#oh i should probably have. a tag for random chatter maybe

[machineghoul]

Just realized my queue finished today and now my only posts today are my random midnight thoughts...

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook: Silver Ink [2/3] 🔞

Jungkook is so many thing; absolutely not shy, a talented artist, a confident character, a charmer and a well known powerhouse in the bedroom- while you're very very inexperienced in the arts of love and dating.

Or alternatively: "I don't care that we're both adults, I'm gonna build a blanket fort and you will join me."

Tags/Warnings: Tattoo Artist!jungkook, Piercer!Reader, quiet reader, shy reader, reader has a tongue piercing, skirt enthusiast jungkook, he still really likes reader's thighs, mentions of a slightly bad childhood, innocent reader who's never dated let alone held hands oh lord, smut, handjob (f. Receiving), jungkook cums in his pants oops, it's steamy haha

[Part 1]

You're sitting on your couch with your phone in hand.

Was that too forward? Maybe he's gonna get the wrong message now- you've invited him over after all, what if he thinks you mean something entirely else when you'd texted him asking if he wanted to spend the weekend? You were definitely not ready for that yet, but you also knew you'd probably be too shy to tell him no straight in his face. Oh God, what had you gotten yourself into?

But once he's there, it's way less scary than you'd expected it to be.

He seems to be at ease with everything, incredibly interested in your paintings hung up on the walls, and he makes sure to not get too touchy with you. It seems like he's not interested in any form of skinship, and for some reason, you don't know if that should reassure you or offend you.

You're confused.

He can't keep his eyes off of your legs but he tries his hardest not to stare, only stealing a glance whenever you're unaware of his eyes on you and your short skirt. It flows around your hips almost hypnothically, trying to temp him to run his hands up your soft thighs and underneath. But he can wait, he knows to behave.

He simply chatters away to make sure you feel at ease with him. "-And fuck, my mom was so mad when she found us in the living room, like, we made one of those blanket forts and shit. You know, the one's where you hide between two seats and the table or something." He says, expecting an answer from you, but you just shrug after noticing how he waits for something. "Wait, no. Did you never build a blanket fort?" He asks, and you shrug again.

"I wasn't allowed to have friends over." You say. "And I never slept over at friend's houses because my mom didn't like that." You admit, and Jungkook looks at you as if you've grown a third head.

"Sorry, I- but like, never?" He asks. "What about birthday parties?" He asks, scared of your answer.

"Dunno." You say, reaching for an open pack of cookies to take one for yourself. "I never really did much that day." You admit. Jungkook is filled with a mixture of curiosity and rage- but also determination. He's mentally taking notes of all the things he'll get you to experience- starting right in that moment.

He gets up, and starts moving one of your chairs around, before he brings in another one from the kitchen. "Get some blankets princess, I'm building you a castle!" He dramatically tells you, as you get up as well, albeit a bit more hesitant.

"Jungkook, aren't we a bit too old-" you start, and he walks over to you, holding your shoulders as he looks at you, height difference especially evident with how close he is standing. He's close, so close that you can smell his body wash and laundry detergent, can count every single one of his eyelashes of you wanted to.

"I don't care that we're both adults, I'm gonna build a blanket fort and you will join me." He says, grinning, eyes sparkling.

You can't say no to him when he looks at you like that.

And that's how you end up underneath the hiding place Jungkook had build, your tablet somewhere in the corner playing some random anime he'd found online. "You can come closer, you know?" He says, looking at you. "I meant it when I said I'm taking you out. Means I like you." He admits, and you can't help but feel your cheeks burn a little at that.

You scoot a little closer, before giving in and actually cuddling up to him. His sweater Is soft to the touch, his body warm underneath. His hand is careful where it wanders, never becoming too bold as he just holds you. "I've been.. a bit worried, you know." You start, and instantly regret it. God you're making the entire situation awkward now, he probably doesn't want to talk about this at all, just watch the damn episode and leave it-

"About what?" He asks, voice soft as his hand starts to draw patterns on your shirt.

"Its fine." You say, but he just chuckles.

"No no, tell me." He says. "Now I wanna know."

"About you, coming over." You admit. It's all or nothing anyways now. "Cause you know.. I don't know how this works and stuff, and I don't know what to do-

"All you need to do," He starts, cutting you off before you cam really start to ramble. ",is tell me when I'm overstepping a line for you. I'm not expecting anything from you, and you don't owe me anything either, alright?" He says. "You thought I wanted to have sex with you, right?" He asks bluntly and you just nod. "I'm not gonna lie and tell you I don't want that, because I do." He says calmly. "But I want you to want it too. I'm not in a hurry at all."

You move around a little, before moving away from his side, laying down a breath away from him as he looks towards you. It's not like you don't know how this works- you've seen porn, hell you masturbate, you know all of that. It's just that no one before ever made you consider it with someone else. And in that moment, with Jungkook at your side, there was no one else you'd ever wanted to experience all of those things. "Jungkook?" You ask, as he hums, turning his attention from the anime to you again. "Would it.. be weird if I asked you to uhm.. kiss me maybe?" You ask, quietly.

He looks at you with a grin. "Depends if you really want me to." He says, and you nod at him. "I mean, you've kissed before, right?" He asks, turning his body to lay on his stomach next to you. "..right?"

You look away from him. "You know what it's weird let's forget about it-"

"No no no baby that's not-" He reassures. "I'm just surprised, that's all! You're so pretty, I kind of can't believe that, is all." He chuckles, leaning over you before he teasingly puts his head on your chest. He's internally enjoying the softness of your breasts, the beat of your heart right under his ear while your warmth seeps into his skin. He likes being close to you like this. "If you look at me, I'll kiss you, how about that." He offers.

You catch his gaze. "You don't think I'm weird?" You ask, and he gets up again, now properly leaning over you as he lines up his face with yours, head dipping lower as he looks at your lips. He can't believe he'll be the first and hopefully only one you'll ever kiss.

"Never." He simply hums out, before he places a soft peck against your lips. "How was that?" He asks.

"..I uhm.. that was quick, I think.." you say. "I think I need another one." You say almost in a whisper, and he smiles brightly before placing another kiss against your, this time a bit slower. "..another one?" You mumble, slowly realizing why people liked to kiss. He leans down again, this time angling his head just right to kiss you a bit longer, helping you to move your lips shyly as well.

Your gaze says it all, as he places another one against your soft lips, barely parting anymore between every peck that turns more and more sensual. There's no goal, just a steady uphill climb, emotions making you feel fuzzy inside as you feel the tip of his tongue against your lower lip. You make a sound, his head immediately retreating to give you some space as he laughs at your shocked expression. "No?" He asks without any hint of annoyance with you. "We can try, and if it's too weird, I'll stop okay?" He asks, and after a moment, you nod.

What of you taste weird? What of he doesn't like it with you? What are you supposed to do? It's so weird, how do people even practice this-

But then you almost instinctively let him in, his tongue exploring as you move the way you think was right. He's got his eyes almost closed, always checking to see if you grow uncomfortable. But you're not, you're getting bolder if any, and he suddenly aligning himself a bit, head angling more as you feel his tongue running over your piercing.

You've totally forgotten about that.

But he seems to play with it, seems to enjoy it as he breathes a hit heavier, hand resting on your hip as you notice yourself moving around. You're unsure why, you don't know why you feel the need to roll your hips like that, it's like you don't have control anymore.

It should scare you, but this was Jungkook. There was no need for fear.

"Can I touch you?" He asks, as he parts from your lips to kiss your neck.

"I uh-" you start. "You're.. doing it already though?" You say, and he chuckles against your skin.

"Yeah no, like.." he mumbles. "You've masturbated before right?" He asks, and you nod, nodding again as he looks up with playfully furrowed brows to check if you're lying or not. "Okay, good, so like-" He starts, looking at you with a gaze you can't quite understand. "I wanna do it for you." He proposes.

"Like.. now?" You ask. "Here?" You wonder, and he nods, taking that as a confirm to continue.

"Yes, now." He says, moving his legs to have them placed right between yours, making you spread them a little, skirt rising up your thighs. "Right here." He says. "But only if that's okay." He says, waiting for you to calm down a bit before you nod.

"Wait!" You catch his hand, before checking if he's mad, but he's just looking curiously. "I uh.. I'm not like, prepared-" you admit, embarrassed, when he simply chuckles, leaning down to press a teasing kiss against your nose.

"Fine by me." He says. "But I can stay above your underwear if that makes you feel better." He says, as you nod. Was every guy like this? If that was the case, you seriously felt stupid for not trusting anyone sooner.

"I seriously don't care if you shave or not." He says before his hand wanders up your thigh, underneath your skirt where he'd been in his dirtiest dreams before. His thumb presses against your center, fingers exploring you before he finds where he needs to be, wetness seeping though your panties as soon as he dips a finger between your lower lips, soft and warm. You're already squirming around, painfully responsive to his touch as he keeps his gaze on you.

He plays around, tries out different directions and amounts of pressure before you whine. "Okay, i-" you say, voice deliciously breathess to his ears. "Fuck it, please touch me, please-" you beg, as he finally dips his hand inside your cotton underwear, instantly met with your warm and wet core where he dips a finger in just to tease. You're clenching around him as he ads a second finger, thumb now rolling around your clit as you don't know where to put your legs. Your hips buck, and you cant be bothered to be ashamed of the way you sound as you simply enjoy it, completely unaware that jungkook had now sat back on his knees, your behind rubbing over his caged and throbbing length inside his pants. It's so tame compared to what he usually does, and yet so painfully erotic that he can't help but let himself get a little carried away, going a bit harder with you as you throw your head back, hands grabbing at nothing.

You suddenly make a sound close to a breath and moan, goes curling as your legs stretch out, hips pushing against the hand that helps you ride it out to its fullest whine he himself feels himself spurt into his own pants-

Simply because be realized that he's the first guy ever to see you cum.

And especially after you both had calmed down, giggling like teenagers next to each other before going to get cleaned up, he knows that he wants you, want you to stay at his side, to live with him, knows that he wants you to let him protect you from now on until you're all old and wrinkly.

You deserve the world, and he's already planning how to give it to you.

[spacedikut]

starstruck ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary:  “Can I request some age gap Spencer x reader. Maybe he’s nervous about approaching her for a relationship bc she’s younger, but he’s so goofy for her it’s he’s in love obvious. Pretty pls 🥺💕” 5222 words

a/n: i didn’t specify ages cause i wasn’t sure what people would be comfortable with so i just mentioned an age gap and leave the rest up to you!! i would happily date someone twice my age but i also have daddy issues so :)

masterlist

The day has finally arrived.

Mollie can call you a nerd all she wants, but you know the second she lays eyes on Derek Morgan or Emily Prentiss she’ll change her tune.

This event has been in the university’s calendar since the beginning of the semester. At least two members of the FBI Behavioural Analysis Unit were promised to give a talk about their department, even taking you through a solved case like an interactive documentary, to encourage students to consider joining the academy post-graduation. There was whispers they’d even stick around after to answer some questions.

Your other friend, Jen, the one that understands your excitement, wrote your names down for tickets immediately. You’ve had a countdown on your phone ever since.

“They’ve announced a last-minute guest,” She beams, just as giddy as you. You’re wasting time at the coffee house near the auditorium, waiting for Mollie to arrive.

“Oh, really? Who?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

You almost drop your cookie in shock and stare at her, pupils blown.

“You’re a big fan?” She smirks.

As nonchalantly as you can, you lean back in your chair, “I’m a fan of his work, yes.”

“Oh, his work?”

“Don’t start.”

“I bet you love his work.”

“He’s well-versed and his papers are super interesting-“

“His papers are super interesting-“

“You are a child.”

Just then, Mollie appears, checking her watch. You wish you could kiss her in thanks for saving you from the teasing that would likely never end. “We’re gonna be late for your morbid seminar if you two don’t stop bickering.”

Jen downs the rest of her drink, you shove the last of the cookie in your mouth. Mollie watches your excitement in amusement – your heart starts pumping, whole body buzzing, the same nervousness you felt when you were a preteen right before your first ever One Direction concert. It’s the kind of nervousness that makes your palms sweaty.

Is it evolution or devolution to go from sweating over One Direction to sweating over FBI profilers?

+++

The seminar goes on for an hour, including the questions people ask throughout. It’s everything you could’ve asked for, entertaining and so, so informative and although you weren’t considering joining the FBI before, suddenly it’s all you can think about. Guest speakers have that affect, don’t they? They make you wonder if you should drastically change everything you’ve been planning.

Even Mollie, who you had to threaten to tag along, ended up enjoying herself. “Maybe I learnt a thing or two,” She’d said, rolling her eyes playfully.

You and your friends are some of the last to leave. There’s quite the bustling outside, which you assume is just post-seminar chatter, but you and Jen falter in your steps when you see the exact profilers that had been onstage several minutes ago in front of you, happily interacting and talking to fellow students.

“Oh, man,” Jen whispers, her and Mollie making eye contact across you. “I have to see if I can talk to Emily.”

Mollie encourages her with a frantic, “Go! Go!” while you’re rooted in place. Mollie jabs you with a pointed nail, “You in there, Y/N? I’m sure you have loads of questions for them-“

You stutter and shake your head, “N-no. I’m good. You can try and hit on Derek, if you want.”

You give a half-attempt at a smile, barely lifting the corners of your lips. Mollie recognises that look. She wants to stay with you, check you’re not too overwhelmed, but you shoo her away and send her towards Derek. You breathe a sigh of relief – you’ve been friends with her long enough that she knows when you need space.

There’s something about seeing people you admire so abruptly that totally throws you for a loop. All you had prepared for was seeing them from afar and subsequently talking about it forever, but nothing beyond that. In some circumstances, it’d be a pleasant surprise, but for someone that struggles around strangers and especially around people as admirable as profilers, you are not mentally prepared for this and have therefore shut down.

But then you see him.

He’s shuffling in place in the corner of the room, close to a large potted plant like it’s his only friend. He’s nibbling his lip as his eyes flutter around, never staying somewhere for longer than a second, looking increasingly uncomfortable.

Why is no one talking to him? He’s Spencer Reid.

There’s a couple of people surrounding Emily, fully entranced by whatever story she’s relaying, another few people around Derek, chortling at a joke he just made. Spencer glances between them and their audiences, and you can’t help but wonder why he isn’t right next to them, chatting away, too.

Does he not want to talk to anyone?

You should talk to him.

No. He probably wants to be alone.

Or what if he doesn’t and no one else is talking to him which means you can have a one-on-one conversation? What about that?

Are you insane?

…

You have to talk to him.

Before you can change your mind, you’re approaching him with a tight grip on the handle of your bag, pushing it higher up your shoulder. He spots you and makes eye contact just as you stop in front of him, and you notice he momentarily tightens his grip on his satchel.

Was this a bad idea?

“Hi,” You breathe, “I’m Y/N. A big fan.”

His eyes widen a fraction, which you don’t understand because why else would you be here, but he smiles nonetheless, “Hi, I’m, uh, Spencer Reid.”

“I know.”

“Yes, you know. That makes sense, because you were in the seminar. I saw you.”

Now you’re shocked. For as long as you can remember you never sit in the centre of a room, where most attention seems to go, so how did he-

“I-I always scan the room I’m in its.. it’s not a creepy thing, I swear. I’m not creepy.”

A laugh escapes you at that, making him visibly relax. “I don’t think you’re creepy. There was just.. a lot of people in there, so I’m surprised you remember my face.” You shrug.

I couldn’t forget such a beautiful face.

You don’t know what happens, but Spencer suddenly tenses up. His back straightens and he looks alarm, stiff.

Did he just think that? What.. why did he think that?

You wonder if you’ve said something wrong, so you try to change the topic.

“I-I have a question, if you don’t mind answering.”

Spencer nods with an of course, and when the question rolls off your tongue, his mind is still reeling from subconsciously calling you beautiful in his head. It’s not untrue, but it feels.. inappropriate. He doesn’t know why. But you are beautiful.

As he scans your face, now much closer than in the auditorium, he realises yeah, you are incredibly beautiful.

You wave a hand in front of his face, “Doctor Reid?”

“Sorry, yes, sorry. What are you studying?”

There’s a light in your eyes that Spencer recognises when you say, “Psychology.”

“Thought so.”

“You probably talk to a lot of psychology students. I-um. I almost went to Caltech,” Spencer raises an eyebrow, "After I read your dissertation, it really inspired me to look into it – your dissertation is incredible, by the way.”

Spencer smiles bashfully, a futile attempt to not allow the grin to overtake his face, and thanks you, “I appreciate it. Actually, I was sixteen when I wrote it.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Your eyes widen, “You’re insane! You’re amazing!”

The praise bursts from you, and his blushing face makes you oddly proud. On the other hand, Spencer feels like you’ve set him alight, his blood pumping loudly in his ears, as he’s unable to tear his eyes away from your smile.

He desperately needs to change the topic.

“To answer your question…”

Derek notices you two interacting across the room. Mollie sees him looking and hums, “Oh, that’s Y/N, my best friend. She really likes Spencer.”

Derek raises an eyebrow, “Looks like he really likes her.”

“Don’t tell her that. She’ll collapse.”

They both watch you for a second, Spencer flailing his arms as he explains, you eagerly adding to his rambling, asking a question here and exclaiming some kind of encouragement there. It’s sweet, Derek thinks.

“Hey..” Mollie begins, a scheming look in her eye, “We’re planning to hang out in the campus bar later. It’s open to all and the drinks are cheap. If you and Emily happen to find yourselves looking for something to do and you drag Spencer along.. I’m sure Y/N would like it.”

“I like the way you think,” Derek says, “I’ll see what I can do.”

+++

“She’s getting hit on. Again.” You giggle, gesturing for Jen to turn around and witness Mollie get your drinks paid for by a random guy.

She’s always been a people person – it’s saved you hundreds on nights out.

All Jen does is glance over her shoulder, scoff, then turn her sceptical eyes to you.

“I saw you and Spencer Reid.” She says, twinkling eyes. She’s trying not to look smug.

“I almost proposed to him.” You joke, taking your drink from Mollie with a mumbled thanks.

“Oh, I bet you did,” She laughs, “You two looked sooo good together.”

“Alright,” You slide a shot to each girl, “I know you’re making fun of me, but I’m taking that compliment and cherishing it. Spencer Reid is cute, what of it?!”

You clink the shot glasses with your friends and down them, all wincing at the taste and giggling at Jen when she takes a gulp of her cocktail to wash away the taste of straight vodka.

“How did talking to Derek and Emily go?”

And then Jen starts chattering away.

You miss the bar door opening behind you, But Mollie notices. She’s been watching the door since they got here, conveniently choosing the table with the best view, just in case some profilers decided to stop by.

Derek catches Mollie’s eye and winks.

“Well I never,” Mollie fakes shock, “Look who just walked through the doors.”

You turn and choke on your drink. Emily and Derek look relax, like they’re home, but Spencer?

He looks just like he did earlier: like there’s a million places he’d rather be.

He’s lost the blazer he was wearing earlier, leaving him in a fitted purple shirt with a matching tie. With the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, you can see his firm hands and the silver watch that rests on his wrist – is it possible for a watch to be sexy? Or maybe it’s just cause he’s sexy?

That shot must be getting to you.

“What the hell are they doing here?” You hiss, a sharp whisper piercing the air as you turn and (terribly) try to hide your face.

But Spencer’s seen you. He spotted you the moment they came in – he recognised your clothes and your hair – and the second he did he turned right back around to exit the bar. Derek’s arm stopped him at his chest, like he does to unsubs, forcefully turning him around and laughing when Spencer tensed up.

“What, Reid? Scared of a pretty girl?” Derek teases, much like he’d been doing since he spoke to you earlier.

“I am scared of college girls, yes. Last time I was in a college bar I was twelve and downed shots of apple juice.”

“What?!” Both Emily and Derek stop short, looks of disbelief at the revelation. “You’ve never mentioned that.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“We,” Derek places his hands on Spencer’s shoulders, directing him to your table, “Are just gonna have a few drinks and talk to a few people, and then you’re gonna explain that apple juice story in explicit detail- hey ladies!”

Jen and Mollie look overjoyed at the new company, while you stare rigidly with distinctive what the fuck eyes.

“Would you mind if we joined you?” Emily asks, with a sparkling grin that no one could say no to.

“Of course not,” Jen grins, like it’s the most obvious answer.

The empty seat next to you is taken by Spencer (Derek discreetly shoves him) but right before he’s firmly placed on the stool, Emily calls out, “Spence, why don’t you get us some drinks? You still owe us after you lost that game of gin..”

“I didn’t lose.” Spencer huffs indignantly, “You cheated.”

Despite his grunts, he stands to make his way to the bar, but not before-

“Y/N!” Mollie beams, “It’s your turn to get the round, if you’d be so kind.”

You know that look on her face. You hate her, you realise, but you also love her because being alone with Spencer sends a thrill through you.

Alone with Spencer. What the hell are you supposed to say to him?

You follow him to the bar. He leans against it with an awkward smile.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey.”

“It’s uh.. it’s been a long time since we’ve seen eachother.” It’s a half attempt at a joke, followed by instant regret. But then you giggle and everything feels right in the world, even Spencer’s sucky joke.

“It has been a while, Doctor Reid.” You say. The bartender approaches, takes your orders, then you turn to Spencer, “What brings you to a college bar, of all places?”

“Well,” Spencer glances over your shoulder to your table. He makes eye contact with every single person there, all watching you two interact, and they all sharply turn and try to play it off like they’ve been talking casually. Spencer’s brows furrow a little. “Derek said the drinks are cheap and our hotel is only a couple blocks away. I don’t know, maybe Derek likes college girls.”

You laugh again, and Spencer has to take a second to realise you’re not laughing at him but at what he said about Derek. “Yeah, Derek seems like a real ladies man.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” Spencer grins, “We once timed him to see how long it would take to get a girls number and he did it in five minutes. And he said he was having a bad day.”

The drinks are placed in front of you. Neither of you notice.

You unconsciously lean closer, saying, “Have you timed it to see how long it takes for a girl to approach him? That’s gotta be, like, maybe ten minutes?”

“Eight minutes and twenty-three seconds.”

“Well damn. Has he always been so…” A hand gestures in the air, looking for the word.

“Promiscuous?”

“I was gonna say free.”

“Free?” Spencer giggles, “That’s very nice of you.”

You shrug, “I don’t judge.” Spencer agrees, and it slips out, “What about you?”

You wish you could shove the words back in your mouth. Even more so when his expression changes. You can’t entirely make out what it is, but even in the dimly lit bar you can see the flush of heat that spreads through his cheeks to his ears.

“Are you asking me if I’m free with the ladies?” He murmurs, suppressing a grin.

You give an awkward laugh, wondering if you’ve overstepped a boundary, “Yeah. But that’s kinda weird to ask, so-“

“I’m so popular with the ladies it puts Derek to shame.”

You can’t hide your surprise. “What? Really?”

Spencer caves. “No. Is it that hard to believe I’m a ladies man?”

“Compared to Derek? Yes.”

Spencer scoffs.

+++

“As adorable as they are, it’s been thirty minutes.” Emily sighs. “I want my drink.”

“They’re bonding,” Jen sends a wistful look, “I’m so proud.”

“I’m guessing Y/N isn’t the most social either?” Derek asks, proudly watching you interact.

“She’s the best, just a little shy sometimes.” She smiles at you, even though you can’t see, “She’s an idiot, but our idiot, you know?”

Both Emily and Derek laugh airily, nodding with a, “Yeah, we know.”

At once, three phones vibrate throughout the bar – Emily, Derek and Spencer. They’re instantly filled with disappointment; Derek can’t watch Spencer attempt to flirt with a girl he’s obviously interested in, Emily still hasn’t got a drink, and Spencer has to leave you and he can’t think of anything worse.

He’s clearly hesitant when he looks at his phone. How does he say goodbye? Does he ask for your number? Would that be weird? That would be weird.

“Uhh…”

You channel every ounce of liquid courage you have in your body and offer, “Would it be weird if I gave you my number? Just.. for anything. Anything at all.”

Spencer nods, a gentle look in his eyes and a smile on his face, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You mumble an alright, accepting Spencer’s phone and creating a new contact for yourself.

Please text me. You think. Please text me.

+++

He doesn’t text.

It’s been a week. A week. You know how cases are, some take longer than others and some are solved in literal hours, but it’s been a week, Spencer goddamn Reid, so why haven’t you texted me.

That’s when the doubt creeps in. Your friends keep telling you he’ll text, that he’s just busy (“He’s an FBI agent, Y/N. If you start dating you’re gonna have to get used to lapses in contact.” To which you’re too distracted choking at the mention of you two dating), but you can’t help but wonder if he took your number simply so he could leave quicker. He had a case to get to, after all. He had people to save.

Now you feel guilty. You forced your number on him, didn’t you? Oh God, he hates you. He hates you and you forced your number on him and he hasn’t texted you because he’s filing a restraining order against you because he hates you.

Mollie tells you you need a nap.

+++

Spencer spends the time on the jet back from the case staring at your number. He has it memorised, of course, and has had it memorised from the first time he read it, of course, but he can’t bring himself to do anything with it.

All he’s done is change your contact picture from the standard first letter of your name to a cute picture of a frog Garcia sent him. It reminds him of you.

Derek lowers his headphones, “You texted her yet, Pretty Boy?”

“Huh? Uh, no. I don’t think I will.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer shrugs, locking his phone and placing it face down. “I don’t think anything would come from it.”

“Kid,” Derek leans forward, eyebrows furrowed, “You two talked for well over thirty minutes in the middle of a college bar about God knows what. Maybe I’m easy to impress, but that seemed pretty special to me.”

“How is talking in a college bar worth anything?”

“Because you’re Reid, who, most of the time, has to be physically dragged into a bar. You hate talking to strangers about anything other than work. Y/N? A stranger. What did you two talk about?”

“We talked about you a little.”

“Uhuh. About how good I am at my job?”

“God, no,” Spencer scrunches his nose, “We talked about your charm with the ladies.”

Derek falls back in his chair and scoffs, “I’m flattered, but that doesn’t sound like work-talk to me. So you’re comfortable with her. I saw you laughing, so she makes you laugh, too. Sounds pretty great to me.”

Spencer stares. Derek’s right, but..

“So what is it, Reid?”

Spencer licks his lips. “Do you think she’s too young for me?”

Derek rarely looks taken aback, but he does now, “Too young?”

“She’s in college. I’m-I’m-“

“A legal adult. As is she.”

Spencer slumps. “A 2014 Current Population Survey found the average difference for a heterosexual couple is two-point-three years, with the man older than the woman. Even if you double that, that’s still less than me and Y/N-“

“Four years isn’t a lot, Spence,”

“You just.. you don’t think it’s weird?”

“No. Do you?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

Derek’s conviction gives Spencer some reassurance, but he can’t help himself when he thinks that.. maybe.. you’ll find him boring. Most people seem to, with all his statistics and figures and facts, but with the added element of you living it up at college.. how could he compete?

“I think you’re worrying over nothing, Reid. You haven’t even texted her, and you’re already worrying about stuff like age gaps?” Derek crosses his hands and looks at Spencer with determination, “She gave you her number. She initiated it. She knows who you are, so she knows how old you are and it doesn’t seem to make her uncomfortable. So, why should it make you?”

Spencer just grunts.

“Are you worried people will say things?”

“I guess.”

“People always say things. You know that better than anyone. So screw ‘em.”

Spencer feels a smile creep onto his face.

And Derek relaxes. He’s planted the seeds, that Spencer is fretting over nothing, now all he’s got to do is wait for Spencer to let it sink in and allow the flowers to bloom and, next thing you know, Spencer’s gonna have himself the perfect girlfriend.

And Derek will take too much credit for it.

+++

“Heeeeeeeeey my precious Doctor…”

Garcia looks like her hand was caught in the cookie jar.

Spencer’s back straightens. “What did you do?”

She looks embarrassed, fiddling with the fluffy pen in her hand. She smiles awkwardly. “Derek may have told me about a pretty little college student that captured your heart, and then he told me you also haven’t texted her yet, so I did a little digging and…”

“You cyber-stalked Y/N?” Emily asks, casually. JJ seems unphased at the discussion. Does everyone in the office know about you?

“I did. I’m guilty. I’m sorry. I couldn’t resist.” She’s speaking a mile a minute.

Emily spares Spencer a glance, “Did you find anything?”

“Well…”

Concern fills Spencer. “Did something happen?”

“I just found some stuff she’d probably only tell a close friend and I feel really bad about it.” Her shoulders are by her ears as she tries to fold in on herself out of guilt, “But other than that she’s a genuinely sweet girl who volunteers at pet shelters and the college library in her free time and we have really similar music tastes so I think we’d make great friends.”

They all look to Spencer, waiting for his reaction. What? Is he supposed to be surprised that you’re the epitome of perfect? He’s not. He studied you the entire time you spoke.

“She’s also written several incredible papers on child development that I think are revolutionary and I totally emailed them to you because I think you should read them. She’s also a genius.”

Spencer’s hand twitches. He ignores the sudden need to check his email.

It’s silent as they just stare at him. He doesn’t say anything and tries not to react, but he does. They notice how his eyes flicker to his phone, how his leg fidgets, the longing in his eyes.

Emily brushes her hair back calmly and asks, “Hey, Pen, when does Y/N work at the college library?”

Penelope doesn’t catch on at first, casually replying, “Oh, basically every day from five pm onwards. They’re a twenty-four hour library and she combines working and studying.” When she sees Emily pointedly look at Spencer, she goes ohhh.

“Good to know,” Emily nods, “Good to know.”

+++

Spencer finds himself at the college library that night.

He wants to say it was an accident, or that he just happens to know there’s a special edition of a specific book here, but he’d be lying. He read your papers between reports, and found himself having a deep appreciation for the way you write – he wants to ready everything you’ve ever written. Every essay, every note, every formal and informal piece of work you’ve ever done.

He’s already fallen in love with the way you write. He doesn’t think he’s far from falling in love with you.

He wanders around the lower floor of the library. It’s impressive, he must admit, and he’s disappointed in himself for not visiting earlier. There’s students everywhere, but he notices some other people mixed in too – professors, businesspeople, as well as parents with their children.

He feels a little less weird for creeping around now.

Not that’s he’s creeping. He’s just.. there. To see a certain someone under the guise of looking for a book.

He moseys for a while, from the fiction section to the non-fiction to comics to autobiographies. You’re nowhere to be found – not between the rows of books, not working on any of the desks, not at the centre reception desk.

Until you’re suddenly behind him.

“Spencer?”

He jumps, looking up from the book he’s reading. Your voice is as calming and smooth as always.

“Y/N. Hi.”

“Hi,” Your brows are furrowed, but you’re not disappointed by the unexpected visitor. “What are you doing here?”

He lifts the book he’s holding, an Arthur Conan Doyle, giving a light lipped smile. “I’m just looking. I didn’t realise the college library was so plentiful – did you know the oldest library in the world dates from the seventh century BC?”

“I do, actually.” You point to a poster behind him, which displays that exact fact, “I thought dotting facts around the library would be interesting for the kids. They seem to like them.”

“Learning in young children is socially mediated, so good quality learning environments outside of their schools is crucial for children’s development. So, in a way, you’re enriching their lives beyond understanding.”

You’re flattered at his somewhat far-fetched attempt at complimenting you. It makes your heart flutter.

Why didn’t you contact me, you dimwit?

You open your mouth to ask another question, ask if there’s something he needs help finding, when he beats you to it.

With a firm grip, he slams the book he’s reading shut and says, “I’m lying.”

“Oh?”

“I didn’t come here to.. look around. I came here to see you.”

“Oh.”

Spencer doesn’t know what to make of that. You haven’t awkwardly looked away, or stepped back to increase the distance between you. That means something good, right?

“You didn’t text me, so I assumed you weren’t interested.” Your brows twitch, and you back-pedal, “Unless you purposely didn’t text me because you actually weren’t interested and you might be here to see me but for something book-related rather than me-related and I’ve totally humiliated myself.”

“No, no. You’re right. You’re right.” He fiddles with the book in shame, “I should’ve texted you. I just didn’t know what to say and.. Well, it’s stupid.”

Your head jerks a little to the side, something he’s noticed you do a lot, looking patient and too pretty for him to handle. “I’m sure it’s not stupid.”

Spencer thinks back to his conversation with Derek, specifically the reminder that you gave him your number which means you initiated this so yes, you are interested in him.

It’s just.. when he looks at you, he struggles to believe it a little. You’re breath-taking.  

“I’m worried I’ll bore you.” He starts light, easing you into what’s been troubling him. He’s emboldened by the fact you’re clearly frustrated he didn’t text you.

You give him a look of horror, “The first time we met I told you I loved your dissertation on geographic regression. I definitely do not think you’re anything anywhere near boring.”

“Okay,” He nods, “What about our ages?”

You’re confused. “What about it?”

Spencer mirrors your expression. “It doesn’t.. bother you?”

“Does it.. bother you?”

Usually, answering a question with a question is a sign of deflection, a sign of hiding something. However he doesn’t know why, but Spencer trusts you with his life. Maybe not his life. Maybe his heart.

“Does that silence mean yes?”

He shakes his head, “No. It doesn’t bother me. I just worry that, you know, college years are the so-called best years of your life and I don’t want you to regret being with me, someone older than you, and resent me for it, or something-“

“I think you’re getting way in your head, Spence.” You laugh a little, “We haven’t gone on a single date and you’ve convinced yourself of so much already. For the record, no, your age doesn’t bother me in the slightest. It never has and I doubt it ever will. I think you’re the most fascinating and interesting person on this planet, and if anyone is getting bored with anyone I’m pretty confident it’ll be you getting sick of me. And,” You take a breath, “I think I’m old enough to know what I want, who I want, and what I want is you. If you want me, too.”

Spencer shoves the book back into the bookshelf with a satisfying sound, then turns and quickly places a kiss onto your cheek. It’s completely unexpected and, quite frankly, not something you’d expect from Doctor Reid, but you blush and there’s a definite red colour to Spencer’s cheeks, too.

“I will never, ever, get sick of you.” He says, voice small but firm. “But I don’t want you to regret being with me. Promise me you won’t.”

You give him a look that tells him you think he’s ridiculous. “I promise that I won’t regret being with you. I’d like us to last as long as possible, if I can be picky.”

“I’d like that, too.” He murmurs. The thought of you wanting him for as long as possible almost sends him into a frenzy. He wants to kiss you all over.

You stand close and talk quietly for a while, a little more discussion on a possible date that weekend and a constant stream of compliments from you to Spencer and vice versa, before you realise the time.

“I should probably go. I have a paper to finish.” You smile sadly, a tiny pout forming.

“I understand. Do you think I could read it? When you’re done?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Do you know how terrifying the idea of the Spencer Reid reading my work is? But yes, anything for you.”

Anything for you. Are you trying to kill him?

You turn to leave, refusing to admit how sad leaving Spencer makes you feel, when you stop, “One more thing.”

Spencer hums. He’s not fully paying attention, praying to whatever Gods exist that killers take a break on the weekend so he can take you out on the sweetest date.

“If age is a sore area for you,” There’s mirth in your eyes and Spencer prepares himself, “Does that mean the nickname old man is off the table?”

His lips purse and move towards his nose as he narrows his eyes, giving you a look of faux annoyance, “I am not an old man.”

“Sounds like you’re sensitive, old man.”

As you walk away, you jokingly blow him a kiss to add insult to injury. His pretend glare lasts until your back is turned and he feels his gaze softening to something akin to love.

Spencer thins if the rest of his life is this, you teasing him with that twinkle in your eye and smile on your face, then life is truly the most beautiful thing.

[puckinghell]

today i heard someone say "i don't wanna date, i just want my best friend to fall in love with me" and i thought it would make a really good fic!!! maybe you could write it with petey, for his birthday?

That’s a really cute idea. Just a little blurb but hopefully you like it!!

--

You love the boys, you really do, but…

“Shut up, Brock,” you hiss, slamming your beer glass down on the table with a little too much force. Some of the contents sloshes over the edge, but you know Brock is about to buy you a new one: after everything that he’s done tonight, it’s the least he can do.

“Why?” Brock asks, puppy eyes in full effect. “I’m just asking a question!”

What Brock is doing, actually, is opening a can of worms you really don’t want to get opened. You’re good at keeping your feelings close to your chest, have been good at that for ages.

You kinda had no choice. Falling in love with your best friend is dangerous stuff, especially when he’s really not interested in that at all, and you can’t be caught slipping up.

So you don’t go there, normally. But it’s obvious, really, to anyone with eyes. Brock likes to tease you that the sun shines out of your eyes whenever you look at Elias, and Troy simply raises his eyebrows in judgmental manner whenever you stare at Elias a little too long.

And unfortunately, your friends don’t have enough of a moral compass to refrain from teasing you about it.

“You’re not just asking a question,” you quote Brock sarcastically. “You’re being annoying.”

It’s always fun to go out with the boys, so whenever Elias asks you to tag along on their bar crawls, you always say yes. Somehow the topic got turned to your dating life, however, and the only reason you haven’t stabbed Brock to death with the umbrella that came in Jake’s cocktail is that Elias as last seen being beat into the ground at pool by Jacob, so he’s not here to hear about your pathetic love life – or lack thereof.

“I just think,” Brock starts, voice betraying the beginning of a monologue, “that if you’re not gonna do anything about your feelings for Petey, you have to try and get over him. And getting over someone works best when you get under someone else.” He points towards the general area of the bar. “There’s guys there! Just pick one.”

Jake snorts. “It’s not a supermarket, Boes. She can’t just pick up random guys and hope one’s good enough.”

“Exactly,” you say, thankful to have at least one person on your side. The happiness lasts for about a second, because then Jake clearly decides to betray you.

“But I don’t think it’s a bad idea to go on some dates.”

“Really, Tuna, you too?” you frown, putting as much betrayal as you can into your voice. He has the decency to at least look a little sheepish.

“Just a few dates. You don’t know what could happen.”

“I don’t wanna go on dates!” Frustration is ringing clear in your voice. “That might be fun for you, being professional athletes, rich, hot, and men, but going on dates for me means telling my friends exactly where I’m gonna be at whatever time during the night because I’m worried about getting murdered. It means having nothing to talk about and sitting through 3 hours of silence, or listening to men brag about their accomplishments while not even bothering to learn my name. Going on dates isn’t fun.”

You stubbornly cross your arms. Brock and Jake are staring at you with wide eyes, as if you’ve said something crazy; you groan.

“I don’t want to go on dates with random people, I want my best friend to fall in love with me!”

There’s a sharp intake of breath behind you. Normally you probably wouldn’t even notice it, but this one is a little too familiar to be ignored. Within a split second, you realize why Jake and Brock were staring.

Elias is standing behind you, looking at you with confused eyes. His hands are limply by his side.

Oh no.

“Oh no,” Brock says.

“Elias,” you start, but the sentence dies on your lips. What could you say? I didn’t mean it would be a lie, I can explain would lead into something you really don’t want to do.

For a second, Elias seems to be at a loss for words, which is not something that happens to your best friend a lot.

“I’m your best friend,” he says finally, and it’s like the words are sinking into his brain at the exact moment he speaks them. His eyes widen, realization settles into his features, and suddenly you can’t do this.

You can’t watch the horror take over his face, you can’t hear the pity in his voice as he tries to let you down gently. You can’t take Brock and Jake’s sorrowful look of guilt.

So you book it: you throw yourself out of the booth before anyone can say anything and all but run towards the exit of the bar, bumping into Marky on the way out.

“Y/N?” he calls after you, clearly worried, but you don’t stop.

Tears are starting to make their way to your eyes and you don’t want anyone to see that. Instead, you push the door open. Cold winter air hits you in the face and you feel it in your lungs as you inhale.

For a second, it calms you down enough that you have the mind to grab your phone and open the Uber app.

You should’ve expected Elias to follow you, but for some reason it still comes as a surprise when you hear his footsteps behind you.

It’s a little weird, maybe, that you would recognize his footsteps, that you would know it’s him before you’ve seen or heard him. But he’s so familiar that your body reacts to him even without your knowledge, muscles relaxing when he silently stands next to you.

Normally, you would lean against him, in a situation like this. This time you stare stoically ahead.

There’s chatter coming from inside the bar, but it’s quiet outside. It’s cold, but the night is clear. It’s a lovely set of juxtapositions, you suppose, like the way your heart is breaking at the hands of your favorite person; your best friend, who has done nothing wrong.

Suddenly you feel something warm, featherlight against your fingers. Elias’ hands are rough with callouses but they are gentle, and when he carefully and oh so slowly threads his fingers through yours, you don’t stop him. You don’t pull away. You should, probably, but God, you don’t want to.

If everything is going to change, you can allow yourself this memory, of getting so close to what you wanted.

“I don’t like going on dates either,” Elias says out of nowhere. His voice is soft but it cuts through the quiet night anyway.

It’s not at all what you expected him to say, and it startles a laugh out of you. When you look up, there’s a content tug to his lips, like he’s pleased to hear your laughter.

“But I like going on dates with you.”

Those words are even more unexpected and the laughter dies on your lips. Confusion takes over. “Elias, we’ve never been on a date.”

Elias hums. He takes a while to respond. “Haven’t we, though?” he asks, finally. “We’ve been to lots of restaurants, cinemas. Breakfasts, lunches, dinners. Movie nights at home. We’ve gone skating, hiking, golfing.” He grins. “Taken romantic strolls through the park.”

You snort. “Taking Brock’s dogs for a walk isn’t a romantic stroll.”

Elias’ response is quick. “But it could be.”

You don’t have a reply for that. Your heart is beating in your chest a million miles an hour; you feel like you can’t breathe, because it feels like Elias is saying something you couldn’t ever imagine hearing him say.

“Y/N.” Elias’ voice is soft, but urgent, so you focus back on him. “You’re my best friend.”

“I know.” And you do: you wouldn’t ever doubt that, you know what you mean to him.

“That’s why it’s scary. Because I don’t want to lose you if it goes wrong. But that’s also why it’s not scary at all, right? Because we’ve been doing this for a long time, we just didn’t put a name to it.” He shrugs, easily, like his words aren’t turning your whole world upside down. “But I already know I’m my happiest when I’m with you, and I know I always want to spend all of my time with you.”

Your head snaps up. When your eyes catch his, there’s nothing there but truth and honesty. Hope lights up inside your heart like a beacon of light.

“You said… You said you want your best friend to fall in love with you.” Elias smiles, small and private, but happy. “But I already did that a long time ago.”

Like a tidal wave of happiness, a smile spreads across your face. You’re about to step in, to finally kiss Elias like you’ve been wanting all that time, when a car pulls up.

“You already ordered an Uber for us?” Elias says, tone teasing and light. “Someone is eager.”

“I didn’t say you were invited,” you snap, but Elias simply laughs because in reality you both know that he’s invited.

You think for the past few years, there was never a place you went that Elias wasn’t invited to.

“I suppose I could just go,” Elias trails, and you latch onto his hands tightly, keeping them firmly in your own.

He’s not going anywhere, not if it’s up to you. And when he squeezes your hand in the back of the Uber, you’re pretty sure he’s not going anywhere if it’s up to him, either.

[aadmelioraa]

Take Two

A Happiest Season Abby x Riley fic (2.4k, T)

It had been one year since Abby had left. One year since they’d called it quits. One year since their engagement was over.

And now it was Christmas time again, only this time Abby was more alone than ever.

She’d been on a few dates since they’d broken up, but no one had stuck around. Probably more her fault than theirs. It had been good to get back out there, but it still hurt to remember how things with Harper had ended.

It was a pretty big shock at the time, but looking back it had been a long time coming. Abby and Harper were on different paths and it just wouldn't have worked, no matter how much they loved each other.

“It’s not you,” Harper had insisted. “It’s me, and I’m so sorry.”

That was one of the last things Harper said to her.

They’d been talking wedding plans that morning and by evening Abby was packing her bags.

Harper had been so desperate to make her happy since they got engaged, but her constantly bending over backward wasn’t what Abby needed, and it was stressing Harper out. Neither of them was their best self together, not anymore. Rather than bringing them closer, in the end, that Christmas with the Caldwells had exposed too many rifts in the relationship to salvage.

Tagging @mego42 @endlesslychildish @arcane--soul @skittles321

Read the rest below the cut or on ao3

“I want you to be happy without trying so hard to satisfy the idea of me in your head. You’re such an amazing person—“ Abby had started sobbing here, “—but I can't give you what you need either.”

She’d moved out that night. Harper hadn’t accepted the breakup at first despite sort of initiating it. The conversation had lasted for hours, but eventually, she acknowledged the inevitable and left Abby alone for a few hours to pack. John, thankfully just a text away, had helped her drive everything over to his place.

It had been the second-worst night of Abby’s life.

She’d moved to Philadelphia two months later. She’d grown up there, technically, but without her parents, it didn’t really feel like coming home. New neighborhood, new apartment, new job. If that wasn’t proof she could get over it, what was? But when the holiday season came around again a lot of memories, once happy, now painful, resurfaced.

Waking up alone on Christmas Eve that year, in a word, sucked.

Abby was awake at 6:30 am for some reason. She checked her phone. She’d missed two non-emergency texts from John last night after she’d taken melatonin and passed out. He was definitely still sleeping; she’d text him back later.

She made a pot of coffee and stood in the kitchen in her pajamas wondering what she was going to do to keep herself occupied all day. John, who was living with his boyfriend in New York now, had invited her to stay the night and spend Christmas with them, but Abby wasn't sure if she was feeling up to it. She kinda wanted to sit the holiday out completely this year. She opened her phone and jumped aimlessly between the same three apps, then finally forced herself to take a shower.

At noon she decided to get dressed and go for a walk. That ought to keep her distracted enough. She put on jeans, thick socks, and her warmest sweater under her coat and started wandering.

There was nothing quite like Philly at Christmas. Still brash, loud, and occasionally vulgar but now decked to the nines with tinsel. She was glad to have new haunts to discover along with revisiting old haunts.

The snow from the previous day had turned to slush by the time the sun was at its peak, but that didn’t stop the kids in her neighborhood from spilling out into the streets to play football and tag under the grey sky. She waved at her upstairs neighbors and made a mental note to try and get to know them a little better in the new year.

It was a nice enough day. Maybe she’d head to Fairmount Park. Wherever she ended up there were sure to be plenty of frantic people coming to and fro, finishing last-minute Christmas shopping.

A wave of mixed emotions washed over her as she passed by a jeweler. Harper had given back the ring, of course. It was with John for safekeeping. Abby couldn’t return it, but it felt really weird to have it at her new place. Fresh start and all. Maybe someday she’d be ready to sell it. For now, she didn’t want to think about it.

She continued on at a brisk pace, stopping at a street cart for a lunch of falafel which she ate standing over a trash can, then continuing on.

It was after four o’clock by the time she realized how far she’d walked. Her hands had grown pretty chapped, she should probably go inside for a minute. There was a bar up ahead that looked open, and she could definitely use a drink.

It was fairly empty when she entered which made her instantly relax. She sidled up the bar and took a seat, rubbing her hands to warm them.

“Hey.” There was one bartender working, a curly-haired woman wearing a bandana headband, fitted flannel, and impeccable winged eyeliner like some kind of femme Luke Danes. “What can I get for you?”

“Vodka tonic?”

“Not feeling the Christmas spirit today, huh?” the bartender asked, grabbing the well vodka and rimming a glass with a wedge of lemon.

“Not really.”

“Yeah me neither. Anyway, name’s Gem,” the woman said, setting the cocktail down with a gentle tap. “Yell if you need anything.”

She smiled and walked to the far corner of the bar, a towel draped over her shoulder. A tall redhead and a petite girl with shoulder lengths locs raised their glasses at her.

Even if Abby wasn’t feeling it today, she’d picked a good spot.

She’d just started to feel the effects of the booze when she heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, I thought that was you.”

Startled, Abby nearly dropped her drink.

Riley, Harper’s Riley, slid onto the stool next to her.

“Hey!” Abby said, “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” Riley laughed.

“Yeah, I mean—great, great to see you.” Abby couldn’t help from grinning. She probably looked like an idiot but she didn’t care.

“You look good,” Riley said, subtly sweeping her eyes up and down in an appreciative manner.

“Thanks, thanks.” Abby was glad she’d foregone the beanie with the hole in it. “You look good too.”

She really did. Her hair was a little shorter now, though it still framed her face perfectly. Otherwise, she looked exactly the same as when they’d met two years ago. She was wearing a black mock neck sweater and a pair of perfectly tailored wool pants. Her boots had a slight heel, not too high to be practical in an East Coast winter. The hem of her sweater pulled up a little as Riley leaned over the bar, exposing just a sliver of skin. Abby tried not to stare too obviously while she ordered a drink.

“I moved to Philly last month, to answer your question,” Riley said. “Got a fellowship at Kensington, I start in a week.”

“Oh, cool. Congrats, that’s awesome.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Riley took a sip, glancing over at Abby in a way that made her face grow slightly warm. “What have you been up to?”

“Finished the doctorate and got a job as a curator at the PMA. It’s going well. I mean, relatively.”

“Well, look at you!” Riley raised her glass. “Doctor.”

“Doctor,” Abby echoed, laughing, as she knocked her glass against Riley’s.

“Glad to hear that.” Riley took another sip of her drink and paused, mouth pulling to one side awkwardly for just a second.

Abby knew the question that was coming.

“So,” Riley was looking straight ahead into the mirror behind the bar, “how’s Harper?”

Abby grimaced.

Riley’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit…”

“It’s ok! It’s ok,” Abby could feel herself overcorrecting. “It’s been about a year. But yeah, we’re not together anymore.”

“I’m really really sorry, Abby.”

“It’s fine, really,” Abby shrugged. “I mean, if anyone knows how I feel, it’s you.”

Riley exhaled and leaned over the bar, her elbow just barely touching Abby’s. “Yeah, that’s definitely true.”

“So what are you doing in a random bar on Christmas Eve anyway?” Abby asked, ready to change the subject.

“I live up the street, actually. I’m heading to Pittsburgh to see family tomorrow, but that’s going to feel like work, so today I just wanted to relax.”

“Totally,” Abby said, watching as a party of college aged kids spilled in from the street and headed to the high top tables towards the back of the bar. “I’m just taking it easy today, too.”

“Big plans tomorrow?”

“Might see John. I think you met him…when we met.”

“Yeah, I remember John. How’s he doing?”

“He’s really good. Thinks I need to get out more, but otherwise he’s very happy.”

Riley laughed. “I’ve been out exactly three times—wait, no, this makes it four—since I moved here in November so clearly I have no idea what that’s about.”

“You liking Philly so far?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, don’t get me wrong it’s weird as fuck, but it’s got some really great people. The doctors I work with are whatever, but this kind of place has a good vibe.”

She smiled at Gem, who was rolling her eyes as she made Long Island Iced Teas for the group at the high tops.

“You two know each other?” Abby asked, internally cringing at how un-cool about it she sounded.

“I’ve been here three of the four times I’ve been out, so you could say that,” Riley said. “Nice people usually.”

Gem dropped off the tray of Long Islands and brought Abby and Riley another round.

“They tried to order mojitos,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Fucking kids,” Abby said. Riley laughed. That felt good.

Another large group came in, middle-aged couples this time. It had grown dark outside, it must be after five by now.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the conversations happening around them. Old friends were reuniting to the right and left of them, the chatter that filled the air was starting to make Abby feel a little claustrophobic. She shifted towards the edge of her seat, tapping one foot nervously against the floor.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” Riley asked, raising her hand to catch Gem’s attention. “It’s getting a little crowded.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Abby said, relieved. “I’m just gonna run to the restroom.”

She threw a slightly crumpled pile of bills—mostly fives—on the bar and made her way to the back.

By some good luck, the bathroom was free with no line. The space was cramped and not overly clean, and the small black and white tiles that covered the lower half of the walls created a frantic pattern that did nothing to help Abby’s nerves. She exhaled a deep breath, fixed on her own gaze staring back at her from the mirror.

You’re fine. You’re just hanging out with a girl. A friend, even. Stop being so fucking nervous.

She rolled her eyes, annoyed at her own pep talk, then made her way back to the bar.

Riley was waiting with her hat on, hands thrust deep into the pockets of her dark green coat. Her face broke into a smile when she saw Abby returning.

“Anywhere in particular you want to go?” Abby asked.

“Not really,” Riley said casually. “Lead the way.”

“You got it,” Abby said, and Riley followed her outside.

The air was brisk, and snow had just started to fall as they left. There were Christmas lights everywhere, garlands wrapped around lampposts, a tree decked to the nines in nearly every window.

“Philly really gets in the holiday season, huh?” Riley asked dryly, then pointed up at a stuffed orange mascot that hung from a wreath on someone’s porch. “What the hell is that thing?”

“You really are new here,” Abby laughed. “I don’t know if you’re ready for me to explain Gritty tonight but I promise he's worth the wait.”

They continued up Broad Street, gradually making their way away from the noisy crowds. It had started to snow, which helped muffle the sounds of passerby and create a more mellow but still festive atmosphere.

“So, I’m glad I ran into you,” Abby confessed, breaking the silence that was lingering between them.

Riley’s shoulder bumped against hers as she sidestepped a puddle. “I am too. I have to ask though, is it because we’re both members of the Harper broken hearts club, or something else?”

“No, I’ve been trying not to think too much about that,” Abby said.

“Sorry to bring it up again.”

“I mean, it’s kind of unavoidable. That’s not what I meant, sorry. I’m glad because I really liked you when we met, and I kind of regret not realizing that at the time.”

Riley glanced over at her, genuine surprise etched on her face. “I liked you too, Abby. A lot.”

Abby smiled into her scarf and shook her fingers through her hair the way she always did when she was nervous. “Really?”

“Yeah, past tense though,” Riley added.

“Asshole,” Abby laughed, and Riley’s mouth twitched in reply.

They had paused on a street corner. The snow was falling around them in big flakes, Riley’s hair glittering in spots where it had landed and begun to melt.

Riley cocked her head, lips slightly parted, and stepped a little closer. Her brown eyes sparkled in the light of a Christmas tree peeking out of a nearby window.

“You good?” she asked.

Abby hesitated, chewing her lower lip.

“I can head home, if you’re not feel—“

Abby didn’t let Riley finish. Surging forward on her toes, she kissed her.

Rile tasted like the old fashioned she’d been drinking, smoky and slightly sweet. She kissed Abby back, running a hand through the hair behind her ear, and Abby could feel her smiling as their noses bumped together. When she pulled back Abby caught her breath and realized she was grinning too.

“I’ve wanted you to do that for a really long time,” Riley breathed.

Abby laced her fingers through hers and they kept walking. She wasn't feeling alone amidst all the holiday revelry any longer.

“Do you want to grab dinner sometime, maybe?” Abby asked tentatively.

Riley squeezed her hand. “How about now?”

Abby grinned. “Now is great.”

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Sniper and The Medic: Chapter 2

Starring: Crosshair, Original Character “Joan Vo,” probably the rest of the Bad Batch at some point

Summary: Crosshair doesn't exactly like medical personnel. In fact, he hates them. They're always poking and prodding, calling him skinny, telling him he's not good enough. But then he meets the new medical examiner, the smart and kind and oh-so-pretty Joan Vo. And suddenly, he's not only looking forward to his medical check-ups, but he's also starting to question whether he wants to go to war after all....

Rating & Warnings: T/PG-13. Eventual fluff. Light angst. Who knows what else will pop up, but I’ll leave warnings when needed.

Taglist: Let me know if you want to be tagged for this fic.

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

Chapter 2: Doctor’s Orders

She wasn't the first human girl he'd ever seen.

But she sure was the prettiest.

There'd been some contractors and other hired help on the planet, especially in recent years as the demand on the warfront left few bodies to fill the more ancillary tasks. A few had been female. Each time one came in, there was endless chatter among the clones about them. Crosshair had never understood the fascination, nor had his brother Tech. They often wondered if that was just another one of their defects.

Now he got it.

She didn't wear the traditional medical garb, or even the sterile robes the Kaminoans usually gave visitors. Instead, she was in what looked like the clone's standard issue under-armor, "blacks." Slightly different material and stitching, but same concept. It stretched around her figure, highlighting both her obvious female-ness as well as some muscles. Her pinkish-blonde hair was pulled back from her face, which was young, but also weathered. She wasn't another posh politician or edgy mercenary. She was something else entirely.

But her arrival did nothing to help his nerves; in fact, he felt even worse now. This pretty girl would be the one inspecting him. Frowning at all his subpar test results. Reprimanding him for not eating or exercising enough. Judging him.

He watched her with wary eyes as she entered and gave him a small but endearing smile.

"Good morning," she said, her voice a bit raspy, but calm. Soft. "I'm Joan."

She looked at him expectantly. He knew he should give his official designation, but he decided to say the name he'd given himself, in a rebellious attempt to show himself as human.

"Crosshair."

She held her smile, unperturbed by his lack of protocol. In fact, she seemed pleased by it.

"Crosshair," Joan repeated, sending a shiver through him. She had been holding a datapad, undoubtedly containing all the sad details of his medical history. He braced himself for the uncomfortable silence that would happen as she flicked through it. But instead she placed it on a table along the back wall and rolled out a chair to face him.

"Well, Crosshair, tell me about yourself."

He blinked a few times. "Um," he nodded to the back table. "My file should have everything about me."

"Everything?" she asked with an amused smirk. "Like your favorite color? What you think about before falling asleep?"

Her eyes narrowed at him, a challenge, but a playful one. He had no clue how to respond.

Before he could come up with something to say, her face relaxed and she pushed her chair back as she stood, returning to the back table. She grabbed a pad of paper and an exam scope. The datapad remained neglected.

"Crosshair..." she said his name again, causing him to fight to control another pleasant fluttering in his chest. "Does that mean you're really into guns?"

She came in front of him again, resting the primitive writing materials on the table beside his leg as she fiddled with the settings on the scope.

"I'm a sharpshooter," he said. That was something he had an answer for.

"Sharpshooter." She quickly scribbled the word down on the paper. "There's something about you. What else?"

He was silent again, back to being utterly confused. Why didn't she just look in his chart? Was this some sort of test?

A pale light came on the scope and she brought it up to his right eye. She didn't let him sit in confusion for long. "Have you thought about getting a tattoo yet? You could do something really cool with a reticule, or a target. Maybe a bullet?"

She moved the scope across his other eye. He tried to stay still for her, even though he really wanted to furrow his eyebrows at the random change in topic.

"I... haven't thought about it," he muttered.

She set the scope down and held up the pen, holding it slightly behind his head.

"Look straight ahead, let me know when you see it," she said, bringing it slowly forward. He grunted as soon as the pen entered his periphery; he couldn't say anything as Joan was already talking again.

"What do you think is the furthest distance you could make a shot from?" The pen was moved to the other side and the exercise repeated, though she didn't seem too interested in it. "Like an accurate one. A bullseye, dead on."

She sounded like the young clones they'd sometimes bring around to the training rooms on field trips. Wide eyes, reverent voices, in awe of the cadets they'd one day become themselves.

Crosshair allowed himself to frown as he answered her, quite frankly, silly question. "It's not just a matter of my ability, but the capacity of the rifle and range of the blast, as well as a whole list of environmental factors."

Joan brought the scope up to one of his ears, now, peering through it. He could feel her breath against his neck as she spoke. "Okay, so you have the best long-distance rifle in the entire galaxy. Perfect wind and lighting conditions. Nothing else in your way. How far?"

He thought about for a few seconds, and then confidently stated, "Thirty-five hundred meters. Easy."

She was looking in his other ear, but he could still see her smiling, impressed, out of the corner of his eye. It made his cheeks feel warm.

"What would be a hard shot to make, then?" she asked, coming back around to face him. She motioned to hold his hands out in front of him. As he thought about the new question, she instructed him to fold his thumbs inward and then curl his other fingers into a fist. Her own hands wrapped gently over his; they were cold but soft, and he almost lost track of his thoughts as he watched her guide his wrists to bend up and down.

"Any pain?" she asked, bringing him back. He shook his head.

"Well..." he said thoughtfully, "I suppose it'd have to be shooting blind. You can still get a lay of the land, use your other senses to aim. But if you can't see what you're shooting at...."

Joan hummed in acknowledgement, moving his palms to face upward, and tapping along his wrists. "Any pain?" And he shook his head again.

"I knew a sniper once," she said in a lower voice. "You know what he said were the hardest shots he ever had to make?"

She moved his hands into another formation, where his knuckles touched each other in the middle of his chest with elbows sticking out. He shook his head, answering both questions, the one she'd just asked, and the one he expected would come with this test.

"He said it's the ones you don't want to make." Her light-heartedness was gone and her face now looked old and tired. "He didn't explain further, but I knew he'd been on the Umbara mission."

Crosshair didn't need her to explain further, either. They'd been told about Umbara.

"I would've known," he couldn't help but say. It had been the first thing he thought of when they were debriefed on the tragic mission. He hadn't told anyone, knowing it wouldn't be taken well, but he still believed it. There was no way he wouldn't have been able to tell it was his brothers at the other end of his gun.

She regarded him with a cocked head, and for a moment, the judgement he'd feared receiving in this room flashed across her features. But then it was gone, and her usual squinted eyes and quirked lips fell back into place.

"And what if you hadn't?"

"I would have. I know I would have."

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant. You have to think about the what-if sometimes. Even if they're far-fetched. Just to know what your response would be. Hope for the best, and prepare for the worst."

He didn't know what to say to that.

But Joan didn't wait for him to respond, either. She picked up the pad of paper, which he just now noticed had a lot more scribbles on it. He hadn't realized she'd been taking notes the whole time.

She handed the pad to him.

"Your homework. Write down some things about yourself for next time, okay?"

She took a step back, as if to make room for him to get up and leave.

He frowned at her. "That's it?"

She smiled at him. "For today. I think you're next on the schedule for Thursday. Same time."

He looked between the paper and her. She laughed a little.

"Try starting with your favorite color," she said with a wink, and then turned to clean up the remaining things.

He slowly got off the bed and shuffled out into the hallway, holding the pad of paper like it was a strange object he'd never seen before. He wasn't really reading any of the things she'd put on there, just staring at it to give himself something to focus on. That visit was, by far, the most bizarre medical check-up of his life.

And it was the first that he didn't want to leave.

[tenroseforeverandever]

A Bottle of Bubbly

Characters: Ninth Doctor; Rose Tyler

Tags: Human AU; New Year’s; meet-cute; fluff; hurt/comfort;mentions of cheating; non-graphic mentions of war; drinking; strong language

Notes: Well, here I am again… fashionably late, as usual, an entry for the 31 Days of Ficmas. I wrote just two stories for Ficmas this year, and while I used multiple prompts for each, ironically, the Day 1 prompt, Snowed In, and the Day 31 prompt, New Beginnings, were the forces chiefly driving the muse for my first and second (last!) story, respectively.  

The inspiration for this story was a random prompt I found online somewhere (I don’t even remember the exact wording…) The @doctorroseprompts  prompt from the 31 Days of Ficmas, New Beginnings, was also inspiration for both main characters, although the words aren’t specifically stated in the text. But the spirit of them is strong and a guiding theme throughout the story. I also used the Ficmas prompts shopping and countdown, and the Winter Fic Bingo prompt night. 

As always, my love and gratitude to my wonderful betas, @rose--nebula and mrsbertucci. Thank-you for making me better. I’m an eternal fiddler, so I fiddled with this since they saw it… but all mistakes are mine anyway!

Summary: Rose made directly for the liquor aisle, determined that what she really wanted to bring in the New Year was a bottle of bubbly. The shop was nearly deserted, except for the unlucky few employees who had drawn the short straw for the night’s graveyard shift, so she was shocked to find another customer in the liquor aisle, standing in front of the wine shelves, his hand around the neck of the very last bottle of sparkling wine.

Read also on AO3

A Bottle of Bubbly

Rose Tyler staggered out into the night. The pub door swung shut behind her, silencing the raucous shouts and cheers and endless chatter. As she stood on the doorstep, the bubble of silence clung around her like a hug, before dissipating into the city, replaced by the steady rumble of traffic. She took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs and clear the spinning of her head.

She was alone.

New Years-fucking-Eve and she was alone. Not exactly how she had planned her evening to go, but she swore to herself, it was the last bloody time, Jimmy Stone, her cheating ex-boyfriend, would ever get another chance to ruin her life.

But Rose didn’t want to think about him right now. He was now officially part of her past and could rot in hell for all she cared. What she did want to think about was enjoying the rest of the night and bringing in the New Year properly plastered. She’d already made a decent start of it with a couple glasses of wine and a few shots. She supposed she could try out a few different spots (far away from Jimmy-the-Wanker), and do a regular old pub crawl, solo-style. Dressed to kill, she reckoned she’d never be without a drink in hand and would probably have no trouble finding a bloke to pull. 

A car whizzed by, drunken twats hanging out the passenger windows, catcalling at her, spouting some shite about having her “seeing fireworks all night long.” She tugged her coat tighter around herself and sighed. On second thought, shagging complete strangers wasn’t really her thing. Maybe she could meet up with Mickey, instead, at the local near the Estate. With a little coaxing, he might take her home for a cheeky shag to bring in the New Year. It wouldn’t exactly be fireworks, but it would be safe and familiar. And she wouldn’t be alone. Mickey had never been able to say no to her.

But then – she sighed, and her shoulders sagged – she’d have to explain herself, answer all his nosy questions, admit things she’d rather keep to herself for now. Everyone would know, soon enough. No doubt the Estate would be rife with the gossip of her falling-out with Jimmy by daybreak. Besides, she’d be taking Mickey away from Trisha Delaney. That wasn’t fair, doing to Trisha exactly what had just been done to her.

“For fuck’s sake,” she snorted as she stumbled onto the pavement, her head woozy with drink, “I’m worried about hurting Trisha Delaney’s feelings. The stupid cow! Clearly, I’m thinkin’ too bloody hard about this. More to the point, I’m able to think too bloody hard about this. And I’m talking to myself… Blimey, I need another drink.”

Setting out on her quest for another pub (just for drinks, no pulling, she reminded herself), she tottered down the street, swaying precariously on her too-high heels, tugging down her too-short dress as the bitter wind bit through the too-sheer fabric of her tights. This was rubbish, hopping from pub to pub. All she really wanted was something strong to drink, her warm flat, and her telly. She’d be alone, but she’d be warm and, with any luck, thoroughly pissed long before midnight.

Decision made, she hopped on the nearest bus, and half an hour later, with the effects of her earlier drinks lamentably wearing off, she trotted into the 24-hour Tesco, close to the Estate. She made directly for the liquor aisle, determined that what she really wanted to bring in the New Year was a bottle of bubbly.

The shop was nearly deserted, except for the unlucky few employees who had drawn the short straw for the night’s graveyard shift, so she was shocked to find another customer in the liquor aisle, standing in front of the wine shelves, his hand around the neck of the very last bottle of sparkling wine.

“Oi! That’s my bottle, mate!”

The man turned to her, his brow knit quizzically above his aquiline nose. “Excuse me?” he challenged in a strong Manc accent.

“That’s my bottle,” she reiterated.

“No,” he placed the bottle into his shopping basket with a tight-lipped smile, “it’s not.” Without another word, he turned his back to her and walked away up the aisle with long strides.

“Fuck,” Rose muttered through gritted teeth and rushed after his receding form. “Oi, Mister! Mister!” She caught up with him just as he reached the end of the aisle and she tugged on the battered leather sleeve of his jacket.

He swung around, rolling his eyes at the sight of her. “Oh, it’s you again!”

“Yup, jus’ me. Hello! The owner of that bottle of fizz.” She sidled up to him and flashed him what she hoped was a winning smile. She even poked her tongue between her teeth. That always had blokes dribbling on their shirts.

Much to Rose’s disappointment, the man remained unmoved, stony-faced as ever. Then with a snort, he turned and walked away from her once more.

“Oi! Mister!” she yelped, scurrying to catch up to him again. “You can’t jus’ go swannin’ off like that…”

He didn’t even break his stride. “Yes, I can. ‘Ere I am. This is me, swannin’ off.” He gave the shopping basket a defiant little shake.

Rose knew she should just give it up at this point, go back to the liquor aisle and find something different to drink, but she was determined to have that wine. After having had her night ruined, she reckoned she deserved to have something special. “Hey, Mister! C’mon! You can’t just walk away. That’s not fair. Mister! Mist– Oooph!” She nearly crashed into him when he suddenly stopped in front of her.

He spun around and glared at her. “Seems fair enough to me. W’at isn’ fair is you not lettin’ me do my shoppin’ in peace. Now, scram!”

Rose held her ground, meeting his gaze. He was a striking figure, quite a bit older than she, dark and brooding, his features unconventionally handsome below his military haircut. She should have been intimidated, but instead she found herself getting lost in the blue of his eyes as they flashed down at her.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I could call security, ya know! Tell them you took it from me. So, it’s your choice. Hand it over, or I’ll start screamin’ for help.”

He scoffed. “Is that supposed to sound tough?”

“Sort of.”

He called her bluff, “Doesn’t work,” and started walking again, but this time she tripped along by his side. She wasn’t going to let him go, not while he still had that bottle.

“Mister… I need that wine! If you knew what I’ve been through tonight…”

“You need to leave me alone. Looks to me like you’ve ‘ad quite enough to drink already.”

“C’mon, Mister. Please.”

“No! An’ it’s Doctor.”

Rose quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You keep calling me ‘Mister’. If you’re so set on using honorifics, you’d better use the right one. I go by Doctor.”

“Doctor? Is that supposed to sound impressive?”

“Sort of, yeah.”

“If you’re a doctor, how comes you’re shoppin’ at a 24-hour Tesco… in Peckham?”

“I live ‘ere. Jus’ ‘round the corner.” He stopped at the deli counter and tossed some packages of sandwich meats and some cheese into his basket.

“What? On the estate? You must be new. I haven’ seen you ‘round ‘ere before.”

“That’s ‘cause I jus’ moved in this afternoon, me, and I’m having this champagne (or whatever the hell it is) to celebrate.”

“Blimey, don’t think we’ve ever had a doctor livin’ on the estate, before.” Rose narrowed her eyes and cocked her head at him, curious. “W’at’s a doctor doin’ livin’ ‘ere anyway?”

He didn’t speak, just stared at her with eyes cold as ice, and his jaw set and tense, and Rose bit her lip, wishing she could take back her brazen words. It was none of her business why anyone might need council housing.

“Erm... Doctor, you’re gonna need some bread to go with that other stuff,” she ventured, attempting to make up for her thoughtlessness, “an’ some milk and tea, maybe some eggs. And a couple cans of beans. Ya can’t go wrong wi’ beans-on-toast.” She linked her arm with his and proceeded to lead him through the shop.

As Rose nattered away to him, he maintained a detached silence, except to offer bewildered grunts to her various queries about the items she heaped into his basket. Finally, as she placed a box of tea on top of the mound, he smirked down at her, and spoke: “I hope you’re not attempting to curry favour so I’ll give up the bubbly.”

“Never gave it a second thought,” she fibbed with a cheeky grin. Honestly, she just wanted to make it up to him for being rude, but she had hoped, maybe…

He pulled the bottle out of the basket to peer at it. “It’s proper British Fizz, you know.”

“Oooh, lovely! Somethin’ a bit posh. Don’t know w’at it’s doin’ here, in a Tesco on the flippin’ estate. Guess they reckoned people wouldn’t be thinkin’ about the cost so much when they’re bringin’ in the New Year.”

“Yeah, gonna cost me an arm and a leg, this is.”

“The price don’t matter to me. Not tonight. I’d be happy to take it off your hands if you’re having second thoughts…”

“Ahem… nope.” He placed it back into the shopping basket. “Worth every penny, this. I have plans for this fizz.”

“Yeah,” Rose muttered, rolling her eyes, “so did I.”

They headed toward the checkout each lost in their own thoughts. “So, what’s your story, then?” he asked after a few moments. “Tell me, what makes you so deserving of this posh beverage on New Year’s Eve?”

Rose shrugged, her problems seeming rather small and distant, now.

“C’mon then. You said earlier, you’d had a rough night of it. So?”

“You sure you wanna hear me rattle on? It’s pathetic, really.”

“I’ve been listenin’ to you rattle on non-stop for the las’ twenty minutes, anyway. So, I’m all ears… and no jokes about these silly things hangin’ off the side of me head.”

“I would never! ‘Sides, there’s nothin’ wrong wi’ them. They suit you.”

He looked unconvinced by her compliment. “Well… out with it then,” he insisted, changing the subject back to Rose as he began to load his groceries onto the checkout counter. “I’m waitin’ on this great tale of woe.”

“Alright, you asked for it.”

“Yes, I did!”

“Okay, so, earlier tonight, I found my tosser of a boyfriend (ex-boyfriend now, by the way, and good bloody riddance!) out back of the pub, gettin’ a leg-over with one of the servers. It was humiliatin’. And you better believe I told him what he could do with his bloody– Well anyway, I ended up slappin’ him (and fuck that felt good!) and walked out. Thought about goin’ to a few other pubs, but I decided I really just wanted to go home, watch the countdown on the New Year’s Eve Fireworks programme, an’ get hammered in peace. I s’pose I jus’ wanted the wine to make me feel a bit more… special.

“And that’s about it. See? Pathetic. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She wagged her finger at him.

“Oi, not pathetic at all, Miss, erm… Blimey, I don’t even know your name.”

“Since we’re neighbors now, I s’pose I should probably tell ya, yeah? It’s Rose… Rose Tyler.”

“Nice to meet you, Rose. I’m John Smith,” he returned.

“John Smith? That’s it? Pull the other one! John Smith?”

His shoulders stiffened. “Well, if you don’t like it, you can jus’–”

“Nah, nah, nah, it’s fine. It’s nice and, erm… straightforward.” Rose couldn’t help the smile that blossomed over her face at his sudden offence. “It’s jus’ I think from now on you’ll always be the Doctor to me.”

“Fine...” he huffed, shaking his head at her as he paid for his order and gathered his bags. “Anyroad, gettin’ back to your tale: it sounds to me like you’re well shot of that stupid ape boyfriend of yours.”

“Ex-boyfriend. And yeah, Jimmy’s a right arsehole. To be honest, I don’t really feel all that upset about it. Thought I’d be gutted, yeah? But all I can think is that it’s no great loss. Reckon it was a long time comin’; shoulda dumped him ages ago.”

They walked out the doors of the Tesco and headed in the direction of Powell Estate.

She shrugged, adding, “I’m mostly just pissed off that he ruined my plans for New Year’s.”

“Yeah, rightly so!”

They walked in slightly awkward silence for a short time before Rose braved asking the enigmatic Doctor more about himself. “So… you’re a medical doctor, then?”

“Yup. Was a doctor in the military for years. Resigned my commission ‘bout a year back. Figured I’d seen enough…”

Rose glanced up at him, frowning concern at the tenson etched on his face again. “What are your plans now?” she asked, hoping to take him out of whatever unspoken horrors lingered in his past.

“I’ve always planned to start my own practice, me. Thought I could open one right here on the Estate.”

“Blimey, mate, it’s a war zone here too, sometimes.”

He grunted. “All the more reason you need a doctor.”

“Can’t argue wi’ that. We haven’t had a doctor ‘ere for years. The old one jus’ cleared off one day, no notice. He was just gone. His clinic is still there, though, between the chemist and the launderette. No one’s let it. Bet it’s a bargain!”

“You think?” He offered her a smug smile. “Already made arrangements, me.”

“But that’s brilliant!” Rose cheered, grabbing his arm and bouncing up and down. “When do you take possession?”

“Beginnin’ o’ next week,” he said as they strolled into the Powell Estate quad. “But it’ll be a bit before I can get everything set up properly. Plus, I have my flat to sort out. Boxes everywhere.”

“Don’t ya have some mates to help ya out?”

“Nope. There’s no one else. Jus’ me.” His words were blunt, his voice rough with emotion.

Rose watched his Adam’s apple bob heavily and grabbed onto his hand. “W’at happened? Doctor?”

He swallowed again and looked down at their joined hands.  

Rose gripped a little tighter, but he wriggled his hand free of hers, leaving behind an aching emptiness deep in her heart. She ducked her head. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. I jus’… Oh, never mind.”

The strained silence returned for another minute or so as they walked, then he sighed. “Rose, war changes a person. I came back a very different man. I had plans, me. Was goin’ to start a practice as soon as I resigned my commission. Even had a place all set to go in my hometown. But I couldn’t make a go of it. Too much baggage. I haven’t been able to keep a steady job, all this time. And I lost people, good people, because they couldn’t take any more of my shit. My mates, my fiancée. One way or another, they’re all gone, and I can’t say I blame ‘em. That’s who I am, now. I drive everyone away from me.”

Rose’s heart swelled with compassion. “There’s me…”

They paused as they approached the entranceway to Rose’s building, and he shook his head, rolling his eyes at her and offering a guarded smile. “Yeah, you I can’t seem to get rid of.”

“I’m just too good.” She beamed at him, poking her tongue between her teeth again. This time, she noted, his eyes drifted to her mouth.

“No, you’re jus’ too drunk.”

“Uggghh,” she groaned, “I wish. I never got a bottle from the shop, after all.”

Grumbling deep in his throat, he dug in his shopping bag and extracted the bottle of sparkling wine. “There you go. Happy New Year. Take this and go home and celebrate your freedom from that twat. Now, go on, forget me, Rose Tyler.” He pressed the bottle into her hand and turned away, striding off toward the building opposite hers.

Rose watched him go, feeling rather lost. Numbly, she headed toward the staircase of her building, the bottle dangling from her fingers. She had her prize, but somehow it seemed a hollow victory.

She stopped and turned back. The Doctor was halfway across the quad, his figure illuminated by the dim sparkle of fairy lights strung from the balconies above. “Wait, Doctor,” she blurted. When he paused, she wasted no time rushing forward to meet him.

“Thought I told you to forget me,” he growled.

She was undeterred. “I’m not havin’ you sittin’ up in that empty flat by yourself.” Impulsively, she perched up on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Come to mine. Mum won’t be home ‘til tomorrow anyway, and I think we both deserve this bottle of bubbly, wouldn’t ya say? Better with two, yeah.”

“Erm…” He gazed down at her, his gruffness replaced with a sad, gentle smile that teased at the corners of his mouth.

“I’m not on the pull or anything,” she insisted… a little too forcefully. “Blimey!” she laughed, her cheeks burning. “I mean we jus’ met…”

He chuckled too. “And you were trying to steal my bubbly. You’re weren’t off to the best start, anyway, to be honest.”

“Oi!” She grabbed him by his sleeve and tugged him toward her building. “Wait! Hold on,” she paused a few seconds later, sniffing the air, “do you smell chips?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Morrison’s must still be open! I want chips!”

“Me too.”

“And since you brought the bottle, the chips are on me! You’re in for a treat! Best chips on the planet, Morrison’s, an’ they’re right here on the estate. C’mon!”

“All right! Chips it is! And if we’re still hungry later, you can’t go wrong wi’ beans-on-toast.” They both laughed as he held up his bag of shopping. Then he clasped Rose’s hand in his, the gesture warming her to the core. “Lead the way!”

As they walked towards the chippy, Rose leaned her head against John Smith’s shoulder and gave his hand a little squeeze. Her evening, which had started out quite wretched, had completely turned around, and was now looking more promising than she could ever have imagined. Despite his wine-hogging tendencies, she rather thought she was going to enjoy being the Doctor’s neighbor.

“You know what, Doctor,” she grinned up at him, “I bet we’re going to have a really great year!”

[namjoonspiration]

Saudade

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Summary: After your parents died, you are the sole heiress to a booming electrical company, and your grandmother has put you to the task of making connections. Although, Park Jimin didn’t seem all too happy to see you.

Word count: 16.8k

Rating: M

Genre: fluff, angst, 1920s AU, non-idol AU

Warnings/Tags: Short, non-descriptive mentions of parental death and miscarriage (i.e. no gore or graphic material); so much angst; mentions of amnesia, apathy and heartbreak; lots and lots of kisses. It’s not really a hardcore story. I purposefully tried to keep my story from being too heavy.

Author’s note: This is my first BTS fanfiction, so please go easy on me. I tried my best at editing, so I apologize or any blaring grammatical errors or word misusage. If you liked it, please leave a comment or a heart. It’ll help me continue forward with my other projects 🥺👉🏻👈🏻Enjoy!

Masterlist

You were the picture of perfect togetherness. Your grandmother had made sure of it. You must present yourself as the rightful heiress to the family fortune if you are to be accepted by these people. Rightful heiress? You’re the only heiress. These people can be quick to judge. No, really? The thought hadn’t crossed your mind all day. The maids had entered your room before the crack of dawn to get you ready for battle for a brunch that wouldn’t start for another several hours.

White satin T-strap shoes with crystal embellishments adorn your feet, which stand in a precise parallel position. White gloves fit perfectly to your fingers, hands fold neatly right over left, which hold your soft pink Chanel purse. Your loose, straight-fit dress of a matching color falls below your knees. Underneath are the ungodly itchy flesh-tone tights that you had despised since you bought them. Your hair, which is painstakingly curled and styled into a bob to the give the illusion of the short trendy hairstyle nowadays, was half-hidden under a white cloche hat. Pearls--all of which tapped with every step into the mansion of magnificent grandeur--adorned your ears, neck, and wrists.

It was hard to focus your eyes on anything in this place. At any point, dark rich colors of purple, red and dark brown jumped out to blind you, making you feel as though the sun didn’t come out this morning. Portraits upon portraits of the family line the walls, along with countless gold plaques. Oddly shaped awards and random busts perch on pedestals. Clearly the people who owned this house--the Parks--were not shy about displaying their achievements in the industry and within their family. But then again, who lived in the East Isles and didn’t have the main entrance of their home brag about their elite status for them?

You didn’t. Yes, because you weren’t a narcissist. You were also “new money.” Your family hadn’t been in the electrical business for generations...  People seem to forget it’s still a relatively new thing.

To be honest, you didn’t really care you were here. The pomp and circumstance didn’t make your heart jump or your fists clench. In fact, nothing these days invoked much emotion from you. You’re not sure when you started feeling that way and why it was so prevalent. Maybe it was after your parents passed away a couple years ago. Your grandmother came to live with you to help you transition into your new life. You had asked her repeatedly how your parents died, but she never could bring herself to tell the story. You mourned your parent of course, but after a while, you just stopped feeling most emotion.

So, as you walk behind your grandmother--who was talking to Mrs. Park presumably--you wondered about the food you might get to eat. If anything brought you real satisfaction and pleasure from living this lifestyle, it was the meals. However, you don’t think scarfing down food will win you any points with these people today. Your job was to network today, make connections to build your way up in the world, or so your grandmother had put it. Once again, you didn’t care, but your grandmother very much. did. So, you decided that you would do your best for her. Your apathy may get you most days, but you know in your mind without a doubt that doing this for your grandmother would make her happy, thus should make you happy. Even if you didn’t feel it.

Hopefully, Hwasa, your life-long best friend, is here. She should be. After all, her family doesn’t own the largest portion of the country’s textile industry for nothing. She was always best dressed and loved getting a kick out of the other ladies gawking at her perfectly stitched clothes that were ahead of the trends.

“Y/n,” your grandmother calls, waving at you come forward to her side. You obey, and the butler opens the door, announcing your arrival. Good lord... You felt like fresh meat being served to the wolves. But, of course, the scene before you is masqueraded in pastel colors, silk furniture, glimmering flute glasses, and smiling faces to make the whole situation seem less grotesque than it felt.

You survey the room to find most eyes on you. Ladies piled around the couches in front of the open floor-to-ceiling windows had stopped chattering and sipping their tea. More of them clustered in small groups had stopped their conversation as well, some even daring to give you looks of disapproval. However, there were some that might as well have been deaf to the announcement, much to your gratitude. Young children still run around the room or played their games on the lawn just outside the open French doors. Old men continue with their odious laughter and cigar smoking. Even the young men don’t spare you more than a glance or two.

Except for one.

A young man with dark blond hair dressed in a dark blue suit, gently cradling a flute in his ringed hand. Perhaps more striking than his blue-gray eyes are his full pink lips, which were slightly parted to reveal one slightly crooked tooth in an otherwise perfect row of white teeth. You have never seen a man with a face such as his. But what is even odder is the way his eyes shone as he looks at you.

You tilt your head slightly, holding his stare. What a weird way to look at a stranger.

Your curiosity about his strange behavior only goes so far. Suddenly, the brightness on his face is gone, replaced with a deep frown and a scowl aimed towards his shoes.

So much for trying to appear approachable and “make connections.” You had not learned anyone’s names yet, and it was already going south.

Your grandmother tugs on your arm, steering you over to the ladies surrounding the couches. Then the introductions and small talk begin. You only had enough motivation to explain the premise of your family business and some future projects and contribute to some of the minor gossip being shared. You didn’t want to be doing this at all, but your grandmother had put in so much effort today to make sure this went swimmingly. She was also putting up with it so you and she could continue to live comfortably.

Every so often, you survey the room again. After almost two hours into this, the men have filed out, probably to have a crack at the gaming tables, and the children have been laid down for their afternoon naps. You thought you even needed a nap yourself. Or maybe it was the conversation. In any case, you excuse yourself to freshen up.

Once outside the room, you take a deep breath, inhaling the air free of heavy perfume and bad breath. You wonder around the seemingly endless hallways, looking at the paintings and occasional pieces of art. Anything to delay going back to the gathering.

Then, you hear harsh. whispering. Slowly, careful of the noise from your shoes against the floor, you approach the voices and peer around the corner.

To your surprise, it’s your best friend. She is talking furiously with a man, whose back is almost completely facing you, his hand propping himself against the wall not too far from her.

“Hwasa?��� You call, stepping out completely from the corner. She jumps at her name, and the man stiffens. She looks over the man’s shoulder in your direction and smiles brightly at you.

“Y/n, is that you?” She steps around the man and greets you with a hug. “It’s so wonderful to see you! It has. been way too long.” You relish in the brief happiness you best friend’s hug gives you. Then, your smile falls. She notices when she pulls away and follows your line of vision.

He is looking directly at you. The young man who actually isn’t happy to see you after all. “I must be interrupting something,” you state blatantly. “You know, Hwasa if you wanted to be intimate with the son of the house, you should have demanded he take you to a less-traveled part of the home.”

They both look at you in surprise, and it’s enough to make you cringe. “How did you know he was the son?” Hwasa asks.

“The paintings.” You look around the hallways, twirling your finger. “Kind of obvious.” Hwasa lets out a laugh. The son breathes out a sigh--not sure if it’s relief or something else--and then chuckles to himself. “What’s so funny?” He stops but doesn’t respond. “Hwasa, your man is very rude.”

She smiles sweetly and laughs off your comment, “Oh, he’s not mine. I’m way above his standards. And I don’t like men who can’t bother to be polite and introduce himself properly to a new friend,” she hisses in his direction. “Come on, let’s have a proper introduction.” She grabs your hand to lead you closer to the man. “Y/n, this is Park Jimin. His family is in the metal industry--”

“Old family steel,” you mutter, but both fo them apparently hearing it.

Jimin looks at you curiously, “How’d you figure that? The paintings?”

You shrug, “I just knew that. Maybe it somehow came across my vision when I was admiring all the participation trophies at the door,” you say, with probably a little too much sarcasm. His eyebrows rose, and you saw Hwasa try to hold in a giggle. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Park.” I think. “I’ll just leave now, so you two can finish your private conversation.”

Hwasa stops you, her mood cheery again. Probably to mask the shocked and confused feelings coming from Mr. Park. “It’s alright, y/n. I need to do my pleasantries with those in the sitting room. Why don’t you get to know Jimin more? I find him to be one of the more tolerable ones in this lot. I’ll see you later.”

Once Hwasa is gone, you continue to look around the hallway, but Mr. Park is just staring at you as if he’s trying to figure you out. You notice he’s somewhat taller than you, his sun-kissed skin looking even deeper in color in this oddly lit hallway.

“Are you mind-reading skills working?”

He is caught off guard. “What?”

“I was wondering if you had discovered anything about me while you were burning holes into my head.”

He scoffs. “You’re awfully blunt.”

You simply shrug again. The emotionless part of you felt dominating today, so his comments and strange looks don’t affect you. You think back to Hwasa’s bright personality and heart-warming interaction when she greeted you. It sparked some brief brightness in your stoic heart, but only briefly.

He clears his throat, trying to fill some of the awkward silence that has blanketed the atmosphere. You look at him expectantly. He raises his eyebrows in response. “Y/n, may I ask you something?”

“Please address me as Miss Y/l/n as we’ve only just met.” You’re quick to speak. He shifts awkwardly on his feet. You soften your tone. “But go ahead.”

“Would you like to have dinner this Friday?”

“Dinner? Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Park?” You are taken back. What an incredulous question. And he had commented you were the blunt one...

“Uh...” He trails off, confusion rippling across his face. “Yes, I am.”

“Mr. Park, may I ask you something?” You don’t even give him the chance to nod. “When I first arrived, you seemed very unhappy, and dare I say, disgusted, at my presence, and now you’re asking me to have dinner with you?” It seems that Mr. Park is giving you quite the first impression as you feel anger start to flare in your chest.

His eyes widen in panic. “No, y/n--I mean Miss Y/l/n. Please do not misunderstand my earlier interaction.”

“Misunderstand? How could I have possibly misunderstood you when you looked directly at me and appeared as if I insulted you?” You fire back.

“I apologize. It was not like that. You just reminded me of someone who broke my heart.” He rushes out in a hurry to redeem himself. Well, it didn’t seem clear to him that he failed until a few moments later when he squeezed his eyes shut and palmed his forehead.

You practically gawk at him. “I’ll give you the effort of trying to save yourself Mr. Park, but I will not give you a second chance to redeem yourself over dinner.” And with that, you walk off, heels clicking against the mahogany floors.

What a spoiled boy. He’s probably never had a woman reject him before. It brought you satisfaction that you were probably the first. Never has a man looked at you with such distaste and then try to woo you with dinner. You don’t know what he wants from you, but he wasn’t going to get it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the gathering stretched into the late hours of the afternoon. You didn’t see Mr. Park or his parents for the rest of the day. Hwasa grabs you before leaving the party, telling you to meet her for lunch Friday on Brouton Street.

And you do, and it turns into more of a shopping spree than a lunch date. Not that you were complaining. You never complained when it came to shopping and trying on the latest fashion trends out of Europe. You stepped out of probably the thirteenth ship you’ve visited today when you notice it was already two pm, and you still haven’t eaten lunch yet. You were waiting outside the shop while Hwasa was paying for her new bracelet.

You survey the bustling street, thinking about what you wanted for lunch when you spot a pair of men that seem to have all the ladies giggling to themselves and their friends. Even wives are looking twice, much to the discomfort of their husbands who definitely noticed, but weren’t immune to looking a second time as well. As they got closer to you, your vision focuses.

Mr. Park.

You couldn’t resist rolling your eyes at the name. What a surprise. Next to him is a dark-haired young man you didn’t know. They were dressed to the nines, complete with hats and walking sticks--more for fashion rather than function.

They spot you, and the young man gives you a big, boxy smile and a wave. Your eyebrows shoot up, and you look around to make sure he wasn’t waving to someone else. By the time you stop looking around, they’ve approached you. The strange young man seems ecstatic to see you while Mr. Park looks embarrassed. Serves him right.

“Hello, Miss y/n.” The young man greets you enthusiastically.

You blink. “I’m sorry, have we met before?” And why didn’t you greet me formally, you wonder. You glance towards Mr. Park. His lips are pressed, hand tightening on your walking stick.

The young man laughs charmingly, but somewhat nervous. “Oh, right. It’s just... my friend, Jimin, here mentioned you!”

“Did he?” You smile, sweetly. Almost too sweetly. Mr. Park’s jaw clenches. “How did you know what I looked like?” You inquire further for the fun of it.

Mr. Park quickly cuts in. “I--we saw you b-back there,” he gestures down the sidewalk. “I said, oh that’s y/n--Miss y/l/n. We met the other day...” He looks anywhere else but at you in the eyes. You narrow your gaze at him.

The store’s door opens with the ring of a bell, and Hwasa joins you. “Taehyung! It’s so good to see you again.” She gives him a quick hug. You notice some of the other women walking around you are gawking or giving her death stares. “I hope your time in Paris was spent well. Have you met my best friend, Miss y/l/n? She’s new to town. Her parents made quite the fortune in the electrical sciences, and she is their sole heir. Y/n,” she gently wraps her arm around yours, “this is Kim Taehyung, a true artist. He has his own exhibit in Paris to display his work. He also dabbles a bit in photography.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kim.” You smile.

“Please call me Taehyung. Mr. Kim is my father,” he laughs, showing off that boxy grin of his again. You have to admit he’s a very charismatic person.

“Alright, but please address me as Miss y/l/n for the time being. I understand Jimin may not have told you my last name, but I would hate to see his rudeness rub off on your seemingly polished character.” You tack on a smile at the end, hoping Mr. Park feels the jab.

Indeed, he does. Mr. Park sputters, muttering “polished” under his breath like it was the last word he’d use to describe Taehyung. You ignore him.

“Yes, Miss y/l/n.”

Hwasa interjects, “Well, y/n and I are famished. Would you both care to join us for a late lunch?”  Before you could protest, Taehyung agrees enthusiastically. Hwasa takes his arm, leading the way back up the street. You pout. You wanted to eat with your best friend only, who you haven’t seen in forever. Mr. Park notices your sad expression and offers his arm to you. You simply look down, tightening your grip on your bags before following Taehyung and Hwasa.

Jimin rubs his face in frustration, watching you walk away without a second glance. He can’t keep tiptoeing around you. He made himself a royal fool and an ass last week at the gathering. He needed to fix this if he wanted to get closer to you.

Mr. Park catches up to your side. “Miss y/l/n,” he speaks politely.

“Yes?” You offer.

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, and I apologize if you find my behavior to be untoward. I was not very good at expressing myself the other day, and it bothers me greatly that you would think that I find you unpleasant when I really don’t.”

You consider his words. The apology was genuine, you know that. You also. know that he found you pretty. Or at least Hwasa had told you as much. You complained to her earlier about Mr. Park’s behavior at his. house. She had laughed, claiming it was because he found you attractive. You were confused as to what made her say that. She explained that you were all he could ask about before you found them in the hallway.

You didn’t know what to say. Hwasa wouldn’t lie to you. It certainly made your heart flutter that Mr. Park, an uncommonly handsome man--discounting his behavior--would find you attractive. You can’t say you didn’t stand in front of the mirror for a while after that figuring out what he liked about your appearance. In the end, you credited his odd behavior with the fact he found you pretty. While that did not excuse his rudeness, his present apology has rerouted the course of your thoughts. He genuinely seemed like he was trying to make amends.

“Alright, Mr. Park. I forgive you. I understand that sometimes introductions and first impressions can go awry. Especially if the man finds the woman astonishingly pretty and charming.” You gently fiddle with your diamond earring.

“Pretty?” he asks, chuckling.

You stop walking and turn towards him, “Do you not find me so?” Your tone is accusatory.

He looks a bit panicked. “No. I mean, yes. I--” You take a step closer.

“You what, Mr. Park?” You ask, looking into his blue-gray eyes, which are traveling all across your face before landing back to your eyes. Your brain has already started to take back every meaning you put to his apology.

“I think you’re more than pretty.” He finally breathes out, tension slipping from his shoulders.

Your heart pounds so heavily against your chest, your composure slips. A blush rises to your cheeks, partly from relief and partly from embarrassment. “I apologize,” you say, suddenly your voice much softer.

He didn’t seem to hear it. Instead, he smiles, eyes twinkling. “I think you’re very beautiful, Miss. y/l/n.” Oh, your mind blanks momentarily. Now you felt like the fool. Your cheeks become hotter, pulse racing faster. He said it with such nakedness. He didn’t beat around the bush about it or tease you into guessing how you looked in his eyes. You lay a hand on your cheek, surprised at the heat. Hopefully he would think it’s the weather. It has been unusually warm lately. Your flustered state is clearly evident. Mr. Park grins cutely at you. While your head is still swimming, trying to process the abrupt change in your interaction, he gently takes your shopping bags from you before shifting it to hold in his hand that holds the walking stick. He offers his arm again, “Shall we catch up with Taehyung and Miss Hwasa?”

Your eyes snap to his. Your cheeks are still flushed, lips parted.

Jimin thinks it’s the most beautiful sight he’s seen.

Suddenly, as if you fell into a drunk stupor but without the disorientation and wild behavior, you feel warm and… fuzzy, like you were covered in a soft blanket. You haven’t felt this kind of happy feeling in what seemed like forever. And he does look incredibly cute with the way he was smiling at you.

Returning the sentiment, you take his arm. The muscles hiding underneath his peach colored suit jacket felt strong in your hands.

You two leisurely stroll, having lost Hwasa and Taehyung after they turned the street corner.

“Do you know where we are eating?”

“This little French restaurant between Main and Central. Le Lacroix Pâtissier.”

He hums contently, “I love their almond croissants and apple tartlets.”

“Really? Those are my favorite dishes! Are those your favorite?”

He shakes his head. “But I had a friend who insisted I try them once, and I ended up really liking them.”

You were pleased. “You have good taste, Mr. Park.”

“Please, address me as Jimin.”

Your smile to yourself. “Okay, Jimin. Since we are moving onto a first name basis, you may address me as y/n.”

He repeats your name. It rolled softly off his tongue. You like how it sounds very much coming from him. And you, without knowing it, tightly your hold on his arm, leaning more into his solid form as you continue to the restaurant.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that Friday, you meet Jimin every week for several weeks at the same restaurant. First Taehyung and Hwasa joined you—you insisted Hwasa come with you to keep you from making a fool of yourself in front of Jimin—but after about two weeks, they claimed other commitments. However, you didn’t mind at that point. You grew really comfortable with Jimin. You talked about everything together—your favorite dishes and restaurants in town, your families and their businesses (okay, those were brief topics of discussion), your interests (you found out you both like dancing, upon which he offered to take you to a dance club sometime), your future plans… Of those, which then led course into deeper topics—marriage and love.

It was a strange conversation, and it wasn’t brought up during lunch. He actually had invited you over to his estate for tea and a meal of any foods that you could want—more of a change of scenery decision if anything. You were concerned that your favorite food might not be so favorite if you kept eating it for several weeks on end.

Following the delicious meal, he suggested a light walk outside. He led you out of the back of the mansion to the small private beach. You both kicked your shoes off, walking in the sand, letting the fine, white grains sift over your toes. You two strolled side by side, enjoying the sun’s warm on your faces, the summer air and each other’s company.

Then, Jimin had asks the question. “Has your grandmother proposed that you marry anyone yet?”

You shake your head, laughing to yourself. “My grandmother wouldn’t put that out there. At least not yet. I think she thinks it would be too soon after the accident.”

Jimin turns sharply towards you, concerning etching lines into his handsome face. “Accident?”

You nod sadly. “Yes. My grandmother told me I fell down the stairs several months ago, and I hit my head. She said it had frightened everyone we knew. She was concerned about my recovery from it all. I don’t think I’ll get married until life returns to normal,” you trial off. “But, actually… I don’t really know what normal is anymore. Not after the accident. It’s like I woke up in the completely different world, and I don’t know what I’m doing. There’s always this awkwardness I can’t get past. It’s like I’m walking on eggshells.”

You weren’t sure why you were telling Jimin all this, but you knew you could tell him, and he wouldn’t make fun of you for it. He wasn’t that kind of person. He seemed very open with you, so you supposed that in your heart, you could be vulnerable with him too.

After the silence became too long, you looked up from your feet and saw Jimin wiping at his eyes. “Jimin, are you crying?” You lay a hand on his arm to stop him from walking any further, and step in front of him. He bows his head lower, and you crane your neck to the side to try to see his face. After a few moments, he breathes in deeply, bringing his head up. He looks at you with eyes, pink and puffy from rubbing at them, and a slight upturn of his lips accompanied by a chuckle.

“The sand and salt keep getting in my eyes. That’s all.”

“Would you like to go back inside?” He shook his head. “Are you sure?”

“No, no, I’m alright. I’m sure I’ll be okay now.” He smiles at you, attempting to reassure you. He blinked away the redness in his eyes. Besides, you look too beautiful in the setting sun for us to leave, was what he wanted to add.

You return his smile. Then, you’re just staring at each other, taking in the colors the evening sky paints on your skins and in your eyes. Then, you ask him, “What about you, Park Jimin? Has your mother arranged you to marry anyone?”

“She did once, to the daughter of a man who owned a successful old railroad company.” He admits.

“Are you still to marry her?”

“No,” he hurriedly states. “I didn’t want to from the start. I eventually pushed it off enough that they let it go. They said they couldn’t wait around forever.”

“Why didn’t you want to? I’d assume a business like that would pile onto your wealth, and she couldn’t have been that hideous.” You inwardly cringe. Why would you try to reason with him?

He laughs, almost bitterly. “You wound me, y/n. To think that I would think about money and looks to be the top priority in finding a wife.” You open your mouth to assure him you don’t think so lowly of him, but he beats you to it. “But I know that’s not like that. You merely considering the things we have to think about in our world. And I know that’s not how you truly think either. I know you wouldn’t marry for money.” You hadn’t realized how close he was until he was gazing intently into your eyes.

“Then what would I marry for?” A soft, curious question.

“Love.” There is no hesitation in his response. He believes it whole-heartedly. Then, he pulls away. “Just as I once tried to do.” He reaches down in the sand, picking up a shell.

You didn’t expect that. “What happened to her?” Jimin’s jaw clenches and unclenches, but not in anger. This was really difficult for him. You suddenly regret asking about it.

Then, he says, “She left. And I haven’t heard from or seen her since three months after I proposed to her.”

“Why would she leave?”

He shook his head, “I don’t think she had a say in leaving, and so she left quietly.” He gently brushes the grains of sand from the shell, exposing its pure white and rose color.

“I’m so sorry, Jimin,” you say after several moments of silence. I’d never imagined that something so horrible could happen to two people in love.”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter anymore though. What is done is done, and I can only move forward to find that love again. Except this time, I’m never letting it escape from me so easily.” He sounds resolute, so sure of himself and you can’t help but admire him. He smiles, holding the bonnet shell out to you.

You accept it gratefully, pleased with the small gift. Glancing at Jimin, you see his cheeks have turned pink. Your mouth curves into a smile. You take his hand in both of yours, the shell pressed between your palm and his. His skin feels smooth, and although his hands are smaller than the average, they feel no less strong and comforting. You squeeze his hand lightly in comfort. The bonnet shell imprints a small circle in each of your hands, serving as a little promise of your connection with him. “You’re a good man, Park Jimin. And I hope you find what you’re looking for.” He smiles at you sweetly. But to his unhappiness, you let go of his hand much sooner than he thought you would. However, it didn’t take long before you realized how much you missed it too.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You don’t see Jimin for the next week and a half. He left to accompany his father out West for several days to learn more about the family business. When he mentioned it, you couldn’t help but pout, which he immediately felt guilty about. He told you that he’d very much make up for the missed Friday lunch tenfold. He promised the next Friday lunch you two would have all the food, chatter and enjoyment as a month’s worth of lunches. Upon this, you giggled and said you would expect nothing less.

During the days he was out of town, you quickly grew to miss his company. After only missing one lunch, you quickly realized how much more time in the week you wanted to spend with him. Those lunches on Fridays, along with the regular community gatherings, just weren’t enough. You wanted to see him every day. He brought brightness back into your days, made you feel warmth and happiness again. And when he talks with you about the hard stuff in life and is so honest with you, it’s like he’s filling in the empty spots in your life. Where your lifestyle of material and money is only the surface of your being, Jimin looks deeper and sees you as the person you are. He never wants to talk about business or money. He always wants to know about you. And you can’t ignore the way your heart flutters when you’re answering one of those many questions about yourself and you catch him so content listening to you.

He would relax in his chair, head slightly tilted to the side, lips turned up in a pleasant smile, his eyes gleaming with interest and admiration. Never once would he look away from you when you spoke. You always had his undivided attention. And the more and more you think about, you love it. His caring heart towards you, his kind words and gentle soul, the ability to be open around him.

But it was also more than that.

You like Jimin so much that you feel you’ve known each other longer than four months. It feels like a lifetime that you’ve known him.

You told Hwasa about it one afternoon while painting in the sunroom of your home, unsure what it meant. She merely giggled at you and said, “Y/n, you’re falling in love. And you know it, too.” You did know in your heart, but you couldn’t help but feel the shock of it all. But also, the doubt given your circumstances.

“But Hwasa, how do I know what love feels like? I feel empty most of the time. I don’t even know if I can know what love is.”

Hwasa stopped you right there, “I know where this is coming from, but you don’t have to you worry about that. No one knows what love feels like until it hits them. Besides, you just told me that Jimin makes you so happy and you miss him so much when he’s not here. Trust me, don’t think I don’t see the moping you’ve done for the past couple days. That’s emotion. You’re feeling everything for him with your heart, and there’s no reason to doubt that, no matter what.” And that was why you loved your best friend so much. She was a grounding force and always has been since the accident. Always a level-headed thinker and confident woman. A true role-model. You gave her the biggest hug, thankful for her friendship. Without her, you thought you would have reasoned yourself out of your love for Jimin.

Finally, after said week and a half, you are walking with Hwasa and your grandmother in The Grand Hotel for a large gathering of all the affluent families in the East Isles.

Of course, you and all the other ladies wouldn’t be in the same room as the men. Instead, the women would be drinking tea, tasting little cakes, gossiping and playing a few rounds of light-hearted card playing while the men ate their hearts out and smoked cigars while testing their gambling skills. They would talk of business, family dealings, blah, blah, blah.

Just as the last of everyone was filing into their respective places, you were trailing behind Hwasa and your grandmother to the tearoom. Then you felt a hand grasp your arm.

You gasp, whipping around to see Jimin with a playful look on his face. Your face breaks into the biggest smile, and he pulls you into an empty hallway in the hotel. When he let go of your hand, you pull him into a hug. “I missed you, Jimin.”

He hugs you back with equal the comfort and emotion, his strong arms pulling you tightly to him. “I missed you as well.” He pulls away and that’s when you noticed his disheveled state.

“Oh, my goodness. Jimin, did you just come from the train station? Your collar isn’t even straight.” You grasp the edges and aid him in fixing it.

“I apologize for the long trip, but it gave me enough time to think about how I’m going to make up for it.” He smirks lightheartedly.

“Oh, really? How?” You asked curiously, smile creeping up on your face. You finish with his collar and brush your hands down his shoulders and arms to smooth out the wrinkles in his jacket.

“We’re going on a picnic tomorrow at the best place in the East Isles. I’ll pick you up tomorrow from your house around lunch time.” He looks hopeful about the idea, but you can’t help but figure from the confidence he exudes that he already knows you’ll agree.

You bite your lip to prevent from smiling too much like a fool. “Okay! That sounds wonderful. I can’t wait.” You dare yourself and kiss his cheek quickly. You’re about to dash off before he could see your face turn scarlet, but he catches your wrist.

He slides his fingers down to grasp yours before bringing the back of your hand to his lips. They press a soft kiss there. He keeps his eyes on you, and your heart won’t stop fluttering. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he smiled at you in farewell.

You practically skipped to the tea hall.

Once there, you sit with Hwasa at a table with four other finely dressed girls. “Oh, good you’re here y/n. We were just about to start.” She hands you a little stack of cards. All of you begin shuffling and laying out cards onto the table as the game begins.

The red-haired girl dressed in a powdery blue color directly across from you seems smug. Hwasa notices it too. “Something you would like to say Florence?” You remark.

She shrugs her shoulders, but the smirk doesn’t leave her face. “I think I’ll be married by spring.”

“Oh! I suppose congratulations are in order then. Who’s the lucky man?” The petite girl at the end of the table chimes in.

“None other than Park Jimin, of course.” Your blood turns to cold steel in your veins. It takes every effort for you not to reveal too much of yourself. Hwasa stiffens next to you. “What other man is there to marry?” Florence has turned her attention directly to you, eyes flashing with spite. Your eyes narrow only enough that she would notice. What was she going on about? Did she know about the time you were spending with Jimin?

Thankfully, being the well-versed girl Hwasa is in social graces, she merely laughs. “Florence, you are funny. Park Jimin has not committed himself to a woman since he was rumored to be in love with someone almost two years ago.” You felt your head swim. Did Hwasa know about Jimin’s lost love too? She was pretty close with Taehyung, who was close with Jimin. Maybe she only knew the rumor. Regardless, your heated rage turns cold, remembering how devastated Jimin looked talking about her.

“Doesn’t matter,” Florence sneers. “Clearly she is long gone. Or maybe she never existed in the first place. I heard a rumor he was using that as an excuse to get out of his previous arranged marriage anyway.”

Hwasa raises her eyebrows, her gaze scrutinizing. “And now you’re saying you’ve magically brought Park Jimin out of his despair and you two are hopelessly in love?” Hwasa harshly fingered the edges of her cards.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” She replies with bittersweet venom. “Try not to get jealous, Hwasa. I’m sure Taehyung will propose to you when he finally impresses your father with a fortune earned from his artistic talents. Although I don’t know how long that will take. I heard his exhibit caught on fire last month, torching most of his work. A shame he will have to start over…” Your eyes snapped to Hwasa. She hadn’t told you about the fire. Nor did she ever mention just how close her and Taehyung were.

“Florence,” Hwasa tosses her cards on the table, the paper landing with a smack on the polished wood. “I need you to get your head out of your ass for a minute and listen carefully to what I have to say.” You are shocked at her choice of words. Some women at the table behind you glare in Hwasa’s direction, but she ignores them. “Firstly, Taehyung and I are not getting married. We are close friends.” Florence falsely pouts. “Secondly, Taehyung has more talent and grace in his pinky finger than you have in your entire body and then some. So, I suggest you shut that trap of yours before you wake up and find every single one of your father’s department stores foreclosed.” Florence’s face was the perfect cross of fear and royal anger. With that, Hwasa straightens her spine and stands up. “If you are confused about what I said, I hope you figure it out because I won’t be repeating myself.” Her red-painted lips are set in a deep frown, most of her rage having left her. She heads for the door, her shoes clacking loudly from her firm steps on the marble floor. Most of the women in the room have paused their games to watch her leave, some even going as far to disapprove of her sour attitude.

“Poor Hwasa. She’ll die an old maid if she keeps that attitude.” Florence remarks with unrestrained smugness. You are ready to slap her into next week for her treatment of your best friend. It’s time she gets a reality check.

“I don’t think you should be wasting your time worrying about the wrong person,” you say coolly.

She scoffs, “Is that right, y/n? If I shouldn’t be worrying about Hwasa, who should I be worried about?”

“Yourself, obviously. I forgot that you can’t put two and two together. I’ll remember next time to spell it out directly for you.”

“Get to the point,” she hisses.

You lay your cards down and fold your hands neatly on the table. “My point is you’re not marrying Jimin. Not in the spring, not in the year, not in your lifetime.” Florence’s face nearly matches her hair color. “In fact, I dare say Jimin doesn’t even know that you are planning to ask him for his hand.”

“I won’t be the one asking, you stupid girl. By the time I’m done with him, he’ll be begging me to marry him.”

You force a smile. “If you insist. I’ll just give him a fair warning about his eminent doom tomorrow during our picnic date.” Florence’s expression twists into surprise. “Oh, and while we’re on the topic of you, I’ll mention how I accidently walked in on you and—what was his name?” You tap a finger thoughtfully to your chin. “John Withers!” You snap your fingers. “You two were in quite the predicament at his sister’s birthday a few months ago. Petting parties and dancing tongues and all that.” Florence gapes at you like a fish, her face overtaken with terror. The other girls looked at her in shock.

Caught in a lie.

You smirk. Your work here was done. Gathering your purse, you send a wink her way before strutting out of the tea hall. You knew you had hundreds of eyes on you, including your grandmother’s. You know you’re going to owe here an explanation later. Everyone in the room probably heard what you said about you and Jimin, but you could care less. You never had such pleasure in telling someone off.

You find Hwasa standing outside in the hotel courtyard smoking a cigarette. She sees the look on your face as you approach, and she grins wickedly. “What did you do?”

“I may have called her out on her lie and mentioned me spending time with Jimin. You should have been in there. Her face was priceless.”

“That’s my girl,” she takes another drag from her cigarette. “Want one? Special edition tobacco. Tae got them for me in France.”

You consider it, eyeing the delicately arranged rolls in the silver case. “Sure. I think I’ve earned it.” Hwasa laughs, handing you a roll and helping you light it. You feel your body release all the rage and spite with each pull. As you eye the cigarette in your fingers, you can’t help but think about what was said about Hwasa and Taehyung’s relationship. They were awfully close, and you had to admit the idea of them marrying had come across your mind sometimes. You had no idea about Taehyung’s finances or career, or even that his relationship with Hwasa was enough to warrant her father’s attention. You couldn’t help but feel bad for Hwasa; however, at the same time, you knew she’d test her father’s patience to its limits. She’d refuse every single marriage he’d set until he gave up. It didn’t matter if she didn’t marry. She had an older brother who would inherit the family business and take over. You wonder if this was a part of her plan. Even if she and Taehyung didn’t marry, they would be lifelong companions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“She said that?” Jimin yells over the vroom of the engine. He throws his head back and laughs. “I’ve never heard such a lie before. I was the one who first caught her and John Withers together. They were having a petting party in the back of his car during a party a few years ago.”

“Really?” You yell back, holding onto your hat. “That’s so disgusting! I’ve seen him before, and he’s so greasy looking.” You make a face of sheer disgust, making Jimin laugh even harder.

“Yeah, he is! But, y/n, are you sure she wasn’t just saying something like that to get a rouse out of you?” He inquires, one hand relaxing on the steering well as he drives. “From what you’ve told me how she acts towards you it seems that way.”

“I have no idea! I really don’t know what the whole point of that conversation was,” you laugh. “Even if she was, I don’t care. I like you a lot Jimin, and I wasn’t about to let some girl try and spread false rumors about you.” You look out the car, trying to hide your blushing cheeks.

“Y/n,” he calls you. You turned your head, looking over your sunglasses at him, with your hand resting against your cheek. You answer with a small hum. Between the road and you, he spent as much time as he could gazing at you. Despite his own pair of dark sunglasses, you could still see joy twinkling in his eyes. “I like you a lot too,” he finally says. It did nothing to slow your racing heart or help you cool down, but you didn’t care. Not with the way he could barely keep his eyes off you.

You bite you lip, barely suppressing a huge smile. You lean back in your seat, gazing up at the blue June sky. It was a perfect day for your picnic with Jimin. Not a cloud in sight. A slight breeze blowing through every now and again to relieve you of the sun’s beating rays. The tall grass fields dotted with white and yellow flowers made soft hushing sounds with the wind.

Soon, you and Jimin arrive at the place he promised was the most beautiful place in the East Isles. And it was beyond beautiful. Jimin opens your door and takes you hand to help you out of the car. He was pleased to see your expression of awe as you took in the scene in front of you.

Flowers of all colors poke through the grass—a luscious green carpet—and lead to a small, crystal clear river. The water flows gently after soft brown rocks and into a pond at the end. Birds chirp, some of them chasing each other in the air before perching on the delicate branches of nearby trees. You think this is heaven.

Jimin grabs a large basket and blanket from the car. You seemed entranced by the scenery, and he giggles at your reaction. He slides his fingers down the back of your hand, breaking you from your trance, and threads them with yours. He leads you further into the grass to a perfect spot partially shaded by foliage. He expertly unfolds a thick blanket onto the grass and unpacks the basket, pulling out plates of all your favorite foods and wine. You kick off your shoes and sit down on the blanket, fixing your skirt to neatly cover your legs.

“I didn’t know what you wanted to eat, so I just had everything made that I know you like,” he smiles sheepishly.

“You must have been taking notes after our meals.”

“That and I feel like I know you well enough that if I had to guess out of these foods is your favorite I could.”

“Really?” You challenge, chewing on some grapes. “Which one then?”

“The cheese Danish,” he states without hesitation.

“Nothing else?”

“No, just the pastry itself. Even if you were in a new place with the most fantastic patisseries in the world, you would always go with a cheese Danish.” He replies with such confidence. He knew you so well.

You smile in delight. “I see your mind-reading skills have improved Park Jimin,” you tease, grabbing the cheese Danish from its plate and taking a huge bite out of it. Jimin laughs at your expression when some of cheese falls out of the pastry due to your aggressive eating and you try to catch it. He hands you a cloth napkin to wipe your hands.

“You’re going to spoil lunch!” he joked. “I have proper lunch dishes to eat before dessert. Glazed salmon with a spring mix salad and raspberry walnut dressing?” he offers.

“Yes please,” you grab the plate excitedly, your mouth watering at the sight of such a delicious looking lunch. You and Jimin eat through the first dish with ease, both admitting to each other that you each had skipped breakfast this morning in order to eat lots of food during your picnic. Then, you finally got to eat your cheese Danish, savoring every bite. After your stomachs were nearly full, you both drank wine, nibbling on an assortment of grapes, cheese and buttery crackers. You and he moved to the bank of the river, letting the water move soothingly over your feet. Conversation flowed with ease, discussing literally about everything that popped into your mind or led from one topic to another. Somehow you had gotten from topics like how you had a green thumb as a child and how you would be upset every time the birds ate the seeds you freshly planted to Jimin helping a man fix his car when in broke in the middle of downtown the other day. The man offered Jimin to take one of the puppies his dog gave birth too recently as a thank you.

“And you didn’t pick one?” You ask, surprised.

He laughs. “No, I said I didn’t need a puppy.”

“What about me? I wanted a puppy,” you deadpan.

Jimin’s face morphs into bewilderment. “You’ve never said to me that you wanted a puppy!”

You giggle at his reaction, putting a hand on his arm. “I’m teasing you, Jimin. I don’t expect you to think of me all the time.”

“But I do think about you all time. I should have picked one.” He rubs a hand over his face in frustration and regret.

“Jimin, it’s okay! I was only giving you a hard time.” You push his hand out of the way from his face and gently brush away the hair that had fallen into his eyes.

He watches your face as you focus on fixing his hair. Then his eyes slide to the hat on your head. He hates how you covered your hair with that ridiculous accessory. He knew about your voluminous curls that were pinned and restrained to the current trend. It made him unhappy.

He pulls your hat from your head and tossed away somewhere in the grass. “Jimin, what are you…” you trail off as he begins to pull the pins from under your hair. Somehow, he knew where each one was, as if he’d done it a million times.

As he removes each pin and your hair falls over your shoulders, he keeps his eyes on your face, gazing into the mesmerizing dark caramel color of your eyes. A blush paints your cheekbones. Slowly, you become your real self—the one that Jimin knew so well, but you had forgotten about.

When the last pin was removed, Jimin smiled lovingly at you. “I like your hair down. You shouldn’t wear it up so much. I love your curly hair. It kind of reminds me of one of the puppies I saw.”

“It had soft curly hair like mine?”

“Yes. The man said they were called Lagotto Romagnolo dogs. Ironically, they’re an Italian breed, but I only found that out after I said to the man, they sounded like a type of pasta dish.” Jimin explains, and you laugh softly. Comfortable silence fell upon the atmosphere. The sun warms your back, and the trickle of the river soothes you into an almost sleepy state. You turn your head and lay it on Jimin’s shoulder.

You sit there like that for several minutes, watching nature go about its day, sipping on your wine. Your wine glass then becomes empty, and you say as much. Jimin said he would get you some more, gently laying a kiss against your hair. Any relaxation you felt from the wine dissipates and your nerves spark. You lift your head up, and Jimin swoops in for a kiss on the cheek. He smiles cleverly, grabbing your wine glass from your hand before getting up to fill it with more wine. You couldn’t help tracking him with your gaze. From your sitting position, you finally get a good view of his body, particularly his backside. It’s a nice backside, you thought to yourself. As if he felt your eyes on him, he glances over his shoulder and totally catches you checking him out. He winks at you, and you shyly shift your gaze to the river.

Suddenly, your head feels so fuzzy. Your mind drifts, like you’re falling into a dream. You rub the heel of your palm against your temple, squeezing your eyes shut. When the sensation passes, you open them again, gazing back into the water.

Then, a dream comes to you, and it’s such a vivid dream.

You and Jimin are in the river, splashing water at each other. He wraps his arms around your waist. Pulling you to his naked chest, he spins you in circles in the water.

The sensation in your head turns into a pounding, and you gasp at the pain. You lay your hand against your forehead, your skin feeling hot. You feel your pulse beating against the side of your neck. You twist in your seat, craning to see Jimin. He’s putting the cork back in the bottle. He looks up and smiles sweetly at you.

Another dream flashes before your eyes. You see the bodies of a man and a woman locked in a passionate embrace, kissing and holding tightly to each other. Underneath the woman is a familiar blanket and patch of wildflowers.

Then, it’s gone and so it the pain. Jimin’s face with creased with concern. He jogs over, abandoning the wine glasses. He kneels in front of you. “Y/n, what’s wrong? You look hurt.” He searches your face, your arms, your legs, your torso. But he finds nothing wrong with you.

That was because nothing was wrong.

You were remembering. Everything.

You pull Jimin in for a kiss, and your world bursts into a kaleidoscope of memories.

All of them were so vivid.

Your parents. How your father’s electrical business took flight. The money and the new lifestyle that came with it. Hwasa and the dance clubs. The parties and gatherings for tea. And then Jimin—he was in most of them.

The first time you met him, almost five years ago, similar to the situation months age when you “first met” him at his estate, being presented as new money. Except he never looked away from you when you walked in the room. He looked at you with the gleam in his eye like he does now, as if he’d fallen in love with you right then. And you too had found it difficult to look away. He was so handsome. Dressed in a black suit, with the pants so perfectly fitted that it made his legs look unbelievably long. His hair was styled to expose his beautiful face to the world. It was much darker back then, making his blue-gray eyes even more striking.

You had met him every chance you got. You were both inseparable. He was always so polite and sweet. Then, one night he confessed to you under the moonlight at the architectural park downtown and gave you the best kiss of your life. You secretly met up for picnics and boat rides, soaking in the luxurious things in life together, making happy memories. And you fell deeply in love. You had even gone to this place—the meadow with the crystal river. Jimin insisted taking a swim, immediately stripping down. You were worried someone might catch you, but he owned this land and assured you that no one would disturb you two. You looked away when he removed all his clothes before entering the water, and you insisted Jimin do the same. And he did. You remember the exhilaration thrumming in your bones when you removed the last of your undergarments. Never in your life had you imagined that you would be walking in a meadow and swimming in a river stark naked, much less in front of a man you weren’t married too.

When you got in the water, it was chilly, and you had said as much. Jimin had offered to warm you with a suggestive smirk. You had felt boneless at the thought but decided to tease him instead. You smiled mischievously before splashing him with water. Thus, a water battle ensued, and he ended up capturing you in his arms and tickled you to death. After admitting that you teased him on purpose, he finally stopped tickling you and insisted he just hold you in the water. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and you rested your head on his solid chest. He pulled you around the pond, humming and laying the occasional kiss on your head. You complained that you were getting too cold and hopped out of the water onto the picnic blanket.

You flopped down on your back, smiling up at the sky. Jimin laid down next to you on his side, head propped up on his hand so he could look at you. Water droplets fell from the ends of his dark wet hair and collected on his skin. You turned your head towards him and offered a soft smile. You reached your hand closest to him and brushed it soothingly on his forehead, pushing his hair from his eyes, which were slowly taking in your body. His eyes had grown darker with passion each passing second. Eyes locked on yours, he placed his hand over your heart, feeling the fast racing of it. Jimin saw your expression change, more reflective of his. “Jimin.” Your hand moved to his full lips, stroking the bottom one with the pad of your finger. “Please.” He leaned forward, kissing you passionately. Jimin conveyed his love with every touch.

Your one and only true love.

You feel your soul rush back into your present body, pulling away from Jimin. You were breathless and panting. His eyebrows are scrunched together in worry, eyes bright with fear “Jimin, I remember. I remember everything,” you rush out.

A million emotions flash across his face—happiness, sadness, confusion, fear, joy, pain, relief, but love outshines all of them. Tears form in his eyes that quickly fall down his cheeks. You feel your own tears on your face.

He cups your face in his bands, thumbs wiping away the tears. “What are you feeling? Tell me.” He speaks so softly, and it breaks your heart.

“Everything. I remember everything that I couldn’t from when my father’s company succeeded until now. I can’t explain it. I remembered things. I didn’t feel like I had any gaps in my memory before. It’s like I couldn’t remember that I was missing memories of you, my parents and my friends.

“I… I didn’t just fall down the steps, did I?” You ask. He shakes his head gravely. “I was in a car accident.” And as you explain the details, you see it clearly in your mind’s eye.

You were driving home with parents after a weekend getaway to the coast. Your dad was stressed and needed to get out of the city. After the weekend was over, you were riding in the car with your parents back into the city. Your dad was driving the car over the bridge when another car smashed into your family’s vehicle. Everything happened so quickly, you don’t remember seeing your parents. All you remember was falling so far, so fast and then hitting the ground before blacking out. Then, you woke up in the hospital with your grandmother by your side surrounded by doctors.

“My parents died that night, didn’t they?” Your voice cracks with the question.

Jimin frowns deeply. “I’m so sorry, y/n.”

“I already knew they were dead, but not how they died or when.” Then, you see their faces in your mind. “Mom… Dad…” you sob, covering your mouth to prevent from crying out. The full force of the loss hits you. Jimin quickly situates you into his hold, grounding you while you grieve for your parents.

You remember the family meals and time you spent together; the happiness on dad’s face when the business took off; the times when your parents got on your nerves, and now you wish you hadn’t argued with them so harshly; all the times you had mom-daughter and dad-daughter conversations. It all ended too soon.

You’re not sure how long you cried before you finally calmed down. Jimin was rocking you gently, cheek against the top of your head. The sun had started to go down. Jimin finally speaks, his voice forlorn.

“I went and saw you in the hospital. I heard what happened the next day. I hadn’t seen or heard from you. I called your house so many times, but no one answered. So, I went over there, and your staff had gotten a call from the police. They said your parents had died in the crash. I grieved for them.

“But you had managed to survive. Somehow by some miracle, you landed on a wooden platform not too far below the bridge. I thought they were going to say you fell in the icy water and that they wouldn’t find you. They took you to hospital, and you were unconscious.

“I visited you every day. I brought you your favorite flowers. I held your hand and told you everything I loved about you. And that I wanted you to wake up so badly so I can hear your voice and fully convince myself that you were still here. You didn’t wake up for almost a month. When you did, I was on my way to see you. I heard your voice from down the hallway. I was so excited. Finally, I could hear your voice again and kiss you. But, as I got to the door, the doctors had been explaining your condition to your grandmother.

“You suffered a serious brain injury and had amnesia. They assessed you couldn’t remember what happened in the last two or three years with other long-term memories having been forgotten. They found you could no longer associate emotions with most of your memories anymore. After the doctors left, you had already fallen back asleep. Your grandmother saw me and stopped me at the door. She knew that I had heard everything, and she insisted that I stop visiting. You hadn’t asked for me, and that based on the doctor’s evaluation, it was unlikely you remembered me at all. I didn’t know what to do. I thought I should have been in there, trying to help you remember, but your grandmother forbade it. And, in the end, she was right.

“You had just gone through so much, a lot of it you didn’t remember. You didn’t need me, someone you would have thought was a stranger, to come in and try to convince you that we were in love. It wouldn’t have brought you back. I wanted you to love me, not because I told you, you did, but because you do. I wanted to give you the chance to discover love again. Whether it was with me or not.

“It killed me to see you walk into my house again, several months after the accident, and reintroduce yourself and everyone pretend as if they didn’t know what a wonderful person you are. That day a couple months ago, when I had seen you… It was like seeing you again for the very first time. Then I was reminded I had lost you, but you were still here, not knowing that you still had me in the palm of your hand.” He softly circles his fingertips on your palm. “Besides,” he smiles ruefully, “what would you have done if I came up to you and said I was your fiancé?”

You hiccup from your tears, “Fiancé?”

Jimin swallows thickly, nodding. “Yes. I had proposed to you that Christmas. We were in the sitting room in front of the tree. We were just sitting there. You were looking at the candles and ornaments on the tree, commenting how pretty they were and that you’d want Christmas to be this beautiful and peaceful in your own house one day. When you said that, it made the ring that I had kept in my pocket for weeks feel heavier, and my heart was racing so fast I thought you would have thought something was wrong. But nothing was wrong. I was with the most beautiful, kind, intelligent woman in the world, and I wanted nothing more than to be in the future she was talking about. So, I got down on one knee and asked you, y/n y/l/n, to marry me—to allow me the honor of cherishing you every single day until our last.”

“And I said, ‘Yes, I will marry you.’” You sob, but it’s happy tears.

“And I kissed you and told you I would never leave your side ever, no matter what came our way. I guess I just hadn’t imagined that, that something would come so quick and with so much loss.”

You looked deep into his eyes, soothingly caressing the side of his face. “I’m here now Jimin. And I promise I’ll never leave you again.” You had forgotten the most beautiful moments in life—your memories of your parents, Hwasa, and Jimin—but you didn’t know that you had. And ever so slowly, Jimin was bringing you back to him.

However, despite your promising words, he was holding back something. He got choked up again, fresh tears shining in his eyes. He let out a shuttering breath, “Y/n, there’s something else about those months leading up to the accident.”

You trembled, anxiety lighting every nerve. “What is it?”

He covered your hand on his face with his and wiped at his eyes with his other hand. It took him a few moments to gather himself to say it, and it came as a shock—

“You were pregnant.”

Your world stilled and began to spin. “I was pregnant…” You repeat it quietly to yourself. Your mind spun into the kaleidoscope of memories again. You remember you hadn’t asked for your napkins at the beginning of the new year. You remember telling your mom about your missed cycles and explaining to her that you and Jimin had already been together before. You hadn’t told Jimin yet because you didn’t want to tell him until you saw a doctor and said it was official. And you and she were going to tell your father about it, but he was so stressed when he got home. That was the Friday of the weekend getaway. You both decided that you would tell him together when you got back home on Sunday you when he was in a better mood. Except that never happened.

“The doctor had said you were 12 weeks along. It made sense. After I proposed to you that night, we made love, but we decided not to use protection that time. I was so excited I didn’t think to ask if you were taking a contraceptive medicine. I assumed you were, so I didn’t think about it. You didn’t even show at all during those 12 weeks. The only way the doctors found out was because you miscarried. The trauma from the accident was too much for your body, so the baby…” Jimin couldn’t say it, breaking down into sobs. It was still too much for him to talk about.

And for you. You began to cry as well. “I’m sorry, Jimin that I couldn’t protect our baby.”

Jimin hushed you immediately, looking deep into your eyes. “This wasn’t your fault, y/n. You have to know that and believe that. I would never blame you for what happened. I’m not upset that you didn’t tell me because you weren’t ready to yet. And that’s okay. I mourn our son or daughter every day, and I still love them as much as when I found out they had existed and as if they were here.”

You cried for the loss of your parents and the pain your grandmother felt of losing her son and daughter-in-law. You cried for your unborn baby. You cried for Jimin, who had to hold in everything he knew and felt so you could figure out who you were again. He could have told you he was your fiancé but didn’t because he wanted you to love him and accept his love without controlling your heart.

“I know we’ll never be the same people before the car crash, but that doesn’t matter. I would go to the ends of the Earth for you, y/n. And if that meant we would have to start over and fall in love all over again, I would do it a million and ten times more. I was reminded of things about you that I had forgotten that I shouldn’t have and the little things in the experiences that we have together that made me love you all the more. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Jimin. Even when I couldn’t remember anything, I was falling in love with you.” He kisses you passionately, quickly muttering about he waited so long to hear you say those words again. Your faces are warm and wet with tears. You each kiss them away on the other’s face until they are gone. “I don’t have enough words to describe how incredibly patient and loving you are with me. You didn’t deserve to go through all of this.”

“Neither did you. We just know now that our love has conquered all. It has transcended tragedy, doubt, heartbreak and stolen memories. You’re mine, and I’m yours; and I’m never letting you go again.” You kiss each other sweetly, the pain of the past melting away with each press of your lips. Neither him nor you were sure how long you stayed perched in his lap just brushing kisses across each other’s lips and whispering promises.

“You know,” you start, brushing his hair from his eyes, “there’s no way I’m letting you leave me tonight to go to your too-far away house. You’re going to go to sleep with me in my bed tonight, and the night after, and the night after, and—”

He interrupts you with a laugh, his eyes squishing into cute crescent moons. “That sounds like a fine idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After quickly shoving the picnic basket and blanket into the car, you and Jimin drove to house. It was nearly 9 o’clock at night. You had been gone practically the entire day. You wondered if your grandmother was worried.

Thankfully, when you tiptoe through the house, your hand holding Jimin’s, the only person you encounter is Hwasa, who had been staying with you the past couple days ever since she got in a fight with her parents. She sees your intertwined hands and says, “Finally you two confessed your feelings. I was concerned I was going to lose my bet with Tae. Although, y/n, I would keep the noise level down, your grandmother is sleeping—”

You didn’t even give her the chance to finish before you pull her into a bone-crushing hug. “Thank you, Hwasa. For being the greatest friend ever.” Hwasa returns the hug. She looks over your shoulder at Jimin, who simply winks at her. Even in the dark of the night, you and Jimin appeared radiant. “We have so much to talk about, Hwasa. But let’s do it tomorrow morning over breakfast.”

She beams at you, finally understanding what was going on. “I’ll be up bright and early. You two get some sleep, and I’ll phone Tae in the morning to bring some extra clothes for your guest. Goodnight, you two.” She exits the corridor, her silk kimono floating behind her like an extra shadow.

Once in your room, you and Jimin collapse on your bed. The only sound was the delicate chorus chirped by the crickets out in the garden by your window. You gaze at each other, listening to the other’s breathing, until you both fall asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Jimin meet your grandmother and Hwasa in the seating room the next morning. Taehyung had stopped by briefly to drop off Jimin’s clothes. He said he gave the excuse to his parents that Jimin was stayed the night at his house after a much-too-fun game of pool. The staff had laid out extra breakfast and tea per your grandmother’s request. There was a lot that needed to be said before life could move forward.

Your grandmother and Hwasa explain the whole point of the plan they had set when it was discovered you had amnesia. It was very similar to why Jimin agreed to go along with it. It was to let you rediscover yourself and grow into a new person that fit the life that you knew. Nothing would have been more miserable than being told who you were and what you had to do. It was difficult getting the community around you to agree to it, but in the end, most felt awful about the terrible ordeal you’d been through. Everyone loved your parents, who were honest and hardworking, so they decided that if pretending to meet you again for the first time was the best way to help you recover it would be so. Thus, began your new journey.

You talk through the difficulties you had. The emptiness and loss of emotion that came with the “gap” memories your brain had created to lessen the trauma. This world hadn’t felt real to you in most aspects until you had more interaction with your best friends and lover. Even though your head had forgotten your memories with them, your heart had known them. And you were so grateful you had Hwasa, Jimin and Taehyung to anchor you back. You can’t say that you desperately wish to turn back the clock to change the events that happened. Firstly, that would be futile and a waste of energy. Second, although your parents have passed on from this world and entered paradise, you know you will see them again someday. You’re happy that your memories came back and you have those to remember them by.

This whole journey has only grown your love and appreciation for every moment and person in your life.

After many hugs and tears with Hwasa and your grandmother, Jimin politely asks if he could have a moment alone with you. Hwasa walks arm-in-arm with her out of the room, beginning to chat away about Paris. Before leaving, Hwasa looks over her shoulder and smiles at you both. You smile back at her, pink coloring your cheeks.

Jimin stands from his chair and holds his hand out to you. You take it, him helping you to your feet. He gazes at you, seeming focused and determined. You grow a little shy, and giggle. “Quite the morning, right? Probably one of the most eventful breakfasts in my life.”

“Yes, I think so too,” he states, but sounding only half-present. He’s engrossed in memorizing the features of your face, and the brightness that is radiating from you after just rediscovering who you were. He thinks that you only get more beautiful with each passing day.

He presses a kiss to your cheek with plush lips, the softness of it drawing a light gasp from you. His lips move closer to your’s, pressing another kiss to your cheek, but firmer this time. His steady hands come up to hold your waist. You tilt your head towards his, your lips brushing his as they come in for a third kiss. You’ll never get used to this. The passion with which Jimin shows you, even with the most delicate of touches. Your hands slide from his shoulders to around his neck, pulling him closer.

When Jimin breaks the kiss, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you as close as he can. You lay your hand against his, fingers gently stroking through his hair in comfort. It occurs to you for a second that he might not believe that you’re really here, that you remember everything about your love for him. “Jimin, I promise I’ll never go far away again. I’ll stay so close by your side you’ll start to think you’ve got a second shadow.” You whisper to him. He chuckles against your neck. You feel him relax against you, his weight growing heavier in your arms.  Then, he’s letting go of you, sinking to the ground.

To get on one knee.

“I know you won’t, y/n. And I promise I won’t be the only one who thinks they have a second shadow.” He smiles at you endearingly.

You laugh at the turn-around of the joke, but you feel hot tears already prickling at your eyes. Happy tears.

“You’ve already heard most of what I’ve wanted to say for so long, so I’ll keep it short and get to what I’ve really wanted to do since you came back into my life. Y/n… Life had thrown us a huge curveball, but we made it out on the other side. Never did I imagine that when I met you again that I would mess up so badly,” he tells you, and you laugh at the memory. “I was just so in love with you, and I didn’t know how to act around you without wanting to convey my love. And then, you called me rude and refused dinner, and even though you were made, you were so beautiful when you were. Of course, that didn’t help me get my thoughts straight because I was so head over heels for you. Then, the next opportunity came to make it right, and I knew I couldn’t miss my shot to be around you again. I’m so glad I didn’t because I know you’re the only person in this entire world that makes me feel the way you do. And, if you’ll allow me again to honor and cherish you for the rest of eternity…”

He reaches into his pocket to pull out a velvet box, not once taking his eyes off of you. Jimin opens the lid to reveal the diamond ring that once made a home on your left hand. Details of his first proposal to you rush in for a moment. Between that memory and the present, Jimin still looks very nervous, albeit in an endearing way, but wears all of his love for you on his sleeve.

“Will you marry me, y/n?” The tears finally escape his eyes as he asks you for the second time, one of the most beautiful questions in life.

“Yes, Jimin. Always.” You sink to your knees in front of him, hands reaching to pull Jimin in for a passionate kiss. He wraps you against him tightly, dropping the velvet box to the floor. You both kiss for what seems like forever between the two of you until you hear a very Hwasa-like cheer from outside the door. You and Jimin, pull away laughing.

He takes the ring out of the box and slips it on your engagement finger. He marvels at it, “You make this ring ten times more radiant,” he grins cutely, earning another laugh from you. “I’m serious! When I was picking one out, I was concerned that I’d never find one that matched your bright spirit, and then I realized that it was impossible. No diamond or gem will ever shine brighter than you.” He lovingly pinches your cheek.

You pinch his in return. “You’re so cheesy. I love it,” you smile at him and kiss him again. “Let’s get married next week. I don’t want to wait too long. I think we’ve done enough waiting.”

“I couldn’t agree more. I’ve already got the best place in mind for our honeymoon.”

“Really? Where’s that?”

He smiles knowingly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are married on the following Tuesday, only five days after Jimin’s proposal. The news of your marriage had hit the papers the next day, thanks to the Parks who were finally happy to see him finally getting married. Between Mrs. Park and your grandmother, everything from flowers to food and cake to wedding favors was planned to perfection. Hwasa called in every favor from the best dress designers in the city to create the most beautiful gown imaginable. It was very necessary, she explained when you had said you only needed a simple gown. And she was right. Because when you walked out of the church on Jimin’s arm on that bright sunny day in June, you looked like royalty in the photos. Many citizens in the city were excited to finally see a big wedding happen again. They cheered and tossed flower petals when you and Jimin descended the church steps to head to the car for reception.

The next morning, you and Jimin left home together when the sun rose for your honeymoon. You briefly rode to the airport, where you and Jimin boarded a small plane. You asked him repeatedly where he was taking you, but he would simply grin and kiss your hand. He was probably much more excited than you, if that was even possible. You felt as if you’d been on a high for the past week since the proposal. Life couldn’t have been any better.

But, of course, it got even better.

When Jimin said you both had finally arrived, you are pleasantly surprised.

Santa Bella Island.

You’d heard about it before from friends and family. Crystal clear, blue waters with warm, white sand speckled with seashells. Pleasant summer weather that was a tad hot during the peak of the day but left a gentle breeze by the time the sun fell in a cascade of pinks, oranges, and purples. The sunrises were even better.

You stood against the threshold of your private villa, drinking in the morning sun as it started to peek from the ocean’s horizon. You sipped quietly on a cup of tea, letting the sun’s early rays warm your skin. Jimin was still sleeping on the bed, body wrapped around the sheets, which were sufficiently wrinkled from last night’s late activities. You giggled to yourself, fingering the silk of your robe.

It was so perfectly peaceful here. Birds chirped happily as they began their morning songs. The waves lapped softly on the sand. The palm trees swayed with ease. Jimin was snoring softly on the bed, his cheek squished against the pillow and lips parted. You couldn’t believe that you get a whole month of this with your husband.

Husband. You smile to yourself. That will never get old. It brings warmth to your cheeks every time you think about it. You murmur the word to yourself, testing out how it rolls off your tongue. It was so strange to say, yet it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your husband must have heard you. Caught up in the sunrise, you’d only heard soft footfalls against the wood floor that signaled Jimin’s wakefulness. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling your back to rest against his bare chest. His head rests on your shoulder, tilted to nuzzle against the side of your neck. “Good morning, my lovely wife,” and he places small kisses along there.

“Good morning, my darling husband. Did you sleep well?” Your free hand comes up to stroke his hair.

“I did,” he murmurs against your hair. He reaches over your shoulder to take the cup from you and set it on the table. He wraps both arms around your waist from behind you, fingers massaging your skin through the silk of the robe. “Although, I was hoping I would get the chance to wake you up in a very husband-like kind of way,” he says coyly. You giggle, biting your lip. You hold your left hand closer to your face.

The two white diamond rings—for your engagement and wedding—glitter perfectly in the morning sun. You marvel at the striking beauty of them.

“My forever is with you y/n.” Your husband whispers in your ear.

“You’re my forever Jimin.”

[mangobilorian]

Desert | (mature) iv

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Reader

Words: 6615

read chapters one, two, three 

check out my AO3 here 

You’re sweating. Which shouldn’t be concerning, but space is cold. The Razor Crest becomes especially cold, the metal walls cool to the touch. You move a bit, and find that you’re trapped under a heavy arm. Mando. With a grunt, you try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he only pulls you tighter to his chest. 

“Where are you going?” His voice is… so attractive like this. Deep, raspy, unfiltered.  

“You’re heavy,” you say, still trying to free yourself. “Why aren’t you flying? Did we land?” Mando groans. 

“Yeah. We’re on Tatooine already.” Oh. That’s why you’re sweating. Of course, the extremely hot bounty hunter contributed most of the heat, but it’s usually not this warm in the Crest. 

“How long-” Mando cuts you off by loosening his hold, only to roll over and brace himself on top of you. He supports the majority of his own weight, but your chests still touch.  

Mando leans over and presses a kiss to your lips and you reciprocate with fervor. You feel a hand caress your sides, drawing slow circles across your waist. 

“You up for another round?” The idea is arousing, but… no. 

“I’m too sore,” you pout even though he can’t see. Already, the ache between your legs is noticeable and annoying enough that you don’t want to worsen it. When Mando said that Tatooine wasn’t far, it was an understatement. The trip took about three and a half days. Most of which was spent underneath (and sometimes on top) of Mando, learning about how your bodies worked together and figuring out what you liked. It also meant that while your experience increased tenfold, you were now extremely sore and needed a little break. 

Mando sighs disappointedly and kisses you again. It’s comforting to have his body pressed against yours, just kissing slowly and languidly like you’re two people in the galaxy who like each other.

Sadly, all good things must come to an end. Mando pushes off from you, and gets off the bed. You hear the clang of clothes and metal. You close your eyes again, content to stay on the verge of sleep. With Mando gone, the oppressive heat from before lessens, and you let the relief wash over you. The lulling pull of sleep sings at you, and you’re tempted to accept. 

Except the lights in the Razor Crest turn on, and your sleep is shattered. Mando steps into view, his underclothes and helmet on, but nothing else. He stares at you, and you realize that you’re still naked. You fumble to cover yourself—a useless endeavor—when he turns around to give you some privacy. 

“I’m heading out soon. Want to come?” What? Mando never asks you to tag along with him, always claiming that it’s too dangerous. And it is dangerous. Tatooine is in Hutt space, and for him to invite you along is suspicious. However, the idea of seeing another planet is alluring. You realize that Tatooine would be the second planet you’ve ever been on, another step into finding out about your brother. And while the odds are slim that you’ll get any clue at all, you have a good feeling about the whole trip. 

“I asked because you had cabin fever. Now come on,” he gestures in mock irritation, not waiting for a reply. You smile and reach for some clothes. 

*****

Tatooine is a brutal place. Sand gets everywhere—in your hair, your clothes, even in your eyes. You have to pull the top of your shirt over your lips to stop sand from entering your mouth and nose too. For the first time, you envy the Mandalorian. His helmet protects him from the slap of sand that rides the winds. However, wearing all that armor in the heat evens it out. He’s probably baking underneath.  

Mos Eisley is both exactly the same and completely different from your home city. The familiar feeling of crime and villainy permeates the air, and there’s a buzzing tension in your bones. Call it nerves or excitement or maybe fear, but you feel different. Like something big is about to happen or the status quo will snap and the galaxy will be upturned. The first time you had this feeling, you received news of your brother’s death. The second time, the Empire collapsed.

Upon arriving at the spaceport, rows of bloody Stormtrooper helmets impaled on sticks greet you. The visceral sight reminds you, for a brief second, that violence and bloodshed are very real in the galaxy, and they’re very real on Tatooine. If you pay attention, you notice the small collars around young women, the scarred faces of old men. Slaves, you realize. Tatooine still had slaves— all Hutt planets did. Of all the planets Mando had to drag you to, did it really have to be this?

You enter a cantina, and Mando ushers you into a booth. He talks to the bartender for a little bit, probably gathering some information. The place reminds you of your parents’ bar, much dirtier and cheaper but the concept stands. If you squint, you can see hands ready on blasters, women whispering in men’s ears. Mando looks like he belongs, his very stance screaming confidence and threat. Everyone parts for him, fear evident in their eyes, and you realize that this is the first time you’ve seen him working. Granted, your first interaction involved spilling information about Ras Drun, but the Mando then is different from the Mando now. At least you think so. 

The band plays some jaunty tune, one you haven’t heard since you were young. People chatter about, already drunk despite it being midday. The air smells musty and feels slightly sticky. But right in the midst of it all, you can feel the stringy tension of anticipation. 

Mando slides in next to you with a drink in hand. He pushes it over, and you glance at it. It’s some orange drink— bubbly and cold. Hesitantly, you bring the glass to your lips. You try not to cringe, but… it tastes awful. Bitter and salty at the same time. It tasted like something pissed in your mouth. At least it’s cold. 

“How much did this even cost?” You sputter, pushing the drink away. Mando chuckles. “Please tell me it wasn’t more than three credits?” Paying any money at all for the drink seems like a bad idea. 

“Imperial credits don’t work here. Besides, it’s cold. Enjoy it.” He grabs the glass and sets it directly in front of you. You give him the biggest pout you can muster and take another sip, wincing the whole time. If you ignore the taste, you can enjoy the cooling, refreshing effect. Except the taste can not be ignored, so you were stuck with a piss drink. Despite the atrocious taste, part of you relishes in the fact that Mando bought the drink for you. 

“Thank you,” you say, wishing you had shown some gratitude before you insulted his gift. The bounty hunter simply snorts, the sound distorted and tinny, looking away to observe the busy cantina. “What about you? Are you gonna get something?” 

“Helmet,” he says, and points at his head. Oh. Right… 

Your face grows even hotter, and a traitorous bead of sweat slides down your spine. You laugh off your mistake, and Mando places an arm around your shoulder, helmet tilted away from you. The weight and added heat of his body would be enough for you to complain, but you don’t. You… kind of like it. It feels comfortable to be like this— pressed against the bounty hunter’s side, protected by the most dangerous man in the cantina. He looks so intimidating and strong that it hurts your chest. You decide to pity his enemies; you can’t imagine having to face him on a hunt. 

Without any words, you survive another sip of the disgusting drink and press further into Mando. He jolts for a brief second and tightens his grip around you. A flicker of confidence surges through you, and you place a hand on his armor-plated thigh. He tenses under your touch, a small sound of surprise filtering through his helmet. 

Emboldened, you drag your hand upwards— to the space above the armor plate where thick fabric is the only thing between you and the bounty hunter. Just as you touch him, Mando shoots out and grabs your hand. 

“What are you doing?” You turn your head away from Mando and towards the wall. His fingers still grip your wrist, but he lets go when you don’t respond. Once your hand returns to its initial position, you squeeze gently. 

The strong muscle is still tense, and you don’t think anything you do will make him relax. Slowly, you curve your hands inwards, toward the apex of his thighs. You see Mando raise a hand, preparing to stop you, but he doesn’t.

It’s exciting, you think, as you edge closer to the fabric covering Mando’s cock. The idea of touching him, stroking him in a place as public and dirty as a Tatooine cantina should be embarrassing and disturbing. But it’s not. The idea excites you very much, and it probably excites Mando too if his lack of complaint is anything to go by. You wonder what he would do if you slip underneath the table. Would he stop you then? Or would he tangle his gloved fingers in your hair and watch as you graze a tongue over his head and suck his length into your mouth? 

For now, you settle with gentle touches. Mando doesn’t move, even when you squeeze a little bit. His cock hardens under your touch, and he drops his arm around your shoulders to nestle around your waist, gloved fingers tracing circles and random shapes. 

This feels right, you realize. As dirty as it is—really, you would never entertain the idea of giving Mando a handjob in a crowded cantina— you enjoy the ordeal, the teasing. You apply harder pressure on his cock, not enough to hurt but enough to show that you were eager. It’s a Mando thing, you decide. He’s the reason you’re acting so different from the girl he found a month ago. 

You sneak a look at the bounty hunter, fingers already reaching for his zipper. Your hand touches metal, and you’re ready to pull down. But something catches your eye, and you look past Mando. There, sitting in a booth on the opposite side of the cantina, is a man. He’s handsome in a dark, rugged way, probably a local. And he’s staring at you with open recognition, and you shiver despite the heat. 

You take your hand away, deciding to look elsewhere and rub your arms for some warmth. Mando jostles around and looks to where you were staring at moments ago. You expect to see the man sitting there and hope his gaze is somewhere else. But he’s gone. As if he was a figment of your imagination. 

“What’s wrong?” Mando asks, squeezing your waist. “Everything all right?” You nod, eyes transfixed on the now-empty booth. The drive to pleasure Mando is completely gone now as well as your budding arousal, and you hope he isn’t too put off by being teased. Thankfully, Mando takes your silence and doesn’t push. 

Something in your gut tells you to move. Tells you that the anticipation in the air is so close to reaching a conclusion. You take one last sip of the drink and shimmy away from Mando. 

“Going to the ‘fresher,” you say, as normally as you can. Mando nods and gestures at the refresher’s direction. He starts to step out of the booth, but you stop him. With careful movements, you manage to squeeze between Mando and the table. After one last look at his helmet, you head to the ‘fresher. 

It’s down some dark hallway, illuminated by one flickering light source embedded into the wall. You want to run away and go back to Mando, but you need to figure something out. You need answers. 

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

You whip around and see the man from earlier. He’s older than you by a few years probably, but he would still be considered young. Yet he looks like someone who suffered through war and other tragedies. You should be scared, you think. You’re a girl by herself and he’s an older man yet… 

“Who are you?” He shakes his head, lips set in a grim line. 

“A friend of a friend. I… I never would’ve expected to see you here.” You frown. Who is this man? Scared or not, you’re creeped out by the fact that he knows you. 

“What do you mean?” He sighs, and walks forward. You realize that he’s been walking ahead the whole time, and your back almost touches the back wall. He looks dazed, staring in your direction but not exactly at you. “Please. I don’t know who you are.” 

Over his shoulder, you see Mando’s looming silhouette. He storms over and grabs the man by the back of his shirt, a blaster pressed to his head. 

“Who are you?” Mando growls. The sheer aggression makes you back further into the wall. You have to remind yourself that Mando is not here to hurt you. He’s here for-

“Wait! Mando, don’t-” But the bounty hunter doesn’t listen, and he slams the man into the wall. Before Mando can do anymore harm, the man gasps, forced out of his earlier daze. 

“I knew your brother!” He says, and everything stills. The air crackles like static, and the string of anticipation snaps with fervor. At your paralyzed state, Mando releases the man who sags against the wall. “He is- was a good friend of mine. I know who you are because he showed me holos of you. I never thought I’d see you. H-he always talked about you. He loved you very much. He was my best friend,” the man blabbers. The words wash over you. He knew your brother. He knew your brother.

“Were you there? When he died?” The man stops talking and looks at you with a certain kind of heavy sadness. 

“Yes,” he whispers. “I was there when the Empire shot down your brother. He sacrificed many things for the Rebel Alliance.” Your brother… was a rebel? The Empire killed him? No, that’s not possible. He was just a simple pilot who traveled for fun or carried cargo sometimes. He wasn’t a rebel. 

But he was, a traitorous voice whispers. And this man knew him.  

*****

When the man, Crix Kilis, brought you and Mando to his house, you didn’t expect it to be a farm. A moisture farm actually. The idea boggled you for a bit—you’ve never thought about planets where people had to harvest water from the air. The farm itself is quite small, with architecture you’ve never seen before. 

The ride to his farm was uneventful. Mando had glared at Crix when he suggested going to his place and even dragged you aside for a moment. 

“You really trust this guy?” 

“He knew my brother. Our meeting wasn’t a coincidence.” He grumbled something that you couldn’t hear, but you weren’t really paying attention. Most of your mind was set on the fact that you finally had a clue to your brother’s life. Granted, you weren’t searching very hard. You thought you’d know how to fly and be out of Mandos’s care before you would start searching. And on your first stop, you met Crix. Maybe it’s a coincidence, maybe the galaxy is being weird. 

Crix offered for you a ride on his speeder bike, but Mando refused and rented one for the both of you instead. The rebel shrugged and carried on. The trip was spent in silence, Mando driving the speeder right behind Crix. The rational part of your brain told you to be more cautious. But your brain was a little too frazzled to be thinking rationally. 

“Here, sit down. You want some tea?” You nod, and Crix rifles through a cabinet. Mando sits next to you, legs spread wide, one arm over your shoulder. He doesn’t look at you, electing to observe the small house instead. As he watches Crix, you watch him. Mando’s been tense since Crix arrived in your life. Of course, he’s a bounty hunter; it’s part of the job to be suspicious. But he keeps touching you, on your shoulders, back, waist. You don’t mind. It feels good to have his attention on you. A small part of you considers that he’s being protective. After all, this is the first time you’ve been off the Crest in weeks, and you suddenly meet your brother’s rebel friend? But no, you’re not important enough to him for him to protect. Right?  

Crix sets the tea on the table, and you take a sip. You expected something hot, so when the cold liquid touches your lips, you almost choke. 

“What did you do?” Mando growls, and Crix backs up. The hand on you tightens, and you wave the question away. 

“It’s fine. I thought the tea would be hot, not cold.” His helmet turns to you then to the drink. 

“She’s right. Why have hot drinks on a desert planet?” Mando relents and slowly relaxes his hold, but the tension doesn’t fade all the way. You hear a hiss from outside, and Crix looks up in mild alarm. He gestures for you to relax; it’s just a piece of farming equipment that got loose. He exits the house with a bag of tools in hand. 

You and Mando sit quietly, and you sometimes take sips of the cold tea. It’s refreshing and a welcome upgrade from the nasty orange drink in the cantina. Sighing, you lean your head to rest on Mando’s shoulder. Your cheek grazes his pauldron, but the majority of your face nestles into the crook of his neck. He jolts at the contact then reigns you closer. The position is slightly uncomfortable since your head is pressed into his neck. He’s in full armor and wearing heavy fabric and his body heat alone makes you sweat. But he warms you up in another way—in a cheesy, jittery, totally ridiculous way. 

“Do you feel… safe here?” You burrow deeper into his embrace. 

“Yeah. I had this feeling earlier that something big was gonna happen. And it did.” It’s comforting to have your instincts be right. You don’t know what you’d do if you never got answers for your strange feeling. 

“Doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.” You hum in response and trace a gentle circle into the armorless part of Mando’s thigh. If Crix hadn’t been watching, how far would you have gone with Mando in the cantina? Surely, you wouldn’t have actually given him a handjob or blowjob right? The hornier, dirtier part of you disagrees. And Mando, for all his conservative clothes, would enjoy your boldness. Did enjoy your boldness. 

“I have to go soon.” You break away from his hold to peer into his visor. “I came here for a bounty.” Right. You forgot you’re on Tatooine because it was Mando’s choice and not because of fate. 

“So you want me to go back to the Crest?” He sighs, and you can feel the movement through the armor. 

“If you want to, then yes. If you feel safe here, then you can stay too.” You try to reply but he cuts you off. “Look, I don’t like the guy. But if he knows your brother, then you deserve to talk to him.” He turns away from you, but you reach a hand out to stop him.

“Thank you,” you say. “I think I’ll stay then. When will you be back?” He shrugs. 

“Once I get the bounty. Tell the guy that I can pay him for his services.” 

“That won’t be necessary,” Crix says from the doorway. There’s a strange look on his face, and you realize the position you’re in. You clear your throat and separate a bit, but Mando doesn’t bother to move.

“She’s my best friend’s sister,” he addresses Mando. “And you are here as a guest,” he nods at you. “I’ll be back in a few,” he says heading out the way he came.

“When are you leaving?” 

“Now.” Oh. All right.. You both stand up, and you take a moment to register just how big he is. In the dark, you can map out every muscle, every scar, every imperfection through touch alone. But with the searing Tatooine suns, you wonder if you even know him. If you’ll ever know him. That won’t stop your feelings though, however foolish they might be. 

You expect him to walk out right away, but he pauses and lays a hand on your shoulder. You want him to hug you. You want him to hold you tight and whisper sweet words in your ear. 

But he doesn’t hug you or whisper anything. He simply rubs your shoulder. It should be comforting. Instead, it’s a reminder of how close you can be to him, but he’ll always put himself farther away. 

“Stay safe,” you say, wishing one last time for him to hug you. He gives you a single nod, releases your shoulder, and heads out. You watch his back disappear through the door and hear the gentle roar of a speeder. A minute later, Crix enters with his tools. 

“Hungry?” 

“Yeah,” you say, eyes still trained on the door. 

*****

Tatooine has beautiful sunsets. The suns cast a certain glow the neon signs on your home planet could never hope to achieve. Crix sits next to you, hands propping him upright. With an almost empty glass of cold tea in hand (your third cup since arriving), you let yourself relax. You didn’t think that being off the Crest would make a difference, but you definitely feel better. The atmosphere of relaxation does wonders for physical and mental health, after all. 

“Tell me about my brother,” you say, breaking the silence. Crix releases a wistful sigh, still staring ahead.

“He was amazing. A pretty darn good pilot too. He was so good that Luke Skywalker complimented him once.” He glances at you, but your lack of response at the name makes him frown. “You don’t know Luke Skywalker?” You shake your head. Why would you? Your planet wasn’t too affected by the Empire, so there was no difference when it fell. What’s one rebel to you? 

“Skywalker is the pilot who brought down the first Death Star. He’s actually the best pilot in the rebellion, maybe the galaxy,” he chuckles. “There were also rumors that he was a Jedi.” He whispers the last word, still waiting for some sort of reaction. You give him none.

“Seriously? You don’t know anything?” You shrug.

“This is the first time I’ve ever been off planet. What is a… Jedi?” Crix moves a bit, and settles into a more comfortable position. 

“Before the Empire, the Jedi were the peacekeepers of the Republic. The Empire purged all Jedi when it came to power. It’s rumoured that Skywalker is a Jedi because he’s so amazing. The things he does, the things I’ve seen him do… are nothing short of miracles. Even if he’s not a Jedi, it’s poetic. A Jedi restoring the Republic and ending the Empire’s oppression. Now that’s a good campaign,” he smiles softly. Right. Like any of those words meant anything to you. You barely register what he said. 

“What do Jedi do exactly?” You ask for the sake of it. In actuality, you want to get away from the off-topic situation and back to your brother, but Crix seems too appalled at your lack of knowledge. 

“They can move stuff with their mind, plant suggestions in people’s heads, and use lightsabers.” It sounds like a whole bunch of magic. “At least, that’s what it said in the secret volumes at the Great Library of Alderaan,” he trails off, glancing away from you.   

“You’re from Alderaan?” You’d heard the news years ago. The whole tavern had watched the news show Alderaan’s destruction. All channels coming from Alderaan ended, no evidence left behind except for space debris. An entire planet wiped from existence.

“Yeah,” he smiles bitterly. “That’s where I met your brother actually. Seven years ago.” You straighten. “He really was a simple cargo pilot. I was a lousy rebel pilot in disguise. We became friends, and he grew more interested in the Alliance. A month after meeting him, he pledged allegiance to the cause in the backroom of a bar.” 

“My brother died seven years ago. You said the Empire killed him.” None of this makes sense. He must have a rebel for longer than that. You remember the news reaching your family. You remember the little slip of paper saying that your brother died. 

“No he didn’t.” You also remember that there was never a body. The small hope of him being alive always lingered. If there was no body, there was no proof. You always imagined finding him, happy and whole, living on some nice, temperate planet. Maybe that could still happen. But if Crix is here and your brothers isn’t then- 

“So he’s alive?” Crix turns and takes your hand in his. The gentle squeeze tells everything.

“I’m sorry. He died defending Beta Group. He- do you want to know the story?” You nod. Your chest hurt like battery fuel on fire. Your tiny hope crushed before it could grow any further. “We were in the Beta Group under Commander Lajaie. The ships were in the Mako-Ta Space Docks. I remember it like yesterday,” he chuckles without humor. “The ships failed when we tried to enter hyperspace, and Vader arrived with the Death Squadron.” He glances at you, but you look away, staring into the bleeding suns. “The Commander told us to go to the escape pods, but Vader went to attack those first. Your brother, against orders, led enough of Vader’s fighters away from the escape pods. He saved many lives, sacrificing himself in the process.”  

“When?” 

“Three years ago after the Battle of Yavin.” 

Everything stops. The slight wind, the hot sand, everything. You thought he was dead for seven years. You lived with the grief of losing your best friend, your confidant. You cried for so many nights, aching for him back. You had centered so much of your kriffing identity around your brother that- 

“He didn’t want to endanger you.” You jerk your head to Crix. “If the Empire knew he was a rebel, they might go after his family too. It’s happened before. Better to pretend that he’s dead than risk your life. I faked my death too.” You don’t understand. The Empire never affected your life very much. Why would your brother even join the rebellion? Why? His life, your life, your parents’ lives: the Empire never mattered as long as you had each other. As if he can see the questions on your face, Crix speaks up. 

“He believed in the cause. In the Republic. In democracy.” 

“Fuck democracy,” you seethe. He says your name, but you yank your hand away from his. “Your damn democracy is the reason my brother died! Fuck the rebellion, fuck Skywalker, and fuck you. You probably didn’t even care-”

“You don’t know me,” he says calmly. But you don’t listen. You don’t want to listen. “He was my best friend. He was there when I realized the Death Star vaporized my planet,” he continues and you stay quiet, heart still fuming. “I was there when he talked about his family, about you. He loved you. And I loved him,” he says. You freeze and he looks at you with such raw, vulnerable eyes. 

“Were you…”

“Yes. We were lovers,” he whispers. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” You try to search for something to say, anything to say. But the words die on your tongue and you reach for his hand. So much grief to process in so little time. 

“I was a scholar on Alderaan,” Crix says after minutes of silence. “The Empire destroyed most texts about Jedi but not all. They gave me hope to join the Alliance. I never thought I’d be a pilot. I wanted to help in other ways, but they needed more pilots, even bad ones. I considered dropping out. But your brother convinced me to stay in the same way I convinced him to join.” 

“Why Tatooine?” 

“I had a feeling. Besides, Luke and his father, Anakin, were from here. If this planet can produce two heroes, why not settle here? Of course, slavery and Hutts aren’t very good, but… I had a feeling. Maybe the Force knew I’d meet you,” he shrugs. After a few beats of silence, he stands up and brushes the sand off his pants, hand still in yours. “Let’s get some food then sleep.” 

“Thank you,” you squeeze his hand, “for everything.”

*****

After eating some classic bantha steak for dinner and drinking it down with blue milk (an odd but tasty treat), you settle down on the couch with Crix in front of you on another chair. 

You tell Crix about life back home. About your parents working hard to provide for you. How they loved you and cared for you, and you were too blind to see it because all their attention was spent on their business, their employees. Because if you learned anything from staying with Mando, it’s that some people show their affection silently or roughly, but it never detracts from the intent. 

You ask Crix if he would like to come to your home planet and meet your parents. He says he’d love to. 

Crix tells you all about the adventures he had with your brother. How a simple Alderanian scholar like him became a rebel pilot— the story involved espionage, betrayal, and gambling—or how their first mission together failed. Or even how your brother first reacted to being kissed.

“It was like the concept of a guy kissing another guy was foreign to him,” Crix says. 

“We were very sheltered growing up despite owning a… prostitution bar.” He shakes his head in disbelief. 

“Sheltered alright. He became a rebel and you’re dating a Mandalorian bounty hunter.”

“We’re not dating.” Crix gives you a sure, yeah sure look. You yawn in response. 

You know you should sleep, but the buzzing excitement of questions stops you. Mando said you deserved to talk to Crix, so you will. Besides, conversation with Crix flows easier than a tap of beer. In the same way your brother was your best friend, Crix could be too. If they loved and trusted each other enough to consider marriage after the Empire collapses— a revelation that stings and bites and makes you cry— then you can love and trust Crix too. 

Of course, the Empire and Rebel Alliance’s role in your brother’s death still haunts the back of your mind. If he had never joined, he wouldn’t have died. At least, that’s what you tell yourself. The galaxy is too large and too dangerous to ever guarantee someone’s life. In this galaxy, a Queen of Alderaan and her planet were vaporized, and a Tatooine farm boy destroyed the Empire. Crix told you that ‘it was the will of the Force’ but you don’t really believe it.

How could you believe that an order of wizard monks that were purged to almost extinction?  But if your brother believed in Luke Skywalker— something that Crix made sure to tell you often—then maybe you could too. Except-

A large part of you feels betrayed. Sure, faking his death was for your safety. It still doesn’t erase the years of mourning and grief. It doesn’t erase how you poured so much of yourself into the idea of tracing his steps and living his journey. Finding clues about your brother was supposed to be your big adventure, your ‘coming of age’ tale. Yet… 

He should’ve told you. You would’ve joined him too. You would become a rebel if it meant being with your best friend despite being a young teenager. You’d be by his and Crix’s side, helping to save the galaxy. Maybe he knew that you would follow. You were young and impressionable and idolized him too much. 

“It’s getting late. You can sleep in the bedroom; I’ll be out here.” 

“This is your place, Crix. Not mine.”

“And you’re my lover’s sister. He would smite me,” you both laugh. It’s comfortable and soothing. You can imagine living here, on Tatooine, and helping Crix farm water. Crix would definitely welcome you. Your brother would like it too. The two people he cared for, taking care of each other. 

But you know your place is with Mando. At least for now. When you think of home, it was always the tavern. The Crest isn’t comfortable. It isn’t a home. Yet, being around Mando feels right. Like it’s meant to be. Of course, the cheesy romantic side of you swoons and does all the talking. The rational part scoffs. A life with a bounty hunter doesn’t seem like the life you want or could enjoy. Besides, you have your answers. You’ve accomplished your goals. There’s nothing left to learn from Mando.  

“Let’s just share the bed, yeah?”

“Your Mando won’t mind?” You shrug. 

“It’s not like we’re together, you know. And you’re basically my new brother now.” Crix smiles, a wide, happy, smile. You return the favor. 

When you wake up, hours later, Crix has already left. Groaning, you stretch your arms and back. A real bed did wonders for your physical state. Of course, Crix’s warmth was nothing like Mando’s. Sleeping next to Crix was like cuddling alongside your brother. Familial. Platonic. Mando, on the other hand, made you think sinful, unutterable things. 

A glass of milk waits for you when you emerge from the room. You glance around at the empty living room, and conclude that Crix must be outside. You decide to lounge on the couch with the cold milk and take little sips. There isn’t anything for you to do; when you tried to help yesterday, Crix shooed you away with fervor. Your skills also don’t apply to farming; you’re better off with managing finances.  

You settle for stretching on the floor, taking the time to hold the positions. It’s hot as usual, and you already build up a sweat. You stretched regularly at home, more out of boredom than a desire to stay healthy. There’s room to exercise on the Crest; you see Mando doing it when he has the chance, but it’s still a little awkward for you to stretch around the ship. The Crest isn’t yours, and you don’t know how long Mando will allow you to stay. The thought of your temporary status makes you feel… a little inadequate, so you push that to the back of your mind.

After an hour or so, Crix invites you outside. He asks if you’ll join him on a little trip to Tosche Station since he’s missing some parts he needs for repairs. You agree, excited for a mini adventure, and strap into the speeder bike. Hopefully Mando won’t get worried if he arrives at an empty house. Some part of you wants Mando to miss you and get worried, as selfish as the thought is.  

Anchorhead is quite boring. Aside from leering males and brute criminals, nothing exciting happens. Of course, you and Crix were mistaken for husband and wife—something the both of you laugh at— so you pretend to be in-laws instead which isn’t that far from the truth. After Crix buys all his parts and some extra supplies, you head back to his homestead. 

The rest of the hot day is spent talking about your brother. How he was a great pilot and an even greater friend. How he had to be an absolutely amazing person to catch the attention of a Jedi. Crix seems to hold an idol complex for the near-extinct wizard religion, so your brother talking to Luke was momentous for him. He offers to tell you stories about the Jedi Order, but you’re not really interested. It’s probably your poor, uneducated, Outer Rim self speaking, but the Jedi of the Republic are so fantastical that it’s hard to believe they’re real. Besides, why would you listen to tales about them when you can learn more about your brother? 

The day passes quicker than you realize, and the gentle chill of the night arrives. Like the previous night, you and Crix sit outside to watch the suns set. It’s calming, and you find yourself getting used to the routine. You can see a future, a life here with Crix. A simple life, far from the dangers of space and accompanied by your brother’s lover. 

“He likes you,” Crix says, nudging you out of your thoughts. At your confused face, he continues. “The Mandalorian.” You scoff.

“As if. I don’t even know his name or face.” Crix shakes his head. 

“It wasn’t like that before. My mom told me that Mandos could take off their helmets and say their names anytime they wanted. I think yours is just super strict,” Crix shrugs. Huh. You’ve always wondered about the Mandalorian culture and how strong warriors are hardly seen anymore. Maybe they’re like the Jedi: from a time before the Empire, forever hiding in the shadows, content to lay low and survive. 

“Maybe,” you say and turn to face the lowering suns. From the corner of your eye, you see a dark figure speeding closer. Crix notices too and squints at the approaching speeder bike. The person parks right in front of you and hops off. Mando. 

He drags a gagged and blindfolded person off the bike and onto the sand below. The human male struggles for a bit, but Mando presses a button on the vambrace, and the man shudders before falling unconscious. It’s a disturbing sight, and you shiver. You can’t imagine the feeling of getting electrocuted to sleep. 

“Well, he’s a bounty hunter for sure,” Crix mutters. You jump to your feet and approach Mando. He looks tired. The tension in his shoulders, the stiff stance of his legs, and the heavier breathing point to growing signs of fatigue. A pang of guilt stabs your heart.

 While you were lounging around, drinking milk, and watching the sunset, Mando was working his ass off for a bounty. For just a few credits to fuel his ship and feed himself while providing for you. You haven’t even done anything useful except cleaning and providing a warm body. 

Maybe that’s all he needs you for.

As excited as you are to see him, you also feel a little dread. Crix nods at Mando, and they enter the house along with the bounty. As Mando passes the threshold, he holds a hand out towards you. The little action makes you smile, and you scurry over to take his hand. Together, you go inside the house. Despite the air being hot as usual, you relish in the warmth of Mando’s gloved hand, in the heat his metal armor retains. 

You’ll talk to him later about ways you can help out and ease the burden of his job. Possibly figure out what your relationship really is. If it even needs a label. You need clarity eventually, some even ground at least. 

For now, you settle next to Mando on the couch as Crix prepares some food. Mando will have to eat in a separate room and clean his armor and blasters there too. And you’ll be waiting for him when he’s done.  

read chapter five

[ladynestaarcheron]

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Sixteen

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti ​ @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me @rinad307)

hey, y’all! here is chapter sixteen, and the longest one yet! (and probably ever.) normally i feel like i have a lot to chat with you about, but i don’t have much this time, so...thanks to @thestarwhowishes for betaing and you for reading, and i hope all y’all stay safe!!

---

December 18 - 4 years after

The park tires them out completely, so Nesta and Cassian lay the children down for a nap before dinner.

"It's a new restaurant," Cassian tells Nesta. "Very up-and-coming. But we have a private room for us."

"Who's us?"

"Your sisters. And us."

"All right." Nesta doesn't ask about the others she still hasn't seen. Azriel, Morrigan...Amren.

Cassian takes a deep breath. "There's something you should know. About who's coming to Solstice."

Nesta freezes. She already knows who's coming—all of Feyre's new friends (although she supposes they're not so new anymore)—her husband, obviously, Morrigan, Azriel, Amren. Amren's...paramour. If they're still together.

"It's Emerie."

Nesta jerks backward. Emerie? "Em...from...why is she coming?"

Her employer, her...friend. Sort of. Nesta had not been in the right mindset to properly have a friend; she did not treat Emerie the way she treats Amorette, but she might have gotten there. If she had not left.

"She's actually...well, this isn't her first Solstice with us. She's not really spending it with us, honestly. She's spending it with...Mor."

She blinks. With Mor?

"They're together. They have been for a few years now, actually."

Nesta could not have been more shocked if he had told her he was going to leave to move in with Maz. Two of her worlds colliding in such a bizarre way, such an unexpected match. It all dawns on her slowly: if Emerie is with Morrigan, and she has come here, to Velaris, for Solstice with all of them, then she knows Feyre. She knows Elain. Had they spoken of her?

And what is Emerie doing with someone like Morrigan, anyway?

She doesn't voice any of this to Cassian. "All right."

He studies her carefully. She can feel his eyes tracing every minute movement. "Are you upset?"

"No," she answers—truthfully, because she's not. She's baffled. And disappointed in Emerie's taste.

She supposes she doesn't have any right to be upset. She can't exactly see this as a betrayal, for Emerie did nothing to deserve Nesta leaving and following silence. And, well, she never exactly spoke of the quiet, violent mutual loathing she and Morrigan shared. Not with Emerie, at least.

But still, Emerie can do better.

She keeps this to herself, though. Cassian loves Morrigan, she knows this.

"What exactly is the itinerary?"

"Well, I thought we could just show the children Velaris," Cassian says, "with your sisters, maybe. And then Solstice at Feyre and Rhys'. Was there...something in particular you wanted to do?"

Does she want to see someone outside the mandatory Solstice she signed up for, he means. And the answer is no, most certainly not. Or, well, it was, before she knew Emerie was going to be here. But perhaps Emerie doesn't want to see her. So she just says, "No, that sounds all right," and tries to find something to busy herself with until it's time to go to dinner.

When they finally do go, Cassian holding Avery and Nesta holding Ollie and Nicky walking between them, Nesta can see that the place is indeed popular. It's in an area of Velaris she doesn't know very well—not close to any of the establishments she frequented while living here years ago—but there's a rather large crowd of people waiting outside. Reservations are probably booked more than just a few days in advance.

A perky red-haired female at the front leads them to a private room, where Feyre and Elain are already waiting. Elain leaps up when she sees them and throws open her arms for Nicky to run into.

"I missed you!" she says, laughing, and pulling Avery and Ollie in for a hug too. "Hi, Nesta, I missed you too!"

"You as well," she says, a bit curtly, even to her own ears. But she kisses Elain on both her cheeks and gives her a small smile as she sits down.

"This place is really amazing," Elain tells them.

"It...looks nice," Nesta says, gazing around. It does look nice, but all restaurants do. None of the stained glass lampshades warrant waiting outside to be seated, in her opinion.

"I've never been to a restaurant before," Nicky says, excited.

"Nicky, don't be ridiculous, of course you have."

"Not all the way across the sea!"

Nesta catches Cassian's eye and stifles an eye-roll as he grins.

"He's right," he says.

"Quite."

"Are you three excited for Solstice?" Feyre asks the children.

"Yeah, we're so excited."

"Our friends are not here," Nicky says.

"Oh, I know, but we're here! That'll be fun, right?"

"Right!"

"Are you excited for Solstice presents, Ollie?" Elain asks him.

He blushes and nods, looking down at his lap.

"Ollie wants a caterpillar," Avery informs Elain.

"A caterpillar? Well, I guess we'll have to wait and see what we all get."

Nesta bites on the inside of her cheek. In a rather unprecedented move on her part, before leaving Sugar Valley, she had purchased gifts for her sisters and Cassian as well. She had spent probably a month discussing her thoughts with Amorette on the matter (that is, blathering on while Amorette offered her sympathetic support), came to the firm decision that she was not buying any gifts, and then suddenly rushed out the day before they left to buy things. She still isn't sure what came over her.

"So, I thought tomorrow we could go see my gallery," Feyre says. "You three like to paint, don't you?"

They chatter in excitement, eager to see all the things their aunts and father are promising them. Nesta loves to see them like this, bubbling over in happy anticipation. But she swallows hard as she watches them—they are so good at this, Cassian, Elain, and Feyre. It comes so naturally to them; joy and cheer and infectious laughter. And she has to work so hard at it.

Jealousy writhes inside her, like nothing she's ever felt before. Disconcerting, to say the least—but this was never her holiday season.

---

December 27 - Year of

The heavy snow that winter always brought into their tiny village was nothing compared to the blizzard that hit the Illyrian mountains; and Emerie assured Nesta that it happened every year. Nesta was sure that this meant Cassian would not be coming back any time soon—how could he fly in this?—but she saw the legions take to the skies day after day, and eventually, it was Cassian soaring down. She hurried away from the window and threw herself into her favorite spot on the couch, opening her book to a random page and pretending to read.

She felt him approach the door, felt his hand linger for a moment too long on the knob before opening it.

"Hey," he said, stepping inside. "I'm back," he added.

Nesta did not lower her book, but raised her eyes to look at him. There was snow stuck in some crevices of his wings, ice in his hair.

He grinned when he saw her eyes tracing him. "Still reading that?" He nodded towards her book.

"Re-reading," she lied. "It was good. And I'm out."

His grin widened as he crossed over to the fireplace. "Is that so?"

She didn't answer, only tensed as she saw he was going to light a fire, and braced herself for the snapping sound, like the cracking of a neck, her father's neck.

"Don't know how you stand sitting here without it," he said, more to himself than to her. "Well, anyway," he continued, turning around, "I guess I made a—what's wrong?"

Nesta jerked her head downwards to the book, forcing herself to concentrate on counting the letters on the page. "Nothing."

"Is it..." He didn't finish his sentence. She knew what he was thinking. He had only just come back; how was she already distant?

She couldn't bring herself to say anything. He wanted the fire burning, of course he did, he was freezing. It was normal. This, this fear of the mundane, was not. She had conquered her—it still mortified her, even to think it—aversion to baths, but there was no way to ease into hearing something. You either lit a fire or you did not. Striking a sole match did not make noise. The bonfires Emerie had dragged her hadn't been much help, either, for they had not gone close enough to hear anything over the noise the hundreds of Illyrians had been making.

She was up to thirty-seven when Cassian put out the fire.

"You're hogging all the blankets," he said. "Give me one."

Wordlessly, she pushed one off her, letting him take it as he sat next to her. She couldn't meet his eyes—how had he known?

"So, I guess I made a good choice. With your Solstice present. If you're rereading this garbage."

Now Nesta did look up, to see him smirking at her.

"This isn't garbage," she said, closing the book. A present...she didn't think he was going to get her anything. Especially since she hadn't exactly accepted his present last year.

She hadn't gotten him anything. The thought hadn't even occurred to her, really. What would she even get him?

"It's in the bag," he said pointing to something he had dumped by the front door.

Definitely not what he had gotten her last year, then. A much bigger bag than anything he had had on his person last year.

Nesta wrapped one of the blankets around her as she went to see what it was. She slipped out a box, wrapped in deep blue paper, and brought it back to the couch.

It felt rather heavy. She figured it was books.

"Open it," he encouraged.

She did, careful with the wrapping. A brown box, with the words NightWrite printed in swirly lettering. She looked up at him.

"Open it!"

She did. There was indeed a book inside, but that wasn't all. There was a candle, coffee scented, a set of rather fine pens, a beautiful, leatherbound notebook, a bar of what she knew was some of the Night Court's finest chocolate, some little flowers she thought might be soap, and a few other small things. There was a card, too.

"A subscription?"

"For the female who reads. Well, that's their slogan, anyway."

A book each month, she read. And different things along with it.

"You can choose the books in the next months. But I chose the first one. I think you'll like it. It's children's stories...I knew some of them, growing up."

It was...incredibly, surprisingly thoughtful, first of all. The kind of thing she would never think to buy herself, because she wasn't aware anything like this existed. And it would come every month. Which...while she was here...meant a lot. Every month, a new book, just for her. Along with all this other...stuff. Stuff she liked.

She looked up at him. "Thank you."

He pulled back—was he surprised? But he moved closer to her, after a moment. "You're welcome."

They didn't say anything else for a short while, but then Cassian told her he was going to take a shower, and she said she would get started on dinner, and they both turned to their respective new tasks.

But her eyes kept wandering in the direction of his bedroom, and she knew he was staring towards the kitchen.

---

December 20 - 4 years after

While her fellow townspeople in Sugar Valley are probably wreathing sugarberry crowns around their heads, Nesta is cleaning Cassian's kitchen. He's spent the past few days referring to it as their home, but that doesn't sit quite right with her. The location is wonderful; close to the shallower areas of the Sidra, all the necessities, and a park. But it's still in Velaris, and this isn't Nesta's home.

Tonight is the first time Nesta has had some proper time to herself since she's gotten here. Cassian has not left her side until a few hours ago, when some unexpected work came off and he had to leave before dinner.

It's not exactly uncomfortable, this never ending domesticity, it's just odd. Having him at her side all waking hours of the day. Not even Illyria had been like that.

The shift into it had been strange, and now the lack of anyone around her, the complete silence, is rather jarring, so Nesta doesn't even pause to wonder who is at the door when she hears the knock; just goes to open it.

And there she is: ink black hair braided over her shoulder, brown, wide set eyes unblinking, smooth brown skin seemingly unaffected by the cold—no trace of red in her cheeks, no raised hairs. But there is a slight quiver in her scarred wings that gives her away.

Emerie.

The pair don't say anything for...Nesta doesn't even know how long. But Emerie recovers first, and she says, "Can I come in?"

And Nesta, opening the door wider, says, "Of course," like this is a normal calling, like she's been expecting her.

The Gilameyvan hospitality Aysel, Miri, and Zeyn have carefully taught her escapes her now. She offers no tea, doesn't take her coat...Amorette would be disappointed. She likes to think Nesta's made progress.

"So," Emerie says finally. "You had children."

Who had told her, Nesta wonders. Was it Morrigan? "Yes. Three."

Emerie nods, looking around the living room, where they both stand. There's a bit more to look at than there was when Nesta arrived a few days ago—the children had picked out a painting from Feyre's gallery to hang on the wall—but not nearly enough to warrant the heavy silence.

Nesta doesn't like to talk about what doesn't concern her, so she doesn't ask about Morrigan. She doesn't need to, though, because after another minute of quiet, Emerie says, "I'm with Mor now."

"I heard," she says.

"I think you might like her, actually."

Nesta bites her tongue. Emerie notices.

"I meant if you two knew each other. Really. I know you both," she adds. Then she frowns a little.

"Emerie..."

Where to begin? Nesta's got no shortage of mistakes in her repertoire, but before her stands the result of one she is particularly sorry for. Emerie did nothing wrong.

There's a bluntness that must run in the veins of the Night Court people, because when Emerie says, "Why did you leave?" her voice is not accusing, but low and flat and hollow.

"Sit down," Nesta says, finding a spot on the couch herself.

Emerie sits, folding her skirts in as she does so. Nesta's lips tug upwards slightly. Despite being with Morrigan, Queen of the Dream Court, Emerie is still bedecked in her Illyrian simplicity. Does it drive her spare, what with her inclination towards those strips of crimson silk she calls dresses? Or does she like it, seeing Emerie as some kind of peasant fantasy?

Emerie doesn't repeat herself, but she sees the question etched in her face.

She's not cut out for these sort of conversations. She doesn't speak her mind, doesn't directly address any issues on the table. So if Emerie had done this to her, she would've just ignored it—perhaps pretended like it never happened and acted distant, perhaps never spoken to her again. But she's in the wrong here, and Emerie deserves what she wants: an explanation.

So Nesta steels herself, takes a deep breath, and tries to summon what Cassian had once seen in her. "I know I hurt you, but my leaving had nothing to do with you. I'm sorry." Then she holds her breath.

Emerie's eyes wander around the room. "Oh," she says finally.

Oh? Is that it? Emerie's not one for passionate displays of emotion—one of Nesta's favorite things about her—but she'd expected more of a dramatic response.

"So why did you leave, then?" she asks again.

Nesta blinks. "I couldn't stay. I thought...I deserved more."

Emerie is quiet again. "So why didn't you say anything to me?"

"I thought you'd talk me out of it."

"Well, you should've known better than that." There's not any sympathy or sharpness in her words. They're just there, black on white, clear as day, honest.

Nesta flinches. She's right. Emerie has only ever told her to do the smart, right thing for herself. By way of poorly formed metaphors about her own regrets, maybe, but nonetheless. "I'm sorry."

"I should go," Emerie says, standing.

Nesta stands too. "I'll walk you out."

Every step is painfully awkward and also just painful. She never meant to hurt Emerie, but she's not sure how much that's worth.

Emerie stops abruptly at the front door. "I'll meet them tomorrow?" she asks.

"Meet whom?"

"Your children."

"Oh," Nesta says. "Yes. Well. If you'll be there for dinner."

"I will."

"Then...yes."

"All right," Emerie says, then leaves. She doesn't look back, but Nesta can't stop staring at her.

When she finally does manage to tear herself away from the front windows, long after Emerie has disappeared from sight, Nesta drags herself to bed, glass of wine in hand. She knew a trip to Velaris and all it brings might trigger some...old habits of hers, so she makes sure to leave the bottle downstairs in the kitchen and sip slowly.

She hears Cassian come in a half an hour later. He finds her in her room, staring unblinking out onto the dark waters of the Sidra.

"Nesta?" he asks.

"Oh, hello," she says, not moving her eyes.

He walks over and sits on the bed, blocking her view. "Are you all right?"

She focuses on his face. His eyebrows are pulled together, his lips pressed. "What's wrong?"

She drains what's left in her glass and sets it down on the nightstand, then lays herself down on the bed. Tucking a hand underneath her head, she pulls her hair from its ties and braids and sprawls it out.

He lies down next to her maneuvering his wings so they aren't touching her. "Emerie came?"

She doesn't answer.

"What did she say?"

Nesta waits a few seconds before saying, "She asked why."

"Oh."

He shares in the quiet with her. Minutes go by, and he doesn't say anything, only waits. She doesn't know if he means it as an offering of partnership, but she takes it as such.

"I don't have a good answer for her," she whispers.

"That's all right," he tells her, matching her pitch. "She's fine. She missed you but she's fine."

"It was wrong."

"That's all right too."

If Emerie forgives her, does she have to forgive everyone else? If that's true, then does she want Emerie to forgive her? Of course she does—the only other option is that Emerie is angry with her, or that she doesn't matter to her anymore. Which is worse, she wonders, causing someone pain, proving your importance to them, or having them move on? She doesn't trust herself to come up with an answer. What if she's too sel—

Cassian puts his hand on hers. "Stop thinking so loudly." His tone is teasing but Nesta knows he's serious.

She moves her eyes from the ceiling to his face, tilting her head a little.

"You're back now," he says quietly.

Nesta looks back at the ceiling.

"Emerie loves you more than you hurt her. It's true," he adds, sensing her doubt. He squeezes her hand.

She holds her breath. Is he going to say what she suspects? She doesn't know if she wants him too.

But Cassian only rubs his thumb on hers. "You've said your piece. All you can do is wait for her to make her choice."

"I'm not very good at saying my piece." She's never been good at talking on the spot. She doesn't have the natural charisma Cassian or Feyre have, none of Elain's likability. She's too prickly and stiff.

"Some of us like you anyway."

That makes her laugh a little. "Thanks."

"Let go of your thoughts," he says. "Focus on your breathing and mine."

She listens to him, and at first, it takes up most of her concentration, and then it all fades away. Before she slips under, the only thing she's aware of his hand on hers and the shadow of his wings over them both.

---

December 20 - 1 year after

Sugar Valley was all closed for the holiday, but everyone was still outside, wandering the town, shouting festive-themed pleasantries instead of the usual "come round for jam!"s that Nesta normally heard. Snow fell to the ground, but not so much as Illyria had had last year. Little enough that she could walk around outside.

She hadn't expected to actually go to this silly party that Zeyn had told her about, but he and Miri and even Leyla, one of the other archivists, had spoken to her about it at length and prodded her again and again to come.

So she did, opting for a dress in a pale lilac instead of her usual grey, in an attempt to be festive. She was never one for bright colors, but before it all, she did wear more than just charcoal and the occasional blue.

Leyla seemed to like the dress, as she complimented her on it as soon as Nesta entered the store, shrugging off her cloak.

"Where did you get it?" she asked, beaming at her.

"Maternity aisle at Classia's," Nesta answered, referring to a small boutique in town. The female who ran it was from Prythian, which had made Nesta tense before stepping inside. But she hadn't seemed to recognise her, or at least, she hadn't said anything if she did.

"I love maternity clothes," Leyla gushed.

Perhaps she was trying to be nice, but Nesta just didn't know what to reply to that. But Zeyn came in from the back room just then and lit up when he saw her.

"You came!"

"Yes," she said. They all said odd things here, didn't they?

"Have some of the isti," Zeyn said, waving her towards the table. Isti was what they called that delicious berry-chocolate drink he had given her before.

The store was handsomely decorated, with sugarberries strung up along the shelves and tiny twinkling faelights dotted here and there. Her dress, as it turned out, was not as festive as she thought, because everyone here was dressed in deep burgundy; the same color as their patron fruit. Oh, well. Shades of purple, all the same.

"Nesta," Miri greeted her from behind. "Here, take a wreath." And she placed something atop her head.

Nesta took it off to look at it. "What does Solstice have to do with sugarberries?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Every solstice and equinox is a chance to celebrate our home," Miri said.

"Do they bloom year-round?"

"They do here."

Sugarberries looked very much like the stuff that had grown on trees by their shabby little cottage under the Wall. Nesta remembered Feyre eying them one winter, and Elain informing her not to bother, that they were poisonous.

Perhaps the magic kept them from being so. Or perhaps that which was harmful to humans was pleasant to faeries. Or maybe they were just a different fruit.

"How are you doing?"

"All right," Nesta answered automatically. She was most certainly not doing all right. Pregnancy was a nightmare. She was vaguely aware of passers-by eyes lingering on her for longer than strictly necessary, and, to be frank, she had seen her own reflection—she knew that the weight she had gained in her first trimester only rounded out her curves. But nothing about Nesta was lovely when she put herself to bed at night, feet blistering from simply standing, and waking up a few short hours later to violently vomit everything she had eaten the previous day.

Amorette Dadashov, her healer, assured her it was normal for a fae pregnancy. That might comfort Nesta later, when she wasn't starting and ending every day in pain.

"Have a seat," Miri said, pulling up a chair. "You look tired."

She was exhausted. Amorette had told her that was a normal part of pregnancy, too.

"Good of you to come," Miri said.

"It's very important to the shop, isn't it?"

"Yes," Miri said, after a short beat. "Sit here, dear. I'm going to drag Adil out."

She came back a few minutes later, a grumbling Adil in tow. "Don't see what the point is. We see each other every day. We'll see each other tomorrow at the town's parade."

"Hush," Miri said. "Sit with Nesta. String wreaths."

Nesta had not been to any real holiday parties, but this one still struck her as odd. Adil was right—they did see each other every day. It wasn't even the holiday yet, it was still the day before.

"Do you not like Solstice?"

Nesta looked up from her wreath. She wasn't very good at making them. She kept dropping the berries trying to string them. "You don't look like you're particularly enjoying yourself."

"I am," he said seriously. "Well, Miri is. That's the same."

Nesta averted her eyes. How did you look at someone when they spoke of another person like that?

Adil cleared his throat. "I think there might be something I have you should read."

"Oh...human-authored?"

"No, not a book. Well, it's not really mine. It's from the bank."

Nesta frowned. Her account was all in order, and it wasn't through her employer. "The bank?"

"I...spoke to Erest. Our councilhead?"

She'd met him. She'd been expecting someone like the High Lords, and he was irritating, but in a harmless way. Like everyone else she had met here. "All right," she said, wondering where this was going.

His brow furrowed, deep blue lips a thin line. "You're not registered as a citizen of Sugar Valley yet."

"I know," she said. Amorette had mentioned something about it to her in passing.

"Well, if you were...it'll be easier for you to buy a house here. Easier to sign up for nurseries, too."

Nurseries? All Nesta had decided was that she wasn't terminating the pregnancy.

"Well, I don't think I'm in the market for a house."

"There's a property in one of the younger neighborhoods," he said. "Spacious...enough. Nice yard. Close to the town's center. You should look. It never hurts to look."

"I...really don't think I can afford a house right now—"

"No. You'll be able to afford this one." He didn't look at her, just picked at his wreath. "You should look at it."

Had he struck some sort of deal with the councilhead? No one had ever attempted to give Nesta her own space before...

"I will."

He gave the slightest nod in answer. She didn't thank him, but she got the feeling she wasn't supposed to.

---

December 21 - 4 years after

Nesta's quiet, contented sleep is interrupted before the rising sun hits her through the window by an excited little voice rushing in along with small footsteps.

"Mummy, Mummy, it's Solstice morning, come—"

Nicky stops abruptly as both Nesta and Cassian sit up in bed. His eyes widen, and dart between both of them. He wrings his hands in front of him and sucks in his cheeks.

Nesta's face burns, splotchy redness surely covering her cheeks. "It's all right!" she says, trying to speak calmly and failing miserably. "It's all right! You can come here, Nicky!" She holds out her arms and waves him over.

Nicky, unsure of himself, walks towards her slowly. He stops every few steps and looks around. His cheeks redden slightly, too.

"Good morning," she says, pulling him closer and dropping a kiss on his forehead.

"Happy Solstice," Cassian adds.

Nicky looks up at her. She nods at him encouragingly. "Did you want something from Mummy, angel?"

"I was going to tell you that it's Solstice."

"It is, you're right."

"Are you hungry? Do you want breakfast? We can go get started while Mummy wakes up Ava and Ollie."

"Do you want to go make breakfast with Appa?" she asks him. He nods and she gives him another kiss. "All right, go on."

Without making eye contact with Cassian, she passes Nicky to him. She smooths her hair as they leave.

She'll have to talk to Nicky, of course. Tell him...what? She'll have to ask him what he thinks, first. To see if she needs to reassure him or answer his questions—oh, fuck, he'll tell his siblings, won't he? Of course he will. It's Nicky. He doesn't have a discreet bone in his body. Hopefully Cassian will have distracted him enough by the time she brings Avery and Ollie down.

What'll she say to Cassian? She's not angry he stayed; just mortified Nicky saw them. Is she mortified? She's not sure. She won't be able to tell what she's feeling until...well, it'll be a while until she gets to talk to Amorette, won't it? And that's how she normally decides her feelings on matters of this sort.

She thinks she's managed to pull herself together enough to rouse Avery and Ollie, but she must be mistaken, because Avery asks her what's wrong before moaning that she's still tired.

"Nothing, ladybug," she assures her. "Everything's fine. Come, let's brush our teeth...Appa and Nicky are making us breakfast..."

As she helps the children with the sink—there's no step stool in this house—she comes to the conclusion that she's furious with herself. She had to pick today to fall asleep in bed with Cassian? Today, before seeing the Feyre's Inner Circle for the first time in years? Amren and Morrigan and Rhysand and even Azriel...why has she done this to herself?

"You'll be smarter than Mummy, won't you, Avery?" she mumbles.

"What, Mummy?"

"Nothing, nothing..."

Thirty seconds after entering the kitchen, where Cassian is holding Nicky in one arm and preparing eggs over the stove in the other, it becomes clear to Nesta that avoiding talking about this is going to be difficult, because Cassian seems as determined to catch her eye and talk to her as she is against doing so.

"You all can stay here with Appa, can't you?" she says brightly. "Mummy's going to get dressed." And take a bath for much longer than necessary. Perhaps that'll help her clear her head.

January 18 - Year of

Cassian hadn't left since coming back from Velaris. Nesta didn't ask why the trips to other camps had been canceled, nervous about his answer. But while he was here, while he did not bring her letters from her sisters...she was...enjoying it.

Things at the clothier were doing better. Nesta's ordering strategy worked, and Emerie seemed pleased. She shared lunch with her every day, and went back home in the evenings to have dinner with Cassian.

Even the throbbing pain in her head had ceased. Occasionally, Nesta still wanted a drink, but it had been over five months since she last had one, and sometimes there were whole days where the thought didn't cross her mind even once.

When Cassian showed up to Emerie's shop one afternoon in mid-January, basket of sandwiches in hand, Nesta didn't make up an excuse to rush out like she had last time.

"Lunch break?" he asked them both.

Emerie looked at her sideways. A small smile tugged at Nesta's lips at the sight of her unease; for someone who had only ever seen Cassian as an untouchable, more mythic creature than real person, she imagined him walking into your place of work and offering you a picnic basket would be very odd indeed.

But Emerie might have been a bit more used to Nesta and all things that came for her, because she shrugged a little and said, "All right."

So there they sat, in the back room, which Nesta had once told Cassian was employees only. She hoped he didn't remember, but judging by his smirk he did. She rolled her eyes in response.

"How's business?" he asked.

Emerie glanced at Nesta with narrowed eyes before answering. "Good. How is..." Emerie trailed off. What could she say? How is the growing restlessness amongst the legions, the steadily rising number of rebels, the threats of civil war?

"Everything's fine," Cassian said.

"You've been here more often," Emerie noted.

"More for me to do here."

What that could possibly mean, Nesta had no idea. She saw him going over reports sometimes, but that was about it. And Cassian wasn't like her; he couldn't just sit at home and read a book. An afternoon walk was not enough to invigorate him, he needed something properly challenging.

"Although I'm going to be leaving soon," he continued. "Train a group of females."

"Who are they?" Nesta asked.

"Soldiers."

"I thought you didn't have female soldiers."

"We should," he said. "It doesn't make sense to cut out half our possible numbers automatically."

"Do they want to be soldiers?" Nesta asked, looking sideways at Emerie. Nesta would not want to be one—for anyone, but definitely not for an army who sliced their daughters' bodies like that.

"Of course they do," he said.

She frowned. "I don't think wanting to be a soldier is such an obvious desire."

"They're Illyrian," he said, pouring them juice from the jug he had brought.

"I don't want to be a soldier," Emerie spoke up.

Cassian's eyes slid towards her. "We don't force anyone. But females should be allowed, if they want. If they have something to give."

Emerie shrugged.

Nesta didn't love a land enough to be willing to risk being torn apart on a battlefield for. "Why are you so keen on females fighting in combat?" she asked. "Don't you think if they really wanted to, they would have found some way to do so by now?"

"It's not true that you don't force anyone," Emerie said softly.

Cassian flinched.

"It's not Cassian's fault your cousin died, Emerie," Nesta said, without missing a beat.

Cassian seemed to hold his breath, but that was unnecessary. Emerie and Nesta knew each other well enough by now to allow for such statements.

"I know that," she said. "I don't blame him."

Nesta thought Cassian might have some long-suffering response to that, like You're the only one, or something noble, like I take responsibility anyway, but when she turned to him, he was only staring at her. Hazel eyes tense and studying, like she was one of his reports.

December 21 - 4 years after

Per Nesta's request to Cassian, Solstice dinner has been moved up several hours, so the children can participate. By five their carriage pulls up in front of Feyre's manor, and the children are vibrating with excitement.

"Nesta, maybe we could have a word before we go in?" Cassian says to her in a low voice.

"I think we want to go inside and see our presents," Nesta says, loudly, brightly, so the triplets' cheers drown out Cassian's request.

He frowns only a little—it's hard not to be taken with the sheer joy on their tiny faces. So he quickly grins and says, "All right, let's go in, then."

Nesta had her own suitcase full of gifts from herself and Sugar Valley townspeople delivered earlier (except for what she had intended to bring Cassian—she has left that at his house), and she has nothing to hold in her hands as a buffer. So for the second time this evening, she uses her children to her advantage, and picks up Ollie; the child least likely to try and wriggle out of her arms, leaving her defenseless.

Cassian leads them up to the front door. It's thrown open before they have a chance to get there, and Elain hurries out to greet them.

"Happy Solstice!" she trills, pulling in Avery and Nicky for a hug. "Come in, come in! We're all waiting for you!"

Feyre, beaming, takes their coats. She has a circlet set atop her head, her golden-brown locks lightly curling down. A gift from Rhysand, no doubt. But not for Solstice.

"Happy birthday," Nesta says to her.

Feyre's eyes flutter. "Oh, thank you!"

Nesta stifles an eyeroll. Did she think she had forgotten?

"Now, we thought you might like to keep things casual, you know, with them, so we haven't really planned for a sit-down meal...we thought they'd like presents more...is that all right?"

Nesta frowns. "I mean, we haven't fed them—"

"No, I know, I meant we're just not going to make them sit around a table. There's food! Lots of food! Just on tables. And we're all in couches. Is that all right? Right in here, see?"

See she does. Everyone.

She is pleased she's holding Ollie, as it appears to be working in his favor too, judging by how tightly he grips her as he takes in, for the first time in his life, five adults he has never seen before. Even Avery and Nicky seem a bit taken aback, with Nicky stepping a little closer to Cassian's legs and Avery looking up at him, slightly dazed.

The Inner Circle sits on assorted couches and armchairs, all dressed for the occasion. A large table of food is on the right side of the room, with bottles of fine wine and fruit drinks too. In the middle, creating a small mountain on the floor, is a pile of presents.

Amren is there, already clad in a dozen glittering jewels. Her hair is shorter than it had been last time Nesta saw her, but her silver eyes are the same: unblinking, unwavering in her stare. Their gaze locks, but she draws her eyes away, towards Cassian, when he speaks.

"These are Ava and Nicky," he says, scooping them both up and smiling down at them when they giggle, "and that's Ollie with Nesta."

Morrigan, sharing a loveseat with Emerie, is the first to stand. "Hello, Nesta," she says, face blank. Nesta does her best to keep her expression free of ire as she nods in return. "Hi there," she says, much more warmly. "Ava and Nicky and Ollie...hi. I'm Mor." She gives them an affectionate smile, brown eyes crinkled and twinkling. She reaches out her hand...to touch them? She doesn't seem to know what to do, hesitating, and settles on patting Avery's leg.

"Are you hungry?" Feyre asks. "Look, we've got food here...Nicky, you like turkey, don't you?"

"No, I don't," he answers.

"He does," Nesta tells her. "He just doesn't remember what it's called."

"Oh. Here's the table..." Feyre waves over, rather unnecessarily, at the spread of food. Normally Nesta doesn't like buffet styles, but she admits to herself that it'll definitely go over better. She can see each of her children eyeing the gifts. There's no chance of getting them to sit at a table.

"We're getting plates of food before we're opening presents," she says, looking at them. "All right?"

Nesta hasn't eaten since lunch, but being here makes her appetite disappear, so she only fixes a plot for Ollie. She sits on one of the empty couches with him on her lap. Avery sits with Cassian and Nicky sits with Elain.

The initial awkward quiet is quickly dissipated by her sisters' determination to keep the evening lovely, so they force their friends and her children into conversation. Avery, of course, takes to them all like a dragon to the skies, and Nicky does too (after looking at his elder sister, and following her lead), but Ollie keeps looking down at his lap and blushing.

"It's all right," she murmurs, kissing the top of his head. "Would you like to open presents now?"

He nods, still looking down, but his siblings hold no such qualms.

"Yes, I want to!"

"I also want to! Mummy, can I?"

"Can they, Nesta?" Feyre says, nearly begging, batting her eyes.

"Sure."

"Yes! All right, Ava...this one's from me..."

"Here, Ollie," Elain says, radiating joy as she grabs a box and walks over to him. "This is for you!"

"Thank you, Aunt Elain," he says shyly. He looks up at Nesta.

"You can open it," she encourages him. "Nicky, what do you say?"

"Thank you!"

The flurry of presents commences, with the adults in the party opening theirs as well. Glittering trinkets for Amren, of course, and some jokes about Morrigan getting everyone the same thing.

"Here, Nesta, this is from me," Feyre says, handing over a gift.

Nesta blinks. "Oh. Thanks."

She gently slides Ollie over to Elain, but he is so taken with his—eugh—live caterpillar, in an aquarium, he hardly notices. Acutely aware of Feyre's eyes on her, Nesta opens the present. A small gasp escapes her.

Four portraits—just like the ones that decorate this house, except inherently better, because these are of her children. One of each of them, grinning broadly, painted to perfection—Feyre's quite good, isn't she—and one of the four of them. Remarkable, Nesta thinks, how her sister has managed to create something she has never seen before, for she has never seen Nesta playing with the children in the park like this, in these positions.

Nicky looks over. "It's me!" he says. "It's me and Ava and Ollie and Mummy!"

Nesta picks up her head. Feyre's hands are held tightly at her mouth. She's bouncing up and down a little—much like the children do, actually, she thinks with a small smile.

"Do you like it?"

"I do," Nesta says, pleased to find her voice is even. "Thank you."

"I'm so glad," she says, relieved.

"Feyre, this is for you," Azriel says, passing Feyre a smaller package. "Elain, this one's yours..."

"Oh—Nesta, is this from you?" Elain asks, surprised.

"Yes," she says shortly.

"I...thank you."

"You haven't opened them yet," she says to them both.

They exchange a look before they do. In fact, it seems as though everyone except the children pauses to watch Elain and Feyre open what Nesta got for them. What are they expecting? She knows her sisters. She knows what they like.

"Oh, wow, Nesta," Feyre says, looking at the paint set. "From the Continent?"

Of course it is. Nesta lives on the Continent. "It's natural paint," she says. "Locally made. With the berries. And that's a sugarberry tree sapling, Elain."

"Oh, I've got my work cut out for me, don't I!" Elain says, excited.

"Why have you got your work—"

"They're really hands-on outside of Gilameyva...I've been doing a bit of research...oh, but it's actually best to plant them right in mid-winter, so this is perfect...Nesta, this is for you, from you friends in Sugar Valley, I think."

The gift exchange still is not over, after another ten minutes—the sheer amount of nonsense gifted to her children is staggering, but she cannot bring herself to be upset at the irrationality of it. They're overjoyed. But Nicky asks for a pause, so Nesta can take him to the bathroom, and then asks for orange juice on the way back, and because there wasn't any in the sitting room, she takes him into the kitchen herself. She intends to ask him about what he had seen earlier that morning, but when they enter the room, Emerie is there, sitting at the bar.

She stands when she sees them. "Hello, Nesta. N-Nicky." She gives Nesta's son a curt nod.

"Hi!"

"Hello, Emerie. Nicky...here's some orange juice. Appa will pour it for you."

"Okay, thank you Mummy," he says, taking it from her, holding the carton with both his hands.

Nesta waits until Nicky is out of earshot before she blurts out, "Can I ask you something?"

Emerie startles. Oh, had she wanted to say something? Cassian had told her that it is Emerie's turn to speak, didn't he?

"Unless you want to say something."

"Er, no, that's...all right."

"Well," Nesta says. How to put this delicately. "Nicky walked in on Cassian in my bed this morning. With me."

Judging by how wide Emerie's eyes go, that was not the correct choice. "We didn't do anything," she hurries to say. "He just fell asleep."

"Oh," Emerie says, the color of her cheeks going back to normal. "Well. Is that so bad?"

"I don't know," Nesta says, miserable. Amorette would know. She should have just waited to go home and ask her. Emerie doesn't know children.

"I don't think it's so bad," Emerie says, trying to be helpful. "I mean...if he sees it a lot more, he'll think it's normal."

"I don't know if he's going to be seeing it a lot more. So this might...confuse him."

"Oh," Emerie says. "Oh, we assumed...oh."

"You assumed what? Who's we?"

"Er, Mor and I. And, ah, everyone. That you two...would be...well. Together."

Nesta shakes her head and looks around the room. "Well—I don't know why you would assume that," she says lamely.

"Oh," Emerie says again.

"We're not. Together, I mean."

"And you won't be?"

Nesta purses her lips.

"Oh."

"It's complicated," Nesta says, finally.

Emerie plays with her braid, her wings relaxing slightly. "That's what I love about Mor, you know. She makes everything simple. Everything's easy." A slight trace of amusement shines through Emerie's dark eyes. "One would think three children and a love story would be simple, too."

"There's no..." Nesta starts to protest, but stops. Emerie was there for it, after all. There's no point in pretending with her. So she changes pace. "We used to be simple," she says softly.

"I told Mor that," Emerie says in the same tone. "I know you two...don't get along. But I told her...I always tell her, we were...friends."

They were. At a time where Nesta didn't have any—and Emerie didn't, either. That makes Nesta's leaving her without even saying goodbye more reprehensible.

"I don't think Nicky will be traumatized," Emerie says. She smiles slightly. "I wasn't, after all."

A short, breathless, embarrassed laugh escapes Nesta's mouth. She had forgotten about that. "Well that's...good to hear."

Emerie opens her mouth, but she is cut off by the sound of Nicky and Avery having a conversation in the hallway.

"I think Mummy stayed in the kitchen because she was angry," Nicky is saying.

"Mummy doesn't know how to be angry," Avery replies. "Mummy?" she calls out.

"In here, ladybug."

Nicky and Avery walk in, hand-in-hand. Emerie looks a little taken aback.

"Are you coming back, Mummy?"

"Yes, angels," she says. "Ah, Emerie, are you coming?"

"Yes," she says shortly. She hesitates. "Did they walk here by themselves?" she says to Nesta, under her breath.

"Yes," Nesta answers, bemused.

"He remembered the way?"

Nesta laughs. "Avery, Nicky, why don't you tell Emerie what you like to do at school?"

The entire walk back, Nesta watches Emerie's eyes grow wider and wider as the pair of them trip over themselves trying to talk about their friends and their drawings and their trips to the park and their flying lessons.

She knows Emerie's reaction well. She experiences it herself often enough. Three real, unique people.

Hours later, when Feyre declares the evening a success, and she and Cassian carry the children's sleeping forms into the carriage, and Rhysand and Azriel carry out the trunks of gifts for them, Emerie whispers to her, "I hadn't realized...perhaps you should talk to Nicky."

And when Cassian finally catches her eye—there is nowhere else to look—she knows she has to talk to him, too.

---

Chapter Seventeen

[nxrthmizu]

Hogwarts Daminette AU: Part Two

---

/Part One/

---

The Triwizard Tournament was over in two months. Two months, generally, defined in Damian’s mind, would be a long time, but when the time came for the Beauxbatons to leave, it felt like those two months had run by too fast. 

He felt like he was choking. He watched her get on to the carriage, putting on a smile quick enough just as she turned back to smile one last time at him. She was leaving. Back to Ireland. Or wherever it was that the Beauxbatons’ school was. He really didn’t remember. He was quite sure she’d told him at some point, but he’d probably been too busy trying to control his blush with some disguising charms. Honestly, Drake was a blessing for showing him those. He didn’t know how he would have survived without them. He was a blushing mess, and Damian Wayne was never a mess. 

Except when he was around Marinette Dupain-Cheng, of course. 

---

When he lied down on his bed, listening to his dormmates chatter about how the great hall felt less clustered without the Beauxbatons and the Durmstrangs, he could only think of her. Every single memory they had. Every moment they shared. 

---

“My name- My name’s Damian. Damian Wayne.” He had stuttered, rather surprised with himself. He had never, never stuttered before. But here he was. Well, he figured there was always a first time. 

“Marinette. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” She smiled blindingly at him, her almond-shaped eyes merging into pretty little crescents as she did so. He felt utterly breathless. 

“I-It’s nice to meet you.” He stuttered, smiling back. Across the hall, he could hear Dick screeching. 

“Is Damian smiling? With a girl?” He had screamed. Damian had bit his lip and resisted from scowling and pointing the middle finger to his brother right there and then. 

Marinette had, of course, heard him. She had laughed a little, giggling- Almost giggling. Her happiness was a blessing to him. It was as if he was colorblind and someone just poured multicolor paint into his world. “Is that your brother?” She had asked sweetly. “He’s adorable. I wish I had siblings.” The last sentence was almost- Wistful. 

Damian wanted to tell her that he really disliked his brother, but then he rethought it. Maybe he wouldn’t tell her that. Well, Grayson was tolerable. “I... Wouldn’t say adorable, but I guess it works.” He chuckled. 

She had laughed at his comment, and the thoughts running through his head at the very moment were: She laughed. Does that mean she likes me? Wait, do I like her? I don’t know. And I don’t like not knowing. Etc. 

“Marinette!” An auburn-haired girl had interrupted her laugh. He watched as she momentarily paled, her complexion becoming a lighter shade, and he wanted to ask if she was okay. Well, someone beat him to it. 

“Marinette! Don’t run away from the group! You know that Lila didn’t mean what she said.” A blonde had interrupted him. Damian narrowed his eyes. Was the blonde trying to comfort her or chastise her? It felt more like the latter to him, anyway. 

“Who are you?” He had asked coldly. 

The blonde glared back. “Adrien Agreste. I’m her friend.”

“Marinette! Honestly, girl, don’t you think you were too much with Lila? What you said was mean! I don’t know why you hate her so much!” The auburn apparently, had a lot of unwanted input. Damian rolled his eyes, ready to retort, but Marinette, who could somehow feel his emotions, pushed her hand against his, squeezing it tightly as she gave him an apologetic look, walking away miserably with her friends. 

As she left, he could hear another voice. 

“Marinette, don’t mix with the Slytherins. They just want to take advantage of you. I know Damian Wayne- You shouldn’t mix with him. Oh-! Were you trying to seduce him?” 

“Oh my god, Marinette. You were trying to seduce a Slytherin?” The auburn’s voice made him growl. He hated her already. 

“B-But! The Slytherin prejudice- It’s not- He’s not bad!” She protested, and he felt a warmth in his chest as he listened to her defend him. 

“You should just listen to Lila, Marinette.” The auburn’s voice again. Damian was a millimeter from strangling her. “She’s right.” 

He could almost hear her falter. He wished, he prayed that she would say something. Fight back, angel. He thought. Don’t let them win. 

Silence. 

---

“Marinette.” He caught her arm as she was walking from the library, catching the panic and fear in her eyes for a quick moment before she realized it was him. He narrowed his eyes- Why were her eyes filled with panic? If it was surprise, he’d understand, but panic? What made her react like that? Brushing the thought for later, he shot an apologetic smile at her. “I- I need to talk to you. I understand if- If you think I’m a Slytherin and that I’m evil and-”

“What? No!” She had swatted her arm at him playfully, the yellow glow of the candles dancing in her midnight blue eyes like shooting stars. “I would never think that.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Besides, you aren’t...” She paused for the right word, a low hum vibrating from her throat as she pondered on the appropriate vocabulary. “Evil??? Um, well, you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, actually.” She giggled. 

Damian was... Shocked. That was an understatement, actually. He? The nicest person she’d ever met? Whoa. Her friends must be horrid! Hell, he was probably the coldest personality that existed and she thought he was the nicest person she’d ever met? 

It was in that moment that Damian Wayne decided that he was going to keep the position of being the nicest person she’d ever met. He was going to protect his angel against everything, he would give his entire life to her. He would make himself hers. 

And that was the moment that Marinette Dupain-Cheng gained herself perhaps not the bravest knight, no. Maybe not the best, not the most courageous- No. But she gained herself the most loyal knight she’d ever find, and he’d stay by her side for the rest of his life. 

Because she was his angel.

---

“Marinette! We told you not to hang around with the Slytherins!” Adrien scolded her, frowning like a mother who’d had to tell off her daughter for the twentieth time. Unluckily for this ‘mother’ (Yeah, as good as a mother as Gabriel Agreste is a father), his daughter had a knight named Damian Wayne. 

“Excuse me.” He interrupted coolly. “I think Marinette is smart enough to decide who to hang around with. And frankly, I think she’s made a very smart choice.” 

The blonde, who obviously wasn’t used to being counter-attacked like that, fumed and stalked off like a kid. “My father will hear about this!” He muttered under his breath, stomping angrily away as Marinette giggled, thankful for her knight. 

“Thank you, Damian.” 

---

“You have to fight back.” He told her as they walked together to the quidditch pitch, the wind clear and cheery in spring. He glanced at her pigtails, the green ribbons dancing in the wind. 

Green. He mused. The color of his house, his eyes. Shaking his head, he wondered what the thought was about. Pretty random. Without actually thinking, he tugged both ribbons loose, earning a little squeal from her as her hair fell out, dancing in the lively wind. 

“Damian!” She whined, trying to gain control of the dark blue waves drifting in the clear air. 

“Don’t.” He grasped her hands, pulling them away from where they were trying to sort the flying mess. Combing her hair a few times with his hands, he smiled, pleased. “It looks better like this.” 

And then...

“You look really pretty.” 

She’d stared at him for a few blank seconds before she turned away, going to fidget with a strand of hair. “T- Thank you.” 

He’d smiled, patting her head affectionately. “Anyway, as I was saying, you have to retort to these ‘friends’ of yours.” He’d made little quotation marks with his fingers, and for some reason, she’d found the action funny, so she laughed. He’d tried to frown and tell her to concentrate on what he was teaching her, but... Her laugh. 

It was too beautiful to resist. 

---

Here’s part two because you guys asked! :)

---

/Part Three/

---

(Tag list: @kceedraws @constancetruggle )

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Fifty-Five

A/N: I'm dedicating this chapter to @xpoisonousrosesx , HAPPY LATE BIRTHDAY, BEAUTIFUL!! I hope it was a good day, and I pray this is your best year yet. I love you!!💕💕

Words: 3.8k

Warning(s): explicit language, mentions of drug abuse

Tag List: @unknownoblivion  @sinningsixx  @edwardtriggerhandzz  @lemmyjelly  @haileynicoleseavey17  @cierrasixx19  @oskea93  @mgkobsessed  @vamprlestat  @sharon6713  @itsametaphorbriansblog  @miriampraez  @allie-mcginn  @rebeccaphillips14  @nicholeh7  @fandomshit6000  @lilmou5ie  @tamedhearts  @divaanya  @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx  @ratedrkohardychick91  @floregrohlssard  @oldschoolimagineblog  @thanks2pete  @abaldboi  @swoopygorl @justjodeye @liith-ium  @caos18blog  @ytwahsog  @shamlessobsession  @scarecrowmax  @toadspleen @random-internet-user-4471  @solohqrry  @loveofmyloif  @sparxx27  @kaitieskidmore1  @cruecifymesixx  @ijustwanttokiss70srogertaylor  @emmaelizabeth2014 @meetthesixxter  @sixxsixxsexx @sublimeprincesswasteland @arianareirg  @girlnight-terror  @mcnibberachi

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I smooth the hair dye through Nikki's roots, wiping my forehead with my forearm as he chatters on and on about the album.

"Tommy's fixed on making a song about strippers, and Mick's giving pretty good riff ideas, but Vince is too busy frying in the fucking sun to give a shit. As usual." He complains and I lick my lips and keep quiet. "Don't even get me started on how I showed him 'Veins' and he outright said he wasn't singing that 'shit'. If he doesn't like the fucking lyrics he can get his ass off the fucking beach or pull his cock out of cheap-bitch pussy and write a fucking song himself. Lazy fucking bastard. Then he wants to groan about how hard he works. Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't aware standing in front of a microphone and giving half-assed vocals is so fucking exhausting--which counting how much energy he spends talking back to me or Mick or Tommy, he probably is exhausted by the time he's done laying vocals and blowing load after load down a line of groupies' throats while Sharise is at home taking care of their fucking child. Fucking asshole."

"Vince has always been that way. I don't know why you're just now realizing this." I mumble, sectioning off another piece of his hair before glopping dye onto it.

"No, no. He had an attitude to begin with but it was the perfect amount for the band. Now he's getting singer syndrome and I'm not dealing with his prima-donna bullshit."

"He's not perfect, Nikki, maybe he's just going through something and he'll get better once whatever it is passes."

"He's not going through anything, he's just drinking again." He states and I raise my brows.

"Nikki, he's not drinking again."

"Yes, he is."

"How do you know?"

"I know what beer smells like. He reeks of it anytime he's in the studio."

At least it's not crack.

"So, this song about strippers..." I change the subject, starting on another section of his hair.

"Tommy just has the main tagline of the chorus in his head and we're working on lyrics and music for it, now. I think it'll be a good single."

"What's the main tagline for the chorus?"

"I can't tell you, it's a surprise." He grins when I step out from behind him to look down at him. "But you'll like it."

"Whatever you say." I sigh, finishing his hair, taking the gloves up. "Alright, leave it in for twenty minutes then we'll go rinse it out." I tell him, turning my back to go throw the box dye supplies and empty bottle away.

"Hey, does this stuff stain the floor?" He calls while I'm in the kitchen.

"...Yeah." I reply before it hits me why he's asking.

I rush back into the dining room to see him swiping the towel that was once over his shoulders, being wiped back and forth against the floor by his boot, probably trying to soak up what dye he got on the floor.

"Nikki!" I exclaim.

"I'm getting it up." He reassures me, laughing me off.

"It's getting on your shirt now!"

"You know how to get it out in the wash, though, so it's fine." He shrugs, smirking at me and I have to keep myself from screaming at him, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Okay. Okay." I say to myself, aloud, feeling his hands hold at my waist and I open my eyes, looking up at his dye soaked hair that's dripping down his shirt now that he doesn't have his towel on his shoulders to protect him. "You wouldn't take your shirt off before I started dyeing your hair, you wouldn't keep your towel over your shoulders and now you have dye on your shirt and I'm gonna have to scrub at it with vinegar and soap. You are a child. I am married to a man-child."

"You can spank me if you want to." He raises his brows and I have to keep myself from cracking up, holding back my smile.

"It's not funny." I tell him.

"It is." He argues.

"No it's not."

"It kind is."

"No, it's no--ahh!" I squeal, jerking away from him as he tickles me.

He stops in a split second, his eyes focused on something over my shoulder.

I turn my head to see Vanity standing at doorway, and I can practically feel the anger rolling off of her as she grinds her teeth.

She doesn't look as sweet as usual.

"Where the hell were you last night?!" She asks him, and I feel him tense up like a cat with it's fur standing up due to being threatened.

"With my wife."

It seems like she twitches at the word "wife" before she rolls her jaw.

"That's the third time you've bailed on plans made with me, Nikki. I'm really starting to get the impression you don't wanna be friends anymore."

"I've been working on music and trying to take a step back from the drugs, Vanity. When I feel like going down hill again, I'll give you a call." He states to her and she glares daggers at him before looking at me.

"You should be very proud of him, Vivian, I mean, really." She sarcastically let's out. "He really takes his marriage so serious."

"Vanity, you're stoned. Get lost." Nikki orders her and that seems to make it worse.

"Get lost?! I'm trying to figure out what's wrong, Nikki, and why you don't want to see me, so I can fix it!"

"And I'm telling you I'm busy working on the album, trying get sober, and, oh, yeah, spending time with Vivian because my life doesn't revolve around my friends. I have other priorities and you're not on that list anymore."

Her brown eyes shift to me, her jaw tightening and loosening the more she focuses on me.

"He only wants you around because you're sober. Just like he only wanted me around because I know how to have a good time."

"Vanity, I'm sure he'd be willing to hang out with you if you weren't constantly on something." I politely interject. "I was the one that suggested he manage his time spent with his friends that were involved in the things he was trying to get clean from." I add. "And we've been together for six years. I don't think he wants me around just for my personal preference of sobriety."

Her and Nikki seem to be having an entire conversation with just their eyes before she's letting out one last breath.

"Fine. Just call me up when you're desperate for an escape, again." She tells him before turning on her heel, stomping out of the house.

"What the hell was that about?" I ask him and he just shakes his head.

"Don't worry about it, Viv. She's fucking crazy." He mumbles, giving the direction she walked out in, one last glance before going to rinse his hair out in the shower.

When he gets out, I've got big, velcro rollers in my hair and I'm putting on makeup.

"Where you going tonight?" He asks me and I finish my mascara before giving a small shrug.

"Duff and I are gonna go try to see about finding him another place to move. They're starting on the album and when he starts getting money from it, he wants to get a nicer place." I explain.

"That's what you said last night, Viv. And the two nights before that." He adds, fixing his towel around his waist.

"Feel free to come with us, Nikki, I'm sure he'd love the company of another guy." I offer, not even realizing what he's getting at.

"Well, maybe I was gonna take you out." He tells me and I look at him for a moment.

"Nikki leaving me in a club while you go shoot up in the bathroom isn't 'taking me out'. It's using me as a coverup." I sigh.

"I'm off smack, Viv." He states, finishing smearing shaving cream over his jaw, picking his razor up.

"Is that why you were hanging out with Robbin last night?"

The thud of his razor hitting the sink has me jumping slightly, and I glance at him from the corner of my eye to see him staring at me, obviously pissed.

"Nikki, don't look at me like that. I'm being honest."

"For once." He scoffs out and I stop what I'm doing and focus on him.

"What's that suppose to mean?" I ask.

"I've just heard stuff, Viv, that's all." He informs me and I raise a brow.

"Heard what from who?"

"Vanity said she's seen you out with Duff more times that you've failed to mention to me." He throws.

"Oh, Vanity. The same woman you discredit because she's 'fucking crazy'?"

"She's not lying about that, Vivian, because she has no reason to. It's all in the fucking papers, anyway."

"What are you talking about?" I snap and he raises his brows before stepping out of the bathroom, coming back with a stack of cheap news papers...I'm on the cover of every one, with Duff.

I'm wearing church dresses in a few of them.

Shit.

"I didn't wanna say anything because I get that you're your own person and can do whatever, but you can kinda see why I scratch my head when my wife tells me church service ran late and then shows up on a magazine with another guy.

"Nikki, there's nothing going on." I reassure him, finishing my makeup.

"Then why the fuck have you been lying about it?"

"To avoid this!" I motion between us before grabbing the papers from him and throwing them towards the garbage can in the bathroom.

"If I was spending every sunday afternoon on a fucking date with some chick and lying to you about it, it'd be the end of the fucking world, Vivian."

"Duff isn't just some random person, Nikki. You know him. You're friends with him. Why the hell would anything happen? Do you really think I would do that to you--that he would do that to you, knowing that all you'd have to do is call him out for it publicly, once, and ruin his shot at music?" I ask harshly and he licks his lips.

"Next time you two hangout without telling me about it, I'll do just that. Don't fucking try me, Sixx. You're lucky I'm not kicking you to the curb for this shit." He states, his voice graveling.

"It would make sense for you to do that to me, Nikki, it really would. I stay with you after you treat me like shit, shoot me, ignore me, laugh at my fear for your life and safety and the second you think I'm spending a little too much time with my best friend--completely your paranoid opinion, by the way--I'm an embarrassing whore and you're wanting to kick me out of the house. I swear to God, I have no idea how someone can go from thinking they're God, to being an insecure little bitch."

"I don't care if you hang out with him but fucking tell me the truth about it!"

"Like you tell me the truth about Vanity?! How much time is she really spending at our house, Nikki, because almost every fucking time I go out and come back home, I'm getting whiffs of her perfume and freebase. And I know you aren't just around her to talk. When she's around, so is the crack."

"I'm not listening to this shit." He gives one last swipe of his razor over his skin before he's finished, getting the left over shaving cream off before grabbing his hair dryer.

"Yeah, you love putting the things I do under a microscope but the second Nikki's in the hotseat, it's an invasion of his privacy, right?!" I call after him as he slams the bathroom door behind him when he leaves.

I knew he was bound to find out I was lying to him, but when he did, I expected him to be angrier or make more of a show patronizing me for it. I didn't realize he didn't give much of a fight because he already had the sick gears in his mind turning.

I pull my dress and heels on, stepping through the house to find Nikki.

He's in Karen's room, probably venting to her about me, when I walk in to see him pacing back and forth in front of her bed while she patiently listens.

"Can I talk to you?" I ask him and he just looks me up and down before rolling his eyes, trudging toward me, shutting Karen's door behind him. "You're not an insecure little bitch. You have a reason to be upset with me and I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth about the Duff thing. But you overreact when it comes to me, Nikki, you really do. It's like you can have all the girls around you that you want, and I don't know who the hell they are, but the second a guy even glances at me, you're on the defense. Do you not trust me?"

"You lied to me about it, Vivian."

"To try to protect you."

"From what? There's nothing wrong with you and him hanging out!" He tells me, losing patience. "...Is there?"

"No, there's not, Nikki."

"Okay, then. I don't care. Apology accepted. Go have fun." He carelessly waves his hand to the door, but I know he does care, he doesn't accept my apology, and "go have fun" means "just fuck off and leave me alone."

So I do.

"Alright, bye."

"Bye."

He shuts himself back into Karen's room and I head to my car.

"You're All I Need" was written that night while I was out with Duff and once it was written, Nikki found trouble.

I unlock my car as Duff and I finish leaving the Franklin Plaza after just looking at one of the suites.

"I'm sold." He tells me.

"Really?"

"Yeah, why not." He shrugs and I chuckle.

"Okay, so now what?"

"We wait for a check, and then pack my shit--which consists of three t-shirts and two pairs of pants--and then move in." He says.

"Sounds good." I agree.

"Now, to celebrate..." He starts, thinking for a second. "...food, and then find the guys on the strip."

"Deal." I reply, heading to Denny's.

Once we're done eating, we decide to just walk down the strip in search of at least one of the other four members of Guns N' Roses.

Seeing Duff's car, that Steven borrowed, parked on the side of the street, we find a place to park.

"Rebel Yell" blares through the speakers of the Cathouse once we get inside, and we automatically look in the direction of the bar.

Like we expected, we see Slash, Steven and Izzy, all down drinks.

I pluck Izzy's hat off his head and turn it backwards before tugging at the end of Stevie's hair.

They snap around, and Izzy's lightly hitting my arm in retaliation while Steven's pulling me to him.

"The hell have you been?" He asks me over the music and I brush some of his blonde bangs from his eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing." I tell him, poking at the end of his nose and he kisses my cheek, squeezing me to him for a second.

"I've missed you." He states as Duff and Slash have a brief side conversation.

"Izzy." I acknowledge him and he nods a single time.

"Viv." He replies, taking a sip of his drink.

"Where's Axl?" I ask Stevie, glancing around.

"He's meditating in the bathroom." Steven in forms me and I furrow my brows.

"He's what?"

The blonde looks at me, takes his arm from around me, holds his hands out and touches the tip of his pointer finger to his thumb, closing his eyes for a second, imitating meditation.

"He's meditating." He repeats, obviously finding humor, chuckling when Izzy holds back a smile and knocks him in the arm.

"Better than doing smack in the bathroom I guess." I shrug.

"Oh, speaking of which." Izzy blows smoke past his lips, looking at me. "Nikki and a friend of his is in V.I.P. he came by and said, 'hey' to us and invited us over." He states.

"Why'd you say 'friend' like that?"

"'Cause she was hot." Steven states. "That Vanity chick." He adds.

"Are they still here?" I ask them and Izzy shrugs.

"Hell if I know. She's fucking coo-coo for cocoa puffs, though." Izzy says. "And she's touchy-feely. A little too much."

Izzy didn't like Vanity because he could tell from first glance Nikki and her were fucking around.

The reason he didn't join Nikki in V.I.P that night was because he told Nikki I was more of a man than he ever would be with the shit he was pulling with Vanity.

That pissed Nikki off.

"I'll be right back." I say to them, heading to V.I.P.

I get in, seeing Vanity giving a near strip tease, completely absent from her mind while Nikki completely disregards her, staring off, looking like he just had a hit of junk.

I feel like I'm spying on him, being nosy, and turn to go back to the guys to avoid pissing Nikki off.

"You find him?" Steven asks me and I nod.

"Yeah."

"You find her?" Izzy asks next.

"Yeah. She's really not that bad, Iz."

His eyes nearly bug out of his head as he snaps his attention to me, scoffing out: "what?" in disbelief.

It occurs to him that I'm friends with her and his expression shifts to a sort of sadness before he's finishing his drink and quickly brushing off his demeanor.

He started to slowly distance himself from Nikki after that...that was a low even he wouldn't try to swing to.

Izzy never told me about Nikki and Vanity, not to protect Nikki, but to protect me.

I couldn't be angry at him when I found out he had known, because I knew without a doubt he would have told me had he thought I would have been able to handle it.

The rest of the night ends with me trying to keep a drunk Steven, Slash and Duff out of trouble with Izzy and Axl encouraging their foolery.

When it gets time for them to start going home or either finding chicks to go home with, all seem to disappear...except for Duff.

I'm walking him back up to their apartment, laughing as he almost face plants, stumbling over himself, giving out a sound that sounds almost like Goofy's laugh from Mickey Mouse, only making me laugh harder.

"Sorry." He tells me, grasping at my hand to steady himself so he can get the key for the apartment out of his jacket pocket.

"It's fine." I say when I calm down.

I watch him struggle to get the key into the doorknob.

"That's weird, I usually always can get it in the hole." He says as a joke, and my face turns red as he laughs at himself. "That was a pretty good one."

"Yeah, it was."

"Here, you do it." He hands me the key after struggling some more and I easily unlock the door, causing him to stare at me.

I just smile a little and make my way into the apartment.

"You need help with anything else or you got it?" I ask him as he steps in behind me, taking his jacket off and leaving it in the floor, going to the kitchen.

I pick his jacket up and place it on the couch, going to the kitchen to see him pull a bottle of vodka out.

"No, no." I calmly stop him, gently plucking the bottle from his hands. "You've had plenty for tonight. You're gonna be sick tomorrow." I explain.

"Oh, yeah." He doesn't argue and I put it back where he got it as he leans against the counter.

"Get some sleep. I'll see you later." I order after a second of him just looking me up and down.

"Wait, wait." He stops me, his hand enveloping mine.

"What is it?" I ask him.

"Can we talk about something?"

I feel a lump form in my throat and I blink at him.

"It's really important."

"O-Okay." I nod.

"Viv, I love you." He says. Relief fills me, not even giving a thought to him meaning it differently, and I grin up at him.

"I love you, too, Duff." I say and he scrunches his face up in frustration.

"No, I, like, love you." He repeats, and I raise my brows.

"I-I love you, too."

"That's not what I'm trying to say." He argues, rubbing his face.

"Well, what are you trying to say?" I ask and he groans.

"I love you."

"Duff, I know you do. I said--"

"--That's not what I'm trying to say, Vivian." He starts getting flustered.

"Well, what are you trying to say, Du--" I'm cut off with his lips on mine, despite his sudden move, it's a sweet kiss that doesn't last but a few seconds, not even giving me time to react, once he pulls away.

"I love you." He repeats and it clicks in my mind what he means.

I just slowly blink up at him, the breath taken out of my body as my mind races.

"Duff," I say, catching my breath. "I love Nikki that way."

"I know. And you don't have to feel that way for me, I just needed to tell you, Viv." He says.

"Thank you, but you can't do that again." I tell him. "I'm married. To Nikki. Your friend."

"I only hangout with him because he's married to you."

"Duff."

"I'm just saying. He's a fucking asshole. He doesn't deserve you."

I don't take what he's saying seriously, he's drunk and tired.

My hands hold at his face, making him look me in the eyes.

"Get some sleep. I love you. Goodnight."

I played it off but I was terrified. I drove home that night a sobbing mess. Not because I was confused and didn't know whether to choose Duff or Nikki, I knew not having Nikki wasn't ever an option for me. I didn't want anyone else. But I was upset because I wished Nikki would have been more like Duff.

Once our affair ended, I realized Nikki was like my heroin.

And Duff was my krokodil, which is what some addicts, that are desperate enough, resort to shooting if heroin is unavailable.

It gives the body a bigger high, but does so much more damage than heroin...even if it doesn't feel like it.

[narukoibito]

charity work bonus snippet

@the-hinny-shipper

Oh my gosh I love this. Probably not, but is there like a part 2 or something? I know that's meant to be the end, but I need to know what happens next.

Thank you so much for the kind words to charity work, my Muggle AU where Ginny is a famous football player who helps Harry teepee and egg his ex’s house! ♥️

I am actually working on a part 2. Harry and Ginny of this world just couldn’t stop chattering in my head, and there’s about 2.5k words thus far. I know what’s going to happen - I just need to write, edit, and pull the trigger and post it... 

But in the meantime, I am sharing a funny little subplot that I wasn’t sure was ever going to see the light of day. It’s a bit of a prequel that I started but then dropped because it didn’t add much to the story...but today I thought, eh, why not share since we can all use some laughs now more than ever. It’s unbetaed, and I’m still iffy on it, but I hope you this will tide you over until I get part 2 posted.

(Also tagging the lovely @isidar-mithrim​ and @blattgefluester​ in case you are interested since you were both so amazingly kind toward charity work!)

Summary: This wasn’t what Seamus had in mind when he suggested Ginny do more charity work.

*

The Prophet landing on the table with a loud thud.

“What’s this?”

“This, Ginny, is the result of your spectacular interview with Miss Rita Skeeter.”

Ginny lifted her chin, pushing the paper away from her and returning to shoveling her porridge down. “So it’s the usual rubbish.”

Seamus pursed his lips, annoyed that once again she wasn’t taking this seriously. “Rubbish it may be, but rubbish that sells.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “So are you here as my publicist or as a friend?”

“Can’t I be both?” He grinned.

She prodded the offensive article with distaste. “What do they say this time?”

“Well, Miss Skeeter took it upon herself to approach all your exes for an ‘expose.’”

“I like to kick a ball for a living. I don’t understand the obsession with my love life.”

“The all-star player who went pro at your age with your looks?” Seamus winked. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Don’t let Dean catch you doing that.”

“He knows I’m a hopeless flirt,” he dismissed cheerfully.

She made a strangled, irritated noise. 

“Look, it’s not too bad.” He unfurling the paper with a wince. The headliner, Wonder Girl Weasley Not So Wonderful Girlfriend?, paired with an unflattering photo of Ginny shoving a camera away from her face flashed back at her. “She found some, er, old classmates to go on the record.”

Ginny’s expression darkened. “Record about what?”

“You remember when you stopped people from bullying Luna? And Neville? And when Dean and I got together? Well, somehow Skeeter got in touch with Parkinson, Zabini, Smith... Skeeter may or may not insinuate that you’re…aggressive. Have a bit of a temper.” 

Ginny grabbed the paper and began reading loudly, “Since the early days of her youth, Ginevra Molly Weasley, better known as Ginny, the Wonder Girl Weasley, has been bewitching men to do her bidding. We here at The Prophet have long extolled the many virtues of Miss Weasley, but I, your fearless investigator of truth, uncovered a disturbing pattern in how Miss Weasley wraps men around her little finger. What others thought was wit and charm, I have uncovered may actually be the result of a threatening temper. I dare to ask, should we be concerned with Miss Weasley’s trail of broken hearts and perhaps other broken body parts?”

He bit his tongue as Ginny read the part where Rita expounded on Ginny’s "commoner” country-side upbringing” surrounded by her “rowdy” brothers as the source of her “violent streak.” 

“I only punched Parkinson once, and that was when she poured punch on Luna!” Ginny scrunched up the newspaper and flung it angrily into the bin. “She goes on about some weird sorcery I have with men.” 

“Look, I’ve already called Parvati about getting you on some morning shows, but maybe this time we can agree on some talking points, hmm? And maybe have you do some charity work, show your gentle, caring side. Get some positive press coverage.”

She continued to fume, muttering under her breath, “Skeeter gives witches a bad name.”

“It’ll all pass, Ginny,” Seamus smiled at her sympathetically. “Come back later tonight. Dean’s making roast, and we’ll talk about how to set the narrative straight.”

He sent her on her way, hoping that practice would relieve some of the rage.

*

Seamus’s head emerged from the oven, his face flushed scarlet. “Ginny, you can’t just go meet random fans and help them commit a crime!”

Even after all these years, she never ceased to amaze them. But this - randomly taking an Instagram follower’s request to egg and teepee a house? This was one of Ginny’s more...creative ideas.

“That’s right,” Dean agreed, taking the roast and plating it. “For all you know he could wank to your posters.”

“Well then you’d know he has good taste,” she said, dripping her finger into the cooling gravy.

“Ginny,” they sighed together in exasperation and pushing her away from the kitchen counter. 

“What happened between this morning and now?” 

“You’re always saying I should do more charity,” she said pointedly.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Seamus wagged a finger at her. She folded her arms across her chest, staring them down (which was quite the accomplishment, considering how much taller they were). 

“We can’t let you do this.”

“When has anyone ever let me do anything?” Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

Seamus and Dean shared a long look, no doubt both of them remembering that one time she broke into the headmaster’s office to steal back the replica toy sword Ron was stupid enough wear to school as part of his knight costume for Halloween.

“Look,” Dean said carefully, leading her into the dining room as Seamus followed, plates of food laden in his arms. “We know you’re more than capable to taking care of yourself.”

“Damn straight,” she said, but she let him gently nudge her into her seat. 

“But as your friends — ”

“One of whom would like to stay gainfully employed,” Seamus cut in, playing the food on the table.

“��and who would absolutely be murdered by your brothers if they ever found out, we want to make sure you’re…thinking straight.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, we know,” Seamus said, deadpan. “But I really don’t need another article supporting this theory that you’re aggressive. If you beat the bloke up and the press catches wind of it…”

“I’m going. I put this idea into his head. And look at him,” she said, holding up a picture of H-P-Lightening, smiling sheepishly into the camera.

They examined the photo skeptically as Ginny tucked into dinner. Maybe while they were distracted, she could nick an extra bit of roast.

“He’s cute,” Seamus pointed out.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Not the point.” 

"Doesn’t hurt,” Dean said.

“He and I share a similar goal: to serve some much-needed justice in the world. And since I can’t go about egging Michael’s house without it ending up on the Sunday papers, I can at least help someone else.”

“His hair is an absolute disaster, but it somehow works on him,” Seamus continued, ignoring her.

“Those green eyes,” Dean said appreciatively.

“Plays football too,” Seamus said, clicking through to some videos. “He’s fit.”

Now they were both giving Ginny a look with entirely new context.

“It’s not like that,” she said breezily.

“Maybe she’s hoping he wanks to her poster,” Seamus snickered, not believing her for a second.

“He could wind up in trouble if he doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“And you’re an expert?” Dean asked.

“I’m a Weasley.” She smiled wickedly, and they laughed. “Besides, who am I to ignore a gentleman in distress?”

“Okay, fine, if we can’t stop you —”

She snorted.

“—then we’re coming with you.”

“What?”

“We’ll watch from a safe distance,” Seamus assured her, Dean nodding along. “Just to make sure you don’t end up in the papers.”

“We will help you hide the body,” Dean said.

Ginny looked from one to the other. They were grinning at her, half eager and half earnestly. She didn’t need them to come. She was more than capable of taking care of herself. But, suppose this turned out to be something she wasn’t expecting…

“Fine, but —” she added quickly when they started to wiggle their eyebrows at one another “—the moment, and I mean the very moment I give you the signal, you better make yourself scarce.”

Dean and Seamus beamed across the table. “Whatever you want, luv!”

*

“You can’t stay if you’re going to be this obvious.” Ginny growled.

“Obvious? We’re perfectly inconspicuous,” Seamus bristled.

“You brought binoculars,” she said dryly, placed her hands on her hips. “And a bat."

“Told you she wouldn’t like that,” Dean said.

“I won’t use the bat. It’s just in case we need to scare him off.”

Ginny and Dean gave him a look.

“What? This person could be tricking us!”

When Ginny’s glare made his back hair stick on end, Seamus relented.

“Fine, we’ll cross the street,” Seamus said, taking Dean by the arm. When they turned around, Ginny was still scowling, whipping out her phone and texting them furiously.

You are going to have to HIDE.

There’s nothing strange about us being here! Seamus typed back.

You’re two random, loitering blokes, ready to stalk or bean someone. If you’re going to stay, you’re going to hide. Ginny over at them critically. Behind those bushes.

“Ugh,” Seamus groaned, crouching down and behind the bushes with his boyfriend dutifully following. He swatted at a twig that was unpleasantly digging into the side of his bum.

Happy? he texted her back.

Delirious. Remember. You both better leave when I give the signal. Or else.

A shudder went down his spine, knowing very well what Ginny was capable of.

“This isn’t what I imagined our cozy Friday evening being.”

“You don’t really mind,” Dean said, smiling knowingly.

Seamus huffed and peered into the binoculars rather than reply. Yes, he was worried about this blowing up in his face (things often did), but he couldn’t deny he was a bit curious. He had never seen Ginny look that way at a photo before.

“You just want a front row seat,” Dean teased.

“Shut — oh, I think that’s him!”

They watched with anticipation as a lanky, bespectacled bloke with tousled black hair ascended the train station steps. He seemed to be deeply brooding as Ginny approached him. Through the binoculars, Seamus watched as this fellow, Harry something-or-other, looked up, eyes wide, and nearly tripped over the last step.

“They seem to be hitting it off,” Dean said as Ginny and Harry laughed before she handed him a hoodie.

They began walking, and Seamus scrambled to follow. “Come on.”

He kept an eye out for anyone else who might be around, but there didn’t seem to be anyone who recognized or followed Ginny.

“I think we can leave the bat.” Dean chuckled, swiping the binoculars for a closer look himself.

They trailed the other couple from across the street, doing the best they could to be inconspicuous. Ginny and this bloke looked good together. He looked oddly charming with his wild hair and glasses, but it was really the way he looked at Ginny at set Seamus at ease. They kept talking, laughing, smiling at one another. Seamus hadn’t seen her laugh so much since…he couldn’t even remember.

Was that — was Ginny Weasley blushing?

After several minutes, Seamus and Dean stopped and looked at each other.

Ginny had completely forgotten about them. 

“Do you think if we leave now, we can still catch the last half of the game?”

“Yeah,” Seamus said, taking Dean’s hand as they headed home.

Maybe their Friday evening plans could be salvaged after all.

[retrovirge]

Camp Starlight (+ Contest!)

Hey y’all!

So, I had an idea for a contest!!! So basically, here’s how it goes:

Artists can draw any scene from this very story that they so desire, whatever image comes into their head for inspiration. You post it and tag it with #starlightdrabbledraw and leave a link to this post in your own (you dont have to, but it would be preferred!) and boom! You’re done! (I’m holding this on amino too so the winners will be selected from both platforms.)

I’m gonna make it so entries are due October 15th :3 you can totally enter after that, you just won’t be eligible for prizes :))

And uh I’m also gonna be giving out prizes! So here they are!

1st Place

Either: a longer short story (A story that’s anywhere from 2000-4000 words, maybe more), two short stories/extended art drabbles (at the most 1500 words) or four drabbles/art drabbles (under 1000 words) (keep in mind if you choose the longer story it will take me quite a while due to my own personal reasons.)

2nd Place

Either: A short story/extended art drabble (at the most 1500 words) or three drabbles/art drabbles (under 1000 words)

3rd Place

Two drabbles/art drabbles

4th Place

One drabble/art drabble

(Please keep in mind I can’t write all prompts because some give me a lot of writers block, so I may have to ask to change prompts with you if you win. Also, for art drabbles, I will need proper, linked credit to the artist so I can message them and ask if I can repost.)

So yeah, there you go! There will also be honourable mentions and stuff, but yeah! AnYways, onto the story! (Which you can totally just read on your own if you don’t feel like entering the contest ^w^)

⚠️Triggers⚠️

Remus’ innuendos, mentions of fire, mentions of bugs

Word Count - 3132

~

”Come on, kiddos! Let’s go camping, it’ll be fun!”

Those were the words that Patton had spoken a few nights ago. Roman had mixed feelings about it. Virgil was anxious. Logan was... Quite eager, actually, but didn’t show it. There was so much nature to study out there, he was very much excited. Janus didn’t seem to care, and Remus seemed to be marvelling at all the mischief he could cause while camping.

And that’s how they found themselves in the car a few days later. Roman and Patton loudly singing in the front seat, Remus occasionally butting in and changing the lyrics to ‘more fun ones’ (Patton did not like that very much), with the other three sides covering their ears in the backseat, passing around looks of mutual annoyance.

The car ride felt like forever, but they had eventually pulled up at the campsite. They parked the trailer, pitched the tent (cause there wasn’t enough room for everyone in the trailer), and set up anything else they needed to. And then they went off, deciding to check out the campsite. Patton decided to have everyone split up into groups of two, and allow them to rotate whenever they wanted. After making sure everyone was okay with that, off they went. Logan went with Janus, Roman went with Patton, and Virgil went with Remus.

So what were they all doing? Well, Janus and Logan decided to go through a walk in the forest. Logan was going a little nuts and jotting down notes for any unknown piece of nature he spotted, while Janus was simply admiring everything. Holding leaves in his hands, smelling flowers, stuff like that. He looked over at Logan, sighing as he watched him zip around. “Nerd, come here-“

Logan looked up, a look of confusion spreading over his face. He hopped up from where he was kneeled, walking over to Janus. He raised an eyebrow. “How may I assist you?”

Janus surprised him by simply sNatching his notebook. “Hey-! Janus, you can’t-“

”Shush, Logan. You /don’t work enough/, alright? Why don’t you just live in the moment with me for a bit?” The snake man asked, head tilting to the side as he cocked his eyebrow into a raise.

Logan opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again, letting out a sigh, realizing Janus would not let up if he refused. “...Fine.”

They walked on, Logan’s eyes flickering around curiously as Janus took his time to admire nature. Logan would occasionally glance over with pleading eyes for the notebook, but Jan just shook his head at him, giving a small smile when Logan sighed.

Eventually, they found some animals. Some bugs, some squirrels, even some birds. Logan found himself kneeled down, holding a White-spotted sawyer. Janus on the other hand, took out some bird seed and got a bird onto his hand. They were both silent, growing content with their current actions and habitat.

• • •

Meanwhile, Roman and Patton were off discovering the children’s playgrounds of the campsite. Roman found himself going between sliding down a slide and spinning on a... Spinny thing, while Patton was going between swinging on the swings and sliding down a pole. The pair ignored any weird looks they got from kids, along with other adults that happened to be around. They were just having fun, and they knew that.

Roman let out a loud laugh as he slid down the slide for the umpteenth time, looking to Patton with a grin. “We should go to parks more oFten, Padré! It’s so much fUN!”

Patton responded with a big smile as he swung as high as he could on the swing, a loud laugh escaping him. “I know!! Good golly miss molly, we really do.” He grinned, slowing down the swing a bit before hopping off with a laugh. “I wonder if there are any more parks down here??”

Roman let out a gasp, now on a spinning pole. “Patton, you’re a genius!” He hopped off of his pole, stumbling over to Patton due to being dizzy from the spinning. The moral side tilted his head, smiling at the prince. “We should look around more! I’m not sure how long we’ve been at the park, actually.” He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck, then clapped his hands together. “Well, that’s okay! We can change that!” He smiled at the eager nod in agreement he received from Roman.

And then they were off. On an adventure to find another park. Wandering through the campground, skipping and admiring animals and flowers, singing random songs, all in all, just bois bein bois.

Soon, they stumbled upon another park, eyes widening at just how much bigger this one was. The last one had a small playground and some swings, but this one had two climbing areas with slides, one of those circular shaped things where you could hop on and spin it, and last but not least, a swingset for both babies/toddlers and anyone older than that. It made the last playground pale in comparison.

Patton and Roman were of course quick to get to work testing all the playground equipment, the two coming up with a number system to rate the ‘fun-ness’ level of each one. Because why the heck not?

Patton even discovered a cool looking bug, and Roman snapped a picture of it on his phone so they could ask Logan about it later. Patton found the bug kinda creepy, but Roman held it no problem, only letting out a high pitched scream when it flew away. Because let’s be honest, bugs can look kinda scary when they fly away, unless it’s a butterfly.

All in all, they were enjoying themselves, happily playing and discovering and laughing like a group of kids.

• • •

Then you got Virgil and Remus.

The pair had decided to go searching around for anything to do really, Virgil trying to keep Remus’ head out of subjects such as what he could possibly throw in the fire, or how easy it was to set everything aflame. He claimed it was for scientific reasons, but Virgil knew this wasn’t Logan he was with.

So he simply gave Remus a small jar with some dirt, telling him he could get some worms because a few of the sides had mentioned wanting to go fishing at some point. More specifically, Janus. Logan said he might join in, and Roman had said he wanted to watch to see what they would catch. (Janus did not look amused, knowing Roman would probably scare all the fish away.)

Virgil kept a close eye on Remus, wandering around himself. He couldn’t figure out for the life of him what to do, so he just went and bought some firewood. By the time he emerged from the store, Remus was there, jumping up and down and yelling about how he caught a twisty pink earth noodle.

After a bit of chatter, Virgil and Remus wandered back to the campsite, where Virgil tried to get a fire going. However, his fear got the best of him and he chickened out. (But luckily, Janus came back to get something and gladly lit the fire for him, before leaving.)

So now they were simply sat around the fire, roasting hot dogs for dinner. Well... Virgil was. Remus was just throwing them in the fire. After about three hot dogs being thrown in (Virgil telling him “stop it.” every single time-) Virgil looked up with a sigh. “Remus!” He hissed. “Quit throwin’ hot dogs in the fire! They weren’t very cheap and we’re gonna run out!”

Remus just let out a laugh, smirking at Virgil with a raised eyebrow. “Well, I guess if we run out, I’ll just have to use yours then~” He laughed at Virgil’s reaction, aka an obnoxious groan and facepalm. “Oh my g o d, shut up...” Remus just grinned at him. “M a k e m e.”

Virgil stared at him for a few seconds, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He shook his head and looked down at his own cooking hot dog, twisting it in circles slowly. “You’re paying for the next batch if we run out.”

Slowly, the rest of the sides began to make their way back to camp, just in time for the sunset. Remus did in fact have to go buy more hot dogs, and soon the sun was setting, and they were all roasting and or eating hot dogs around the fire, laughing and talking.

Eventually the conversation got to sleeping arrangements. They brought three tents, so that meant two people per tent. After some decision making, they chose the same groups they went off in today. Logan and Janus, Roman and Patton, and Remus and Virgil.

They roasted marshmallows around the fire, most of the sides roasting golden marshmallows, unlike Remus, who completely burnt his marshmallow and ate the s’more in one bite.

After dinner and s’mores, the sun had completely set, and they chose to go on a walk down to the dock that was by the lake. At first, Logan hadn’t wanted to go, but soon after, he was proven very wrong, and he knew damn well he was extremely glad that he was dragged on the walk.

The reason? Upon arriving at the dock, Logan took one look up and any negative thoughts, emotions, and words all just faded away.

Stars.

Hundreds of beautiful stars freckled across the night sky, the light of the moon reflecting in the ocean. He swore he could almost see galaxies among the bright lights, his eyes widening as a shooting star bolted across the sky.

It was truly beautiful.

Logan could sit out all night and admire every star individually, and he knew even then he wouldn’t be able to take in the full beauty of all the stars visible to him, even by morning.

Sitting down at the end of the dock, Logan let his eyes flicker among the stars. He tried to take in the beauty. Take in the light. Truly enjoy the stars. And he was. Well, until...

”Hey- guys?”

Everyone perked their heads up to look at Virgil, who had spoken. He had his eyebrows furrowed and he was looking around. “I... Don’t mean to be a party pooper, but... Could we go back-? It’s... Kinda spooky out here.”

Roman let out a loud groan, making a dramatic noise. “Come o n ! We ju st got here! Look at the stars!” He threw his arms out, flopping down next to Logan. “Look at the beauty our universe holds! Look at mE, for crying out loud!” He pointed at himself, making Logan facepalm.

Virgil sighed. “...Okay. I can just go back myself, then.” He mumbled, crossing his arms and turning to leave, only for Patton to stop him. “Ah, ah ah! You aren’t leaving on your own, us 6 have to stick together! So we’re all going back right now!” He said, making Roman huff. “But- but Patton! We’re adults!! We can stay out here alone!”

“Yes, and I’m well aware of that. But I don’t want you guys to stay out here alone! Something could happen!” He said, making the other groan. “Come on, we’re going.” He began to walk back with Virgil.

Logan had a visible frown on his face as he got up, making Roman tilt his head and go over to him, letting Jan and Remus walk ahead of them. “You good, nerd?”

Logan sighed. “Satisfactory, yes.” He said as they began to slowly walk. Roman frowned. “You’re a bad liar. You can talk to me, y’know?” He said quietly, starting to look around.

Logan was silent, and Roman didn’t push it. He didn’t want to make Logan mad at him, so he simply left it. Until Logan did speak. “...I am simply... Unhappy about leaving the dock. The stars were quite remarkable to look at, and... I’m unsure if they’ll resemble this exact, beautiful state again.” He said quietly, frowning and letting his head bow, quietly watching his feet move forward and drag back with every step he took.

Roman frowned a little, letting out a sigh. “...I see. I’m sorry, Logan.” He said quietly, pushing his hands into his pockets. “That’s quite an understandable reason to be upset, if it makes you feel any better.” He pointed out, making Logan sigh and nod. “Thank you, Roman.” He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “...Well, we are almost back at camp. I suggest we put out the fire and make use of our tents for the night.” He said, receiving a nod in response from Roman.

After arriving back to camp and talking a little more, they did just that. They put out the campfire, confirmed sleeping arrangements a final time, got ready for bed, then ducked into their tents. Everyone fell asleep quite quickly, except for Remus, who kept getting mumbles from an annoyed Virgil saying, “Go to hell to sleep.”

Oh, and Logan. He was laid out in his tent, his glasses next to his sleeping bag as he lay curled up, shivering from the cold and sighing. He could hear Janus’ soft breathing from the sleeping bag next to his, and part of him wanted to wake him up so the nerd wouldn’t be confined to his lonesome, but he wasn’t going to take sleep from Janus for his own comfort.

He eventually did lure off to sleep, soft snores escaping him as he lay curled up in the beanbag, his mind slipping into a dreamless, yet relaxing state.

It was a long night, yet peaceful.

• • •

”Logan- Logan! C’mon, wake up-!”

”Mmh...?”

Logan stirred in his sleeping bag, eyes slowly opening as his head turned to face wherever the whisper-shouting voice was coming from. His eyes fluttered open, and he let out a small gasp as Roman was suddenly there. The prince pressed his fingers to his lips and shushed Logan, whispering to him. “Shh... C’mon.�� He carefully left the tent, and Logan was just confused at this point.

He glanced around tiredly, grabbing his glasses and putting them on after rubbing his eyes, turning to look at Janus’ sleeping bag. He was still there. Still fast asleep, unphased by Roman’s sudden appearance.

Logan opened his mouth and then closed it, letting out a sigh. He carefully crawled out of the tent, frowning confusedly when he noticed it was still dark. ...What was Roman planning?

Getting up, he quietly zipped up the tent, then made his way over to Roman. “...What are you doing?” He whispered, a confused frown on his face.

Roman just grinned at him, taking his hand. “You’ll see.” He whispered, taking him out of the camp area containing the tents- where everyone was still sleeping, Logan assumed- turned left, and began to walk.

Logan asked questions all the way to their destination, until they eventually began to near it, and it clicked in Logan’s mind.

They were going to the dock.

”Roman, why...” Logan’s face was full of confusion as he turned his head to look at the prince-like side, who just smiled at Logan. “You said you wanted to see the stars for longer, did you not?” His voice came out in a soft, gentle tone as he guided Logan onto the dock, stopping near the endHe smiled at the nerd, carefully going down and laying on the dock, ignoring the wetness of the wood below him. He gazed at the sky for a few moments, then looked to Logan again. “...Well, are you going to watch the stars with me, or not?” He said, to which Logan shook his head as if he was snapping out of something, then carefully nodded, slowly laying down next to Roman.

They were quiet as they silently laid there, gaze flickering among the pretty stars that rested above their heads, just enjoying the stars and each other’s company.

”Mmm... Logan?”

”Yes, Roman?”

”...Do you know a lot about astrology?”

”...I’d say so, yes.”

”Can... Can you teach me a bit?”

”Why... Certainly, Roman.”

And so Logan began to talk quietly, falling into a ramble. About constellations, about the solar system, things like that. Roman stopped watching the stars, turning to gaze at Logan with fond eyes. He could listen to him talk for hours. Although Logan’s voice may have seemed monotone and lacking most emotion, Roman liked it. Adored it, even. He wasn’t sure why, but Logan’s voice was just beautiful to him. God, Logan was just...

Roman wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but it happened before he could stop it. Next thing he knew, he was moving closer and closer, until eventually...

His head moved up, and his lips were on Logan’s.

Logan was shocked by it at first, his eyes wide. Roman realized what he was doing and pulled away, letting out a gasp. “Oh- jesus, um- I’m sorry, I didn’t m-mean to do that-“ He started to get up. “I-I can just-“

Logan pulled him back down before he could go, pressing their lips together once again. Roman let out a gasp, freezing for a moment before slowly melting into the feeling, closing his eyes and returning the kiss. “...Hm.”

They stayed like that for god knows how long, just smoochin’ under the stars. They both felt calm, and quite good.

Eventually, they pulled away for air, both panting as they stared at each other. Roman was the one to break the silence. “...W-Wow.” Logan blinked, nodding in agreement. “...Y-Yeah. Wow.”

Roman gazed at him for a few more minutes, eyes slightly wide. He eventually took a small breath and let out a little laugh, Logan responding with a flustered smile. The creative side carefully laid down next to Logan, and they stayed quiet. They could talk about the kiss later, but for now they just wanted to enjoy the stars, and enjoy each other.

Eventually, they fell asleep under the night sky with a small smile occasionally coming up on both of their faces, fingers intertwined which eventually led to the two scooting closer to one another.

You can imagine the fun that pursued when Patton woke up and was unable to find Logan or Roman anywhere.

~

apologies if this seems rushed ^^;

[ginnyzero]

The Writing Community On Twitter

The Writing Community on Twitter

So, there is a large writing community on twitter just like there is on facebook and tumblr and growing on Instagram and the whole business that is authortube. And while I guess this could apply to any social media spaces, let’s focus on the writing community and twitter because twitter is where professional writing/publishing community hangs out. Sure, some professional authors have things like tumblr, Instagram, or youtube, or even facebook, but most, if not all, also have a twitter presence, along with publishers and agents.

Because of this, a lot of indie authors and querying authors also hang out on twitter and all together they form THE WRITING COMMUNITY.

Be aware they are not a Reading Community. In fact, the reading community is just the writing community blasting ads into that hashtag. Most of your book promotion, especially if you’re an indie author is going to be promoting at other indie authors. This is and isn’t useful.

The first big question you need to ask yourself before joining the twitter writing community is what you’re looking to get out of it. 

Do you want to sell books? Prepare to make it an entire job of talking to people all the time. Do you want to connect with your favorite traditionally published authors? Make a list of those authors and check it periodically. You will see publishing drama in every genre.

Do you want to find agents/query, do pitch contests, and find writing conventions? Then twitter is the place you need to be. Find the agents in your category and follow them. Find the pitching contest main coordinators, follow them. Find WriteHive and follow them. Agents will give advice about how to query and what they’re looking for. This is valuable information.

Do you want writing advice?

Well, 280 character tweets don’t really make for nuance. And while the pro authors may give out advice from time to time, there are a lot of authors out there asking random questions, giving random advice which may or may not work for you. In other words, if you need writing advice, stick thee to tumblr. Or even go to Youtube.

Because, twitter fights break out all the time over the simplest of advice from the ‘bigger’ accounts. You, as a writer, need to discover the process/methods that work for you. On tumblr, you can find these different methods by say, following hey writers and other similar blogs, the literary architect is another good one, who will have long articles about different types of outlining, and how to do dialogue, and what is pacing. You can look through the options without people’s egos getting into the way of “I do it this way and everyone should do it this way!”

Are you looking for an editor?

Oh geez, um. –gestures at WriteHive, go to WriteHive- Yes, there are lots of editors on twitter. Some of them have said outrageous things. Many of them may not have credentials. They’ll jump into your DMs with ads for their services. And if you’re looking to query, you may not need an editor anyways!

If you go to twitter because you want to support fellow indie authors and you want to buy their books, then you don’t even need an account! Look for tags that are to the effect of Shameless Self Promo Saturday, or Book Boost or Book Promo, or yes, Reading Community. Free Book. Kindle Unlimited. All of these are good tags if you’re looking for indie books. You’ll definitely see a lot of the same authors promoting their books in these tags over and over. You will also find a large group of Wattpad authors too.

I ended up making a wishlist on Amazon with indie author books. Once you start purchasing/getting free ones, Amazon will start recommending them to you. I have 300+ books on my Kindle that I have mostly gotten for FREE. I’d say 1/10 happen to be any good. (Yay, they’re free?)

The second thing you really need to examine about yourself when it comes to joining a writing community pretty much no matter where is ‘how secure am I in my writing abilities?’

Twitter is a lot of writers shouting into the void about their writing in and out of tag games, and pretty much every opinion they may have about writing, readers, politics, religion, and their kids and dogs. Plus how much they’ve wrote. How much they’ve edited. If they’ve received a review and if they liked/didn’t like said review even if it is bad form to say so. And you will be bombarded with this day after day and even the strongest of writers can begin to doubt themselves.

If you’re prone to depression, imposter syndrome, or have huge doubts about your writing, I’d, um, stay out of the twitter writing community.

Thirdly, twitter is a dangerous numbers game. A lot of people in the writing community on twitter do what is called ‘follow for follow.’ They follow you. You follow back. Maybe they unfollow you if they just wanted the number. Maybe they don’t tweet anything but ads. Maybe they’re bullies/homophobes/transphobes/racist/misogynistic, or even bots! So, you end up with a lot of followers and next to no interaction because these people aren’t there to really interact, they’re there to shout into the void.

And interaction fuels the algorithms, so if you don’t have interaction your tweets won’t show up in the main feeds, so unless your friends use lists to keep track of you, they might not see what you say.

Yes, even the most positive of twitter accounts can be shouting in the void for likes and retweets. It can be very disheartening very quickly especially if you start doing something and a few days/weeks later you see a bigger account start saying the same things you’re saying instead of… oh retweeting your tweets.

Is it provable? Probably not.

Any social media is a huge amount of emotional labor. It’s up to you to decide where you put your emotional labor when you also need to have it for working, family, friends, and writing! A lot of the people I know in the writing community on twitter have to take breaks from it. Twitter is not real life. The echo chamber is very real.

There is a lot of chatter in the writing community about supporting each other and doing things for each other so people can find success. I honestly don’t know if anything will ever come of it because most of the conversation swirls through unorganized indie authors. Writing conventions like Write Hive (completely online) and 20 Books Las Vegas might be more worthwhile on authors helping authors than twitter.

I’m not really ready/prepared to talk about my personal experience with the writing community on twitter with examples publicly. And I definitely don’t want to bring up names. But if you’re here on tumblr and thinking about getting into twitter, examine what you’re looking for and need before putting in your time and emotions.

[let-it-show]

All The Love I Found In You 3/?

Here we go, part 3! It got a bit long, heh. Part 2 can be found here. Aaah Anna is feeling a little rough, there’s awkwardness, but Elsa does her best to help. They’ve got a guest they didn’t plan to see, and heavy emotions to work through. Are they any closer to figuring out this switch though? You can find part 4 HERE! And another tag to @hellodemoiselle !

Standing around to meet with Arendellians was always a bit of a drag for Elsa. It was rarely anything interesting. She was happy to help and loved when she could effectively settle any issues for anyone before her, but it was  lot of repetitive small things. And sometimes there wasn't anything. She should have felt relieved about that but people still wanted to talk to her instead of letting her go get some space.

It was even harder as Anna, who loved when there were no problems and would excitedly chat with just about anyone. Elsa didn't know how to force conversation like that. She was starting to feel a little suffocated.

After the third person gave her their life history in a buildup to how to get their neighbor's trees off their land, she was feeling worn out. She had to talk so much instead of gliding around always looking elegantly busy like she did when she visited. Everyone expected her to engage.

Ann had floated around like that for a little bit, just watching, but eventually she found Elsa's side again. She linked their arms and started to drag her off. "We're just gonna go off to the side for a bit," Anna told her. "They'll assume we're discussing something important."

Anna dragged her next to a curtain that half covered one of the larger windows in the hall. The light coming in warmed her neck. "Thank you, Anna," Elsa said in relief. She leaned her head on Anna's shoulder - her shoulder, it wasn't as bony as she feared. "I haven't done this in months..."

Kristoff chose that moment to find them. He stopped in front of them both. "There you two are! You were gone walking for quite a while," he said, and he looked a bit tired. Maybe not just tired, Elsa realized, but sad.

Knowing what she knew, it was hard to see anything other than sadness on his face. She also felt responsible and she avoided his gaze. She'd really made things difficult for Anna, not just then, but years in the making. It was a terrible feeling.

"Oh, I learned how to use the magic better," Anna told him. "You should let me make you something! And soon, too, it's growing again and I gotta use it."

"Ah," he let out a weak laugh and Elsa nearly winced at the sound of it. "No thanks Anna, that's okay. I think I may put some stuff together and go see the trolls. If I get an answer for you two I'll be back tonight, if not I'll probably stay up there."

"Stay up there?" Anna  asked, voice hushed.

"For tonight! I'll come back in the morning. Wouldn't want to miss the party, you know?" he asked her and there was the affection Elsa had gotten used to hearing from him. Kristoff wasn't a spiteful person at heart, even though she knew he was hurting.

"O-oh! Okay. I thought you meant..ah..."

"No, no. Um, well I'll be off now." Elsa looked up to see him puffing out his chest and looking determined. "I'll see you both later! ...Maybe not. I mean generally later but not later tonight maybe." He still tried to look at ease and like he said exactly what he meant to.

Elsa stifled a laugh. "Okay Kristoff. Travel safely, please," she said and she very much meant it. Whatever happened, he was family to them.

"Thanks. You too," he said and then just closed his eyes at his own words. "Alright, bye," he said, waving and turning.

"Bye Kristoff," Anna called out and then sighed, her body drooping. "That was awkward," she whispered. She looked down. "I wonder when it will stop being awkward."

Elsa had no answer for her. She took her hand and squeezed it. "It'll be okay. Kristoff? ...I'm sure he'll still be your friend. He's a pretty great person." He was forgiving and patient. That was exactly the kind of friend who was good for Anna.

He would have also been perfect for her to marry, she supposed, but that idea made her want to squirm.

Elsa had to separate once again to talk and say good evening to the people still milling around the castle and out in the courtyard. She had fought against wandering from the hall to the courtyard because it was getting cooler the later the day got, and the edges of her ears felt like they were being constantly nipped at.

How did Anna get along so easily with the cold? Elsa was aware it got colder than that in Arendelle. She was aware she was being kind of a wuss and that she shouldn't be bothered. Well, she was calm enough not to complain about the chill, but she could still be annoyed by it.

When she had the chance to be inside again, Elsa took one look at her body standing stiffly and looking flustered. She took Anna's hand and hauled her down and out of the castle to that little place by the water again. It really was a favorite spot for her even if being by it made her shiver.

Anna put her hand out and let ice shoot in an arch over the water before delicately dropping down and spreading across the surface briefly. She made a sunflower design in it which sparkled before going away. She sighed, held out her other hand, and repeated it.

Once more Elsa found herself lost in the beauty of Anna's work. She watched each little movement, anticipating the ice dropping and spreading when Anna did it the third time. That time the design lingered and Elsa's gaze stayed on it.

"Elsa?"

The small voice made her startle, not expecting Anna to say anything. "Huh? Yes?"

Anna sighed and traced random shapes in the air with ice. "I feel guilty. Really guilty."

"About Kristoff?" Elsa guessed easily.

Anna nodded and paced a little, slowly. "Do you really think I'm doing the right thing?"

"Anna..." She really wanted to talk about it with her, but at the end of the day. When they were done having to see anyone. If Anna needed to break down and sob then they could be alone to deal with it. "I think we should address this later, after dinner at least. But...yes, I think you're doing the right thing." She approached her and took her arm. "If you aren't sure you want to marry someone, then you shouldn't. If you don't feel like you can handle that big a change in your life right now, then don't make yourself. ...Don't make a lifelong commitment because you feel bad," she said finally.

Anna had shown she was listening, unlike Elsa she kept eye contact when talking about a heavy subject involving herself. At Elsa's last words though, she reacted with a little gasp, then chose to look to the castle and back at Elsa. "You're right..."

"You see? Sometimes you just need to put it in a simple way..." Elsa chuckled. She was just lucky she was good with words and Anna.

"Yes..." Anna smiled again. "Thank you. I love you Elsa," she told her, meeting her eyes.

"I love you too," Elsa said without thinking. It was automatic, and she was falling into Anna again. She actually felt like she was falling. Elsa wanted to tip forward and be caught in Anna's arms, in her actual arms and in her correct body. She wanted to stay in them, never move again as the world spun around her.

The gaze was broken as they heard chatter above them from inside the castle and Elsa remembered that they could be seen. Where they stood was not private after all and Elsa was sure she heard Mattias's voice from somewhere inside. He liked to walk it, sometimes, and Anna told him he was always welome.

"Well." Elsa took her hand and tugged. "If you're good for now, let's go back inside. If we want a nice big dinner, we ought to start helping in the kitchen."

Anna smiled. She did enjoy helping in the kitchen, and it had been a hobby for her when Elsa was queen. She hadn't done it in a long time, and since the most important parts of her day were over, Elsa figured they were free to enjoy themselves. Anna didn't need to hold any sort of council that night.

They enjoyed baking in the kitchen, tasting the seasoning, and seeing what the staff cooks were doing. It was hard to watch themselves and not interfer, as Anna had quickly learned some time ago that the staff liked to focus on their art: providing a magnificent meal. Who were they to disturb it?

They were the royal sisters and had every right to demand the food be done to their liking only, but they also weren't stupid. Left to their own devices, their cooks were nothing short of stunning and Elsa and Anna didn't disturb their balance.

Near the end of the food prep they had both stopped tasting and poking and watching over shoulders and stayed against the wall. It was nice to take in all the activity.

Royal servers seated them along with Olaf, who decided to join even if he didn't eat. He didn't join every night, sometimes going to see a friend in the village or getting stuck reading.

They also seated them with a guest, which was...not expected. When Kai walked the man in, he rushed up to the table with a guilty look on his face. "Queen Anna!" he exclaimed and Elsa nearly forgot to show she heard him.

She had just sat down. "Kai? Is that-?" The man was at least familiar. He was a tall, almost ridiculously muscular man with golden skin and a handsome face. His hair was long and curly, held back by a black band and brushing his neck. He was dressed in a fine dark green suit decorated with various symbols and little medals. Over his heart was his kingdom's crest: a silver shield featuring a green cloud housing green musical pipes. It was one of the oddest Elsa had ever seen.

"Menander! He is the appointed ambassador from Graeci that visited with Kristoff today. He insisted on meeting with you tonight and having dinner and since you didn't see him earlier-" Kai seemed very nervous. Elsa didn't really know why. Menander was a nice enough person even if any time he visited Arendelle he pushed to have a party. She hadn't seen him since she ruled as Queen.

"Of course. Hello Menander, is everything alright?" she asked, and then hurried to add, "I'm so sorry we missed you this morning!"

"Ah!" He clasped his hands together, bowed, and regarded them. "Oh yes, I believe so, but I did wish to see you! The energy coming from the castle has been so strange, so fantastic mostly but riddled with confusion. I did tell you I'm a bit of a psychic! I simply must learn what is going on!"

"You..." Elsa didn't know what to say.

"Oh yes! Anna did mention that to me too," Anna said quickly and while Menander's gaze was off her, she made a face.

"I remember too!" piped up Olaf.

"Yes. Yes! Ah, so that's why you've insisted on joining us?" Elsa asked, completely blown away by the direction the conversation was taking.

"Why yes! And if I see something bad hidden by all this, I will surely warn you," he said, and happily bowed again. "I do humbly request that you not see me joining you suddenly for dinner as an insult, your highness!"

Usually, it would have been. Elsa didn't tolerate any of her dinners with Anna being interrupted. That was time for them. However, she had also completely avoided meeting with the man that day and was fortunate he didn't count it as a slap in the face. "No, no it's fine. I was unable to see you earlier, after all!"

"You did send your absolutely delightful Kristoff! We always love seeing him, if he isn't helping us move things, he will often read lines with us when we practice our dramas in the courtyard." Menander reminded her of a walking smiley face with his big grin. "Wonderful. What is dinner?"

"We're having delicious skrei with olives and-" Anna tried to answer and was cut off.

"Wonderful!" He seemed to like that word.

"I can't eat it," Olaf chimed in. "But it sure does look good!"

"Aha little snowman! I almost forgot about when I tried to serve you apple pie and it dropped right through you." Menander happily pat Olaf's head and looked between the sisters eagerly. "That feeling is in the air again, stronger! And I believe I see a flaming heart of love about us," he said, and grinned at Anna.

"Oh um..." Elsa tried not to freeze up as she watched a little cloud start forming above Anna's head. "Sure, there definitely is."

"Where IS Kristoff?" Menander asked and Elsa caught on a second later. He had been referencing Anna and Kristoff, of course.

She pretended to act like nothing was going on. "Oh! He's well. He's gone to visit the trolls, but he will be back for the party. He wouldn't miss that."

"Excellent. I would hate to have him miss out. Hmm, but there's something else here, what is this sense in the air? Something is strong but there is unease..." He looked to Elsa. "Is there unrest in the kingdom?"

"No," Elsa answered, surprised. "Everything is well. What unrest do you think you feel?"

"Perhaps it's one of you!" He turned his attention to Anna, and opened his mouth to speak when food started to come out, starting with a salad. Anna and Elsa immediately dove in and so did Menander. His mouth was occupied and Elsa was relieved. She knew Anna was too which was great  - the little cloud faded.

Menander was nice, but he could tell something was up and didn't get that he should shut up about it. It was going to make things tougher for Anna, and the last thing they needed was her accidentally icing anyone.

Still, he continued when he could. "Something just seems off. Have you been happy, dear Queen? I have heard no news about the wedding we expected to learn more about. Has he foolishly changed his mind?"

Anna bristled a bit and hid her hands under the table. The air was...frosty. "No," answered Elsa, not about to get into that issue right then. "Honestly, Menander, we just want to enjoy dinner without this." She didn't know what he was doing anymore - sniffing out information? Playing at being a head doctor? It was likely both. Her hands became hidden as well as she tugged at her fingers.

"Well. I can stop," he said kindly as the main course was delivered. "But when all is unsettled, things get mixed about. I hope whatever is going on, you two figure it out," he told them. His eyes lit up at the delicious fish placed before him. "Perhaps focus on this warm fuzzy feeling my senses pick up. Until then, let's dine!"

"Yes! Let's!" Olaf chimed in, and then proceeded to start flipping through a book he brought in with him. .

When Menander turned to his fish, Elsa and Anna exchanged glances. His words hit a bit too close, but there was no way he could know what was happening. Still Elsa was aware she and Anna needed to talk more about her decision, and where her head was.

Making their way through dinner was a little painful. They weren't in the mood to entertain a guest, which was bad form for a queen but Elsa didn't care much at the moment. She tried to focus on eating and some chitchat with Menander, about the party, about decorations which she did not care about. Olaf, though, that amazing little snowman got excited about the party and started talking Menander's ear off about helping him put it together.

Elsa had to remember to do something extra special for him later.

Finally their dinner was ending with a lovely cake for dessert. "Fine, fine, how fine it all was!" Menander said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied expression.

Anna had begun to look a little brighter; she always did adore her desserts. She had scarfed it a little more than Elsa would have liked, but she also ate a bit too delicately herself. There wasn't any food on her face. By the time she realized that she couldn't really smack any sauce on her cheek without it being blatant.

If Menander noticed anything, he didn't voice it, which Elsa was thankful for. "Yes, our kitchen staff is amazing, and they know just how we like things cooked," she said."

"How wonderful they haven't forgotten since you left for the forest!" Menander said with a smile.

"Elsa visits all the time," Olaf informed him with a big smile. "If they forgot, that would be ridiculous! Sometimes she goes in the kitchen when she's here and tastes things."

"Oh, yea, I like to just wander around and eat whatever I see when I visit," Anna said casually. She failed at hiding a small smile and Elsa had to bite her lip.

Well. She could shoot back. "Sometimes that's good, because I've been known to eat a whole sandwich right before dinner and if Elsa accidentally pigs out I don't really worry about there being less food." She calmly sipped her elegant little glass of water. Anna was glaring a little.

"One time when there was some tasty soup going, I just walked in there and froze it solid-"

"Anyway, I think it is time for us to retire for the night," Elsa said, cutting off whatever embarrassing story her sister was about to tell. She had many more she could fire back with and they should at least try to be civil in front of a guest.

Menander looked a little disappointed. "Oh? I did hope we could have drinks and perhaps sit by the fire!"

"It's been a long day," Anna said, looking at her plate. "I had a rude awakening this morning and well, I'm exhausted."

"And I must look after my sister and be sure that she's alright. We both need energy for your party tomorrow," Elsa explained.

That seemed to brighten up Menander. "Ah, yes! Glorious!"

"I'll come play cards with you," Olaf offered Menander. "Or we can play something else! I'm not tired," he said. Elsa felt a little bad, as Olaf usually hung around with Kristoff and Sven at the castle. He had to feel a bit lonely even if he did also spend more time in the library.

"Splendid!" Menander carefully arranged his dishes and smiled at Olaf. "I'm in!" He slowly rose from his chair, then turned to bow to the girls. "Thank you for having me to dinner this evening!"

"Well you sort of showed up," Olaf pointed out.

"And, we're glad for it," Elsa rushed out as she and Anna stood. "Thank you for your company, Menander. We are honoured to have you."

"Yes!" Anna added. "Very much so, and we will be happy to see you tomorrow."

Menander bowed again and bid them goodnight. Olaf ran to hug Anna and Elsa, and they both told him goodnight. As soon as the other two had left, the sisters picked up their dishes. Neither one was a fan of leaving an awful mess for the servers, even though sometimes they had to be batted away for the staff to do their job. Anna and Elsa were ever offended. They had the staff for a reason after all.

Both of them had also been known to be so helpful they made the job harder.

It felt like too long before they were able to get to their bath. And a magnificent bath it was - it was far bigger than the normal one person tub the girls used usually and was almost like a small swimming pool. The water was heated through the floor with a hypocast built far before the sisters were born. It worked wonderfully though, the room heated and the steam not thick enough to suffocate them.

The stone floor beneath them was almost shiny. Anna had kept it in good shape, but evidently never used the bath herself. For her first usage of it she had made sure flower petals were spread in it. There was lavender with red and yellow rose inviting them in for a stress-free soak. The staff who prepared it hastily left as Elsa told them they were not to be disturbed and finally they could get comfortable.

Elsa had a somewhat easier time stripping for the bath, knowing Anna seeing her own body wasn't too weird for her. At least she didn't think so.

When she was completely naked, she heard Anna make a sound and turned to see herself topless and staring. Elsa blinked. "Uh-"

"I've never seen my own butt! I mean I've - over my shoulder in the mirror. Not the same though." Anna started walking closer and Elsa felt weird. She covered herself with her arms. That made Anna roll her eyes. "Your nipples can't be cold!"

"They're not! It's just..it's weird to see me." She tried to keep her gaze on her own face. For some reason it felt awkward to look at her own nude body at the moment.

"Elsa these are your breasts," Anna said, stopping about a foot from her. "You don't have to be shy, you've seen them a lot. Probably."

"Oh, not helping." Elsa wasn't a prude, and she wasn't ashamed of her own body at all. It was just beyond bizarre to be seeing in front of her, and if she looked down then she saw her sisters naked form. She did not need to see that; she felt guilty enough any time she'd needed to use the bathroom that day.

She definitely didn't want to think about that.

"Yours are heavier than mine," Anna said and Elsa finally looked to see Anna shoving her hands under her breasts and jiggling them.

"Anna!"

"What? If we have to be switched up then we might as well compare." Anna reached for one of Elsa's folded arms and tugged gently. "Come on, touch mine and then yours."

Elsa's cheeks burned but perhaps she was thinking about it too much. Anna was both her sister and her best friend. She was the only person Elsa felt truly comfortable around and if everything in that day showed her anything, it was how close she always wanted to be with her. "Right, right." She agreed, reached out one hand, and touched her own breast. "This is weird." With great hesitation she shoved one hand up underneath one of Anna's. It wasn't as strange as she thought it'd be. It certainly wasn't normal, but it was sort of interesting. "Yours are lighter than air," she said, kind of surprised. "I mean, comparatively anyway." Anna's were kind of perfect. But she'd rather touch them when in the proper body and- that's where it got weirder. She dropped both her hands. "Let's get in the bath," she said and quickly walked by Anna.

"Wait! Do you want to see your butt?"

Elsa wondered if her face was somewhere beyond red. She didn't answer Anna, going down the little steps into the bath. She shouldn't have such thoughts and it bothered her. To want to be near her sister, to want to protect her, hug her, and shower her with affection was normal right? Wanting to touch every inch of her perfect being and feel her precious skin under her fingers and lips was different. She wanted to appreciate her beautiful Anna.

She didn't even know if it was a sexual thing. Elsa had never been interested in the idea before. At the same time she never had anyone to talk to about it. There wasn't really anyone in her life to work those questions out with. Sadly it was yet another thing that had sort of gone by for her, and it was depressing along with confusing. She sank down into the water, watching the rose petals go by. If only it was the sort of thing she could ask Ahtohallan to clear up for her.

Anna had slipped into the bath, bringing a floating basket of soaps and hair wash for them. "Elsa?" she asked, her top half not underwater yet. "I'm sorry if I took it too far, it's just interesting, that's all. If we- in our normal bodies I wouldn't have been touching your chest like that. Not that I disliked it, I-ah..." And then Anna was red.

That brought some comfort to Elsa. "I didn't dislike it either, Anna. The thing is -I'm...Anna?"

"Yes?"

It was best to be honest. "Anna, you are the most beautiful person I've ever seen."

"Elsa!" Anna laughed nervously. "You're just being nice because you're in my body and you're a lot hotter than me."

"What!?" How could she think that? Elsa knew she herself was pretty, she wasn't up to acting like a fool for the sake of making anyone feel better, even Anna. At the same time, she felt she didn't compare to the redhead. "Anna, no, that's not true. I love-I love everything about this body," she said, rising up a little more and looking down. "But I really love it with you in it."

Anna bit her lip. "That's how I feel about yours. Elsa, you're stunning. I don't mind being trapped in you but...I wish it was back to normal too, so I could open my eyes and see you in front of me instead of myself. I want to hug you and be actually hugging your body. That's when I'm happiest."

"You mean in regards to being in our bodies?" Elsa asked, turning her head. She carefully fingered one of the yellow rose petals in the water, just for something to do with her hands. She had no gloves to tug or ice to shoot.

Anna dipped her hands in the water and the connection hissed. They must have been cold. She looked down."I mean...always. Elsa my favorite thing is being with you and close to you. I can't-I can't explain how much I've missed you." Her fingers moved under the water and there was a bit of a glow.

No chill had reached Elsa yet, though she wasn't sure if it would. She wasn't even focusing on the water temperature. "Anna, I've really missed you too..."

"And yet, you stay up there."

It was like a sword to the heart. Elsa felt guilt and sadness at once and she stared at the water too. She felt she ought to say something, but she didn't know what. Saying she was sorry didn't seem to suffice, and she didn't have any good excuse not to be at the castle more. If she was being honest with herself, even she wasn't sure what she gained by living between the glacier and the forest.

"I'm not mad at you," Anna said, and the water swished gently with her movement. "I know it might seem like it. Maybe I should be. But I don't want to spend any of our time together being mad, I just want to hold onto it as long as I can. I waited so long for you to open up your door... I'm not going to be angry now that you're here." She stopped just in front of Elsa, as she could tell from the water.

Yet, Elsa could not look up. She felt too ashamed. She hurt and closed Anna out and treated her to three short years of her time, then was gone again. However badly she felt about not being with her, what Anna dealt with from her was terrible and Elsa didn't even think she deserved to be around her.

"Elsa? Please look up at me," Anna told her, and suddenly cold hands cupped her face. Elsa startled and Anna gasped. "Sorry. I'm nervous."

The cold hands certainly got her attention and Elsa met her gaze. She fell in immediately, letting the hands carress her face gently. It all felt so good, the coolness on her cheeks and the heat over the rest of her body. "You're too good to me, Anna."

"Be kind to yourself." Anna touched their foreheads together. "I know behind the door you weren't happy either. I know you were alone and scared. I still had more freedom than you, I could be myself." She stroked the sides of her head slowly. "You deserve to be forgiven and you deserve to be cherished. I cherish you, Elsa."

Elsa was speechless. She had said similar things to Anna, tried to build her up all the time. That moment, their situation, that was different. She felt her eyes welling up as her love and gratitude started to spill over. They'd been discussing their bodies and somehow it turned into something else. Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. "Anna..."

Anna placed gentle kisses just above her eyes, paused, and then pulled her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around Elsa tightly. "I love you so much Elsa. I don't ever want you to forget it. I feel true happiness when you're here."

Immediately, Elsa hugged her back. She wished she were feeling Anna's smooth back under her hands instead of her own, wished it was Anna's chest against hers, but it was Anna's soul entangled with her own and so she was able to be satisfied. "Anna...I love you more than I think I can ever tell you," she said, squeezing her. "You're part of me." That wasn't said with the fifth spirit in mind.

They stayed like that, for a while. Elsa watched the yellow and red rose petals float gently around them, some stopping against their bare skin. She barely felt them. The smell of lavender gently drifted to her and calm gradually settled in her heart along with her bursting fondness for Anna. If only she could just stay in her arms...

After a while Anna shifted and released her, though she stroked her hands down her arms. "Would you like me to wash your hair?" she asked softly.

"I'd love that," Elsa replied. It did sound nice. When they were in their correct bodies she'd love it even more, but feeling Anna work through the tangly hair and massage her head sounded like heaven in that moment.

"Good," Anna said and she let go of her to get back the basket that had tried to float off. She quickly brought it over and pulled Elsa forward as she positioned herself behind her. Anna knelt behind her and first draped herself over Elsa's back. Her lips were next to Elsa's ear, breath warm on it as if she were going to speak.

She didn't, however. Anna kissed the side of her head and began to work on her hair instead, little tugs leading Elsa to tip her head back. She took a deep breath and let her eyes close. All she could do for the time being was lose herself in Anna, and she was okay with that.