beside him. It crackled and danced, keeping the exhausted pair warm under the thin sheets. The moonlight broke through the balcony glass door and cast shadows of the curtains across the room. There was no music heard from downstairs and the manor outside sounded empty of all festivities. 

He took the time to embrace her presence. She laid on her side, facing him. Her eyes were still shut, soft snores falling from her lips. She held his hand between their bodies. Her thick (h/c) hair sprawled wildly around her, messed by their passionate love affair. And still, even with her hair a mess, and the corner of her lips wet with drool, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He reached his free hand to brush the fray hairs from her eyes, watching her lips twitch and curl into a sleepy smile when his thumb brushed against her cheek. That smile alone rid his mind of any and all doubts that still lingered. 

There are very few moments in life worth living for. Most things in life are mundane and repetitive, and when they weren't, they were bleak and agonizing. He’d been through it many times before, taking in so much pain he thought death was a kinder fate. But, as he lay next to her, listening to her slow steady breaths, watching the rise and fall of her chest while she slept; he knew he would face it all again, if it meant he could have more of these moments with her.  

[huenjin]

phobia.

pairing — bang chan x reader

word count — 2.7k words

ratings — 18+

genre — some slight fluff and smut, includes face sitting, cunnilingus.

note — this is the most domestic relationship thing i've written on this blog so far. lmao, i watched chan's room, ep.1 while writing this,,,and at this point, i'm just doing like an unofficial countdown to national boyfriend's day, of sorts, ha! d-3 and here we are. i haven't ever been this content writing for a boy group as much as skz. *cries in alien language*

You are snuggling against Chan, your head on his broad chest as he plays with your hair and your fingers casually and playfully tapping his chest in a rhythm, only to trail downwards slowly. He turns his head slightly to kiss the top of your head.

And just maybe you were horny. There's no other explanation to the hand of yours that slowly trickles its way down to place itself over your boyfriend's crotch.

"Y/N," his voice is laced with strain and you chuckle, kissing the side of your boyfriend's chin. "Don't—"

"But—"

"I mean, unless you intend to solve it after you cause it."

"What if I don't?"

"Sneaky little rat," Chan gasps and he wraps his arms tightly around you, snuggling you closer into him and you laugh.

It is in moments like these that your heart flutters, swells and then bursts with nothing but love for this man that you call yours in this moment. With eyes that sparkle like they can bear every single star in the galaxy and with arms that could possibly hold the whole world with the love he has, he still chooses to hold you close and keep you in his arms and call you his whole world. He chooses to rewrite the stars no matter what happens, all to keep you close to him.

"Do you want me to eat you out?"

He pushes you slightly away from him so that he can look at you as he asks. There's a lot more to the eyes that plead to you though, as if he needs something more secretly.

"Randomly?"

"It's not complete random," he mumbles and you sit up, your arms unwrapping from his physique. You stare at your boyfriend, expecting him to continue on his sudden proposal. And then he drops it.

"Sit on me."

"Huh?"

You are about to sit on top of him, hovering over his crotch when he holds your thigh, mid air, and you look at him, in confusion, "Chan?"

"On my face."

Your eyes widen and you drop you leg back onto the mattress. You're holding him tighter, staring at your boyfriend in surprise and more of a what-the-fuck look.

"You're kidding, right?"

Chan sits up slightly, his arms supporting his body weight up from behind. He bites his lower lips as he looks at you, "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

"But Channie—"

"Why don't you give it a try? If you still don't like it, we could stop?"

And when your eyes show a flicker of hesitance, Chan lays back down again and pulls you forward. You cup his face and kiss him, holding his lower lips between yours as you try dragging it out for as long as possible. Chan holds you as you direct the kiss and he moans into you, before pulling back and mumbling, "You'd definitely be great at it."

You pull back and shimmy out of your shorts and panties, Chan's white shirt still on you. Your boyfriend looks at you in awe, like you're the literal sunshine in person and that he was nothing short of a blessed man on earth in this moment.

With unsure, wobbly steps, you crawl over to the side of Chan's face and sit on the back of your ankles as you look at him, "What if I'm too heavy?"

"You couldn't be heavy for me, baby," Chan laughs, and it's so light and soft that it eases you; that maybe, just maybe this would be a good experience. "You're the perfect size for me. You're like my other half. We are compatible. Remember, when you even got our horoscopes matched!"

"But that's a different thing! And my mother did that." You laugh at the memory. It was a year back when you asked Chan for his entire birth or natal chart and even though he persisted and asked you why you required it, you couldn't tell him till you had it, or more like your mother had it. She had been the mastermind behind the entire scheme. Chan learns of it later that day though — when your mother calls him when she couldn't reach through you.

And your mother being the ever jovial person she is, tells your boyfriend of how good the two of your marriage compatibility was. Chan had the best night of his life that day, laughing to you about it and how he'd marry you even if the compatibility had turned out to be crap.

Chan shakes his head and pulls at your thigh, "It's not now. You're my everything. My sun, my moon and my stars."

"You're sugarcoating your words to get me to sit on your face, aren't you?" You laugh, squinting your eyes in response at how adorable and desperate Chan looked at that minute.

Your boyfriend dramatically gasps, hand clutching his chest, hovering right over his heart as he closes his eyes and shakes his head, "How could you doubt my love, my darling," before bursting out into a fit of laughter and confessing, "Was it that obvious?"

"You're a drama queen." You hit his chest and he kisses your nose. "If it gets too overbearing, you'll tell me, right?"

"One hundred percent," he smiles and with that confidence, you lift your leg over his face and sit in such a way that your vulva was right in front of Chan's face, currently glistening from all the anticipation.

"God, you're beautiful," Chan mumbles to himself as he lifts his arms up slightly to grab your thighs, pulling it slightly closer to his face, leaving you like this — your knees dig into the pillow by the side of your boyfriend's face, your core hovering over his face so close that his breath on the skin by the side edges you, running a tingle down your spine.

"Come on, Y/N," he chuckles against your thigh, kissing it and laying out small kisses upwards. "You should know by now that you are not going to break me. Trust me." You look down at your boyfriend and you can't help but agree that it's the first time you're looking at Chan like this and he's still so beautiful.

"I know," you sigh, force downwards to your knee as you lower yourself slightly. Chan is still biting and kissing at your thighs, causing you to cream yourself slightly, embarassing you because he can clearly see it now. You bite down on your lips softly, and after much thought decide to reach out a hand to tangle into his hair.

Seemingly, this is all the encouragement and push your boyfriend needed because now Chan's hands lift themselves, hands on your hip before he pulls you down to come closer on to his face, knees digging into the pillow so much that Chan's face lifts up.

And then Chan's tongue is pressed flat against you. He slowly drags it against your slit, like a kitten with its soft licks and then proceeds to press a kiss to your clit when he gets to the top. You're breaking. You had such a strong conviction that you'd dislike this that you can't help but want to move your hip, to want more of his tongue — to want more of the wet muscle against your now sopping core.

Your legs relax just a bit and you willing push his face against his. Chan's face is still hurried into your core, head focussing on nothing but your pleasure. Chan licks another stripe before wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking on it, loud noice of suckle resonating and causing you to move your hips slightly, just to test if it was alright. Turns out Chan loves it because he presses his head further back, hand moving downwards only to place them against your thighs to spread them apart slightly and to see how wet you are all because of him. You look down only to find Chan's eyes shut, lips chasing after your wet ones, tongue protruding out and small whines leaving him that does nothing but harness and comfort your dominant side.

You realise that Chan was still taking it slow, making sure you were comfortable with this and that you were enjoying every single bit of it. The more you let yourself relax and settled onto his face, the more his attention grew. And when Chan knew you were comfortable enough, he grips your hips, hands quickly snaking behind and pulls you further — unimaginably — down. His jaw opens wide and he draws his tongue up and down, lapping at your slit like it's an eternal drink. His warm muscle circles around your clit, causing you to shiver in his hold, chills send up your spine.

Your eyes close, the pleasure unimaginably good as you stretch your left hand to hold the bed post and the other tangles itself amongst Chan's hair roots, pulling it slightly everytime you felt the knot in your stomach tightening. Chan circles around your dripping hole, tongue teasingly poking and pressing in before it is gone again. Your hip gyrate against his face almost like it has a mind of its own. His nose nudges occasionally against your core and your mound that has you biting the insides of your mouth to suppress a large moan.

Chan keeps a rhythm as his tongue laps against your sopping lips, paying equal attention to every part that it send your receptors into snap, endorphins releasing slowly in the build up. His tongue takes in every bit of your wetness that you are left gasping, hips moving against his tongue and eyes squeezing, as your mouth left nothing but his name like a mantra.

Your thighs shake in the pleasure, torn between collapsing and embracing the feeling and you know, for sure, that had it not been for Chan's iron grip on your thighs. Not that Chan seemed too interested in being given the space for him to breathe with how eager he is to bring your hips closer to his face, barely giving him space to breathe.

Slowly and almost what seemed too short, it is all too much for you, the constant sucking and licking and feeling of his warmth against your dripping core. Chan's tongue finally slips into your core and before you really could grasp understanding of what exactly you were doing, you are here, grinding on his face, rocking between his nose pressed against your clit and his tongue buried as far as possible inside you.

Chan moans in ecstacy, his tongue feeling the pressure from your muscles tightening. The slight vibration is enough to slowly spiral you and draw out another loud moan from your dry throat and out through your coral lips. One of his hands grips your thigh, digging in his fingers and the other splays out flat on your back.

It's like all your misconception about this is thrown out through the window. You groan out loud, knuckles turning white as you grip on the bed post tightly as he worked against your slit, letting your hips move as they wished now, his grip on your hips a lot lighter. Your other hand in his hair switches between pulling and petting. You try to focus on the wall in front of you but your vision is all blurry in the slowly becoming euphoria. You can't help but let out small praises in between breaths, "You're a good, good boy," and "Fuck, look at how needy you are," and in all honesty, even you are surprised by the words that leave you. Though, all that does is get Chan more enthusiastic with each one, his tongue moving even more furiously against you.

Before you know it, the knot that built up seems to slowly tense up, close enough to snap and you know you are on the edge. You try desperately to form words though all you can roll from your tongue are desperate whines and moans and chants for Chan to fuck you up more. You pull on his hair, pulling him closer while grinding against him harder.

And then it snaps as you come, like a rope that is knotted so perfectly, pulled apart till you see the fibres so clearing straining away and breaking. You see the white as you close your eyes, the oxytocin rushing through and you are grinding on Chan's face further to ride it all out, your tongue rolling out the words, "Chan, oh my fuck!" over and over again. Your whole body shakes and your legs instinctively try to close though it just ends up pressed against Chan's face, not that he minded it one bit. Chan licks you out soft and slowly, helping you through your orgasm patiently and you want to cry at how blessed you truly are.

Chan keeps up the gentle attention until you finally decide to push his head back, hand off his hair and bedpost, lifting yourself slowly off his face. Or at least you tried and that should count. Your legs that desperately chooses not to cooperate, feeling sore and muscles strained. Chan laughs at you as you try to lift yourself off and he helps you, hand warm against your wet thighs as he lifts them over his face and to his side. You drop down, sliding against the mattress downwards and Chan coos, "Look at my baby."

“Fuck,” is all you can say, heart racing against your chest after one of the better orgasms ever and you close your eyes.

Chan pulls you closer into him, stroking your cheek and kissing your forehead, lips lingering for more than a second. You finally open your eyes, only to lock gazes with your boyfriend and you smile, albeit a tired yet loving smile. Chan press his lips against your nose and tells you, "I'm one lucky man."

"Yes," you chortle, hugging your boyfriend tighter. "Yes, you are."

You take in the sight of Chan in all his glory. His jaw is slick, light hitting off them and making them glisten, cheeks flushed pink and his lips are pulled into a soft smile at you. His eyes don't leave yours for even a minute and they are filled with nothing but soft love coloured in pastel pink in your head. It makes your heart flutter against your ribs.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"More than I should," you sigh contently. You let yourself be swallowed by the beautiful sight before for just a moment longer, to remember every single bit of this in your head. “Now stop looking so sappy and proud.”

If anything, your comment only makes Chan's smile grow wider. Chan still holds you in his arms but he turns his head to look up at the ceiling, smiling so brightly like a dork. “I know I enjoyed it.”

And then, as if he knew you had your eyes trained on his, he sticks his tongue out, slowly dragging it against your wetness left as residues by his mouth. He licks it all up and then finishes it out by licking his lips and you hate that you find yourself clenching your thighs against each other. Why were you such a putty in his hands and to everything he does? Stupid boyfriend that knows he too hot for any good.

“Think I’ll get to do it again sometime?”

You laugh, kissing his cheek. “Maybe,” you say, smiling to yourself. "Who knows? Guess you'll have to wait and see how this pans out now, right?"

Chan looks at you, turning himself to snuggle into your warmth, wanting to be the smaller spoon suddenly. His head hurried against your chest, nose grazing the top of your breast, he closes his eyes, taking in your natural scent. Your hand finds itself on top of his head as you slowly pet his hair, pausing only when you hear him mumble against your skin.

"I've never minded waiting for you."