#the forgotten spaces ch 4

[oddinary4bts]

The Forgotten Spaces | ch 4 (jjk)

☆summary: you've been dancing on the same dance crew since your teenage years, and you finally have an important role in it. It feels like life is taunting you when your rival comes back after disappearing for a year, ready to tease you every chance he gets. Will the teasing turn into more, or are you going to take him down with you?

☆pairing: photographer and dancer!Jungkook x dancer!female reader

☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there will be mature content in later chapters)

☆genre: slow (SLOW) burn enemies to lovers, college!au, slice of life!au, angst (oop), smut and fluff

☆warnings: nausea, hangover, the park jimin effect, drinking, cursing? a time skip of a month

☆word count: 9.6k

☆a/n: why is posting making me anxious? fun fact, I'm posting from New York City this week! Went to the two first Agust D concerts ayyy

☆a/n pt2: always and forever thankful for @moonleeai and her dedicated work as my beta reader <3

☆series masterpost here

☆Read What Was Hidden here, the fic that inspired this whole story, written by @daechwitatamic, one of my fav human beings on this app <3 It follows the story of Jo and Taehyung before The Forgotten Spaces

☆☆☆☆☆

For this meeting of our end of the world

It's with you that I want to sing

On the threshold of the memories the dead of today

Them that breathe for us

The forgotten spaces

Je t'écris - Gaston Miron (rough translation by me)

☆☆☆☆☆

Saturday, May 19th

                Jungkook feels sick. Sick of everything, but mostly sick because his hungover has kept him in bed all day. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to pull up for dance practice later. All he knows is that his room has been spinning whenever he wakes up from naps, and that he fucked up majestically last night.

He doesn’t quite remember everything he said. He just remembers you, in his room, and then you being gone, replaced by Jimin and Taehyung.

The only thing he knows is that you know. The text that’s been sitting on his phone all day is reminder enough.

[11:12 am] You: hey, i hope ur okay this morning.. if u ever wanna talk about last night, we can grab a coffee or smth😌

He doesn’t know what to say, so he hasn’t replied. Because he’s not okay at all, and he doesn’t want to talk about it. Especially not with you.

Especially not when he hasn’t been able to eat anything since the first time he woke up today. It’s nearing 4 pm now, and he technically needs to be at the studio in two hours. Hobi already said he’d pick him up, but he’s still far from being presentable right now.

Jungkook groans, hiding his face in his pillow. You come up in his mind, the look of horror on your face last night making everything spin around him twice as much as before. Whenever he closes his eyes, you’re there, and he almost hopes to go blind.

Though he’s pretty sure you’d find a way to haunt him even if he was blind.

Another groan escapes him, and he turns his head to the side as someone knocks on his door. “Uh?” he lets out, loud enough for whoever it is to hear.

He’s surprised to see it’s Yoongi as the man opens the door. “I made you soup,” Yoongi says, and sure enough he is carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of soup on top of it.

Jungkook expects the thought of eating to make him feel worse, but surprisingly enough, no nausea rises inside of him. Instead, he realizes his stomach feels dreadfully empty, so he forces himself to sit, wincing at the throbbing pain at his temples.

It’s almost enough to make him forget the pain in his leg.

“Did you take any painkillers?” Yoongi asks as he puts down the tray at the foot of the bed. “And have you drank any water?”

“Yes and yes,” Jungkook replies, voice raucous from disuse. “Pretty sure I could use some more painkillers though.”

Yoongi nods, watching his younger friend carefully. “Do you need me to go get you some?”

Jungkook slowly shakes his head no. “I need to get out of bed if I want to make it to dance practice.”

At that Yoongi laughs. “Good luck with that.”

Jungkook frowns, glaring at Yoongi. “I’m very capable, I’ll have you know.”

“Your room smells like someone died in here.”

Though he’s usually sensitive to smell, Jungkook’s hungover state keeps him from being able to tell if the room really does stink. “Tae and Jimin cleaned up.”

“Then you must be the dead body,” Yoongi says, in that deadpan kind of way of his. He shrugs his shoulders, before adding, “Anyway, just eat and then take a shower. I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

Jungkook nods and watches as Yoongi makes to move out of his room. Yoongi’s at the door when Jungkook says, “Hyung?” Yoongi turns around, a quizzical look on his features. “Thank you for the soup.”

A smile breaks out across Yoongi’s face. “Anytime.”

And then Yoongi leaves, shutting the door softly behind him, and Jungkook is left alone once again. He looks down at the soup, and he realizes he really is hungry. He pulls the tray closer to him, making sure the soup doesn’t spill over the rim of the bowl, before grabbing the spoon.

The first spoonful of soup has his eyes fluttering shut with delight. Yoongi’s always been an amazing cook, and he hasn’t disappointed today. It awakens Jungkook more than anything else could have, and he’s finished the bowl of soup so quickly he almost considers eating the tray.

He’s still famished, but at least he’s got something in his stomach now. It’s enough to get him to stand from his bed, and though everything wobbles for a few seconds, he’s able to start gathering what he’ll need for his trip to the shower.

The shower really helps make him feel human again, and he’s relieved. As he steps out and looks at himself in the mirror, eyes dipping to his scars, he feels ready to confront the whole world if need be. He won’t have to bail on dance practice after all.

He’s down in the kitchen, eating some reheated pizza from last night, when Hobi arrives. His older friend pats him on the back, before putting down a Gatorade in front of him.

“Thought you’d need this,” he says, before climbing on the stool next to Jungkook.

Jungkook chuckles, immediately uncapping the Gatorade to take a long swig. It’s the last thing he needed to feel as good as new, and he offers Hobi a wide grin as soon as he puts the bottle down.

“I sure did,” he says, and the two friends laugh.

One thing that doesn’t change though, is the heaviness in Jungkook’s heart. Because if you know, then it’s just a matter of time before the rest of the crew knows. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to deal with everyone pitying him at the same time.

Maybe then he’ll just have to dip again.

Jin comes into the kitchen, and he stops as he sees Jungkook and Hobi at the counter. Valeria trails behind him, and Jungkook is struck dumb once more.

He never thought Jin would be able to pull the girl. He’s still surprised that she does exist, and whenever he’s alone with Jin he makes it a priority to remind his older friend.

“Sup’ losers,” Jin says as he starts moving again, heading towards the fridge to store the bottle of rosé wine he’s holding. “Surprised you were able to get out of bed.”

He says that over his shoulder looking right at Jungkook, who rolls his eyes. “I’m not a senior citizen like you, I’ve still got youth on my side.”

“Listen you little shit,” Jin bursts out, and Valeria starts laughing. It has the effect of a calming shower on Jin, who only glares at Jungkook. “You’re lucky the lady is here. Otherwise you’d be dead.”

“If you’d be able to catch me, that is.”

Jin looks towards Hobi.

“Don’t ask me for help,” Hobi says, raising his hands in defense. “You’re all alone on this.”

Jin’s head turns towards his girlfriend next. She’s shy, and Jungkook has never really talked to her before. So when he and Hobi look at her too, she blushes, before shrugging.

Jin lets out a childish whine, before saying, “Alright then, I’m old.”

“We like you like that.” Valeria is the one that speaks, and Jungkook chokes on a laugh as he turns back towards Jin.

“You heard her.”

Jin is fake-glaring at his girlfriend, but then his features soften. “Yeah, but at least she’s pretty.” And just like that he moves out of the kitchen, pulling Valeria behind him.

“I’ve been told I’m pretty too,” Jungkook yells behind Jin, and Hobi laughs next to him. “He’s so whipped,” Jungkook says after a few seconds, just to make sure Jin is out of earshot. His comment makes him think about another couple that’s starting to form, and he turns to look at Hobi. “And you? What’s up with Jiho?”

Hobi chokes, flushing fully red, up to the top of his ears. “What do you mean?”

Jungkook raises his eyebrows as he tries to hold in the shit-eating smirk that wants to form on his lips. “What do I mean? Why did you invite her yesterday?”

“I –” Hobi says. “I just thought it’d be fun to hang with the crew…”

“The crew?” The smirk has won now, and it breaks across Jungkook’s lips.

“Well, you know, just like…” Hobi falls silent, before letting out a strangled laugh. “I honestly didn’t see it coming.”

It’s cute, and Jungkook’s smirk turns into a softer smile. “To be honest, me neither.”

“She’s got balls though,” Hobi says, laughing lightly this time. “She’s the one who suggested we should go on a date, after dance practice last week.”

All that Jungkook remembers of that night is that he walked with you after. The rest is a blur of anxiety and his leg hurting. But he’s not surprised that Jiho’s got balls: she has to be your closest friend for a reason.

“You said yes, I hope,” Jungkook says.

Hobi slowly nods. “Yeah. But I invited her yesterday because of that too. And we’re going to a restaurant she suggested tomorrow.”

Jungkook doesn’t have to fake the happiness that takes over him right now. He’s happy for his friend, he really is. For his friends, plural. Because Taehyung, Jin, Yoongi and now Hobi… They’re all happy. They all have met someone, someone to care for them where no one else can. Strangely, it’s something Jungkook doesn’t really want for himself right now, maybe because he’s too stuck in the past.

Too stuck trying to heal from the crash, knowing some parts won’t ever heal and refusing to give up the fight for now.

It brings him back to you. To last night, and to whatever he said. He wishes he could remember the words, just to know how bad he fucked up, but he doesn’t. He won’t remember, and he won’t ask you.

He won’t take you up on your offer for coffee. He knows pity when he sees it, and he abhors it. Especially when it comes from you.

Instead, he focuses on Hobi, on the smile that lights up his friend’s face as he tells him about Jiho, about how they’ve been texting almost constantly. It’s all Hobi talks about on the ride to the studio, as he mentions stuff Jiho told him.

Stuff she told him about her when she was younger, but also about you. About how you’ve been friends since the first day of kindergarten, when someone pulled her braids and laughed at her and you punched them in the face.

He’s not surprised child you would punch someone that deserved it in the face. He’s pretty sure adult you would do it too.

Hobi parks his car next to the studio, and they are getting out of the vehicle when Jungkook notices you walking, hands buried in yet another oversized sweater. You’re wearing yoga pants underneath, and your hair is pulled up in a high ponytail. You catch his gaze a few seconds after he notices you, and he’s about to smile at you when you just look away, walking in the building without once glancing back.

What the fuck?

Jungkook frowns, especially as Hobi says, “What happened with Y/n last night?”

For some reason, Jungkook immediately grows defensive. He shrugs, a little vehemently before starting to walk towards the door. “Nothing happened. Just let it slip that I got into a car crash.”

“So she knows?” Hobi asks.

Another shrug of Jungkook’s shoulders. He buries his hands in the pockets of his black sweatpants, just to hide the way he’s clenching his fists even though he’s trying to stay calm. “Yeah. So everyone will know.”

“I don’t think so,” Hobi says, and Jungkook glances at him, brows knit together. “I mean, she’s good at keeping secrets.”

“She’s probably already told Jiho,” Jungkook points out as they reach the door. He doesn’t see you on the other side, and that’s the only reason why he opens it.

“Well, Jiho didn’t say anything about you, if that can reassure you.”

Hobi has felt the switch in his mood, hasn’t he? Because his voice is careful, as if he’s afraid to spook him.

“I don’t care,” Jungkook lies. Because he really does care. He doesn’t want everyone to know. Because it makes it too real, and for now he still can pretend it hasn’t happened.

He wishes for it to stay that way.

Hobi doesn’t push him more, and a tense silence moves between them. Jungkook wishes he could go back to his previous good mood about his friends’ happiness, but he’s back where he was last night. Somewhere in the dark of his own mind.

Not a good place to hang, if he’s honest.

He already knows he’s going to see you when he reaches the studio. Somehow, it still makes his heart constrict in his chest, that same way it did last night. As if someone is clenching their fist around it, and it makes it harder to breathe. He shrugs it off, taking a deep breath to calm down, before looking around.

Everyone but Heather is already here. And no one is looking at him, no one seems surprised or seems to be pitying him. You don’t even act like you noticed him entering – you take off your sweater, dropping it in a corner of the room with your phone and your keys. He hates it, but his eyes follow the curves of your body, and he wants to curse you for only wearing a sports bra.

Your body is lean, the results of dancing for most of your life with a mother that used to be a ballerina. Jungkook is pretty sure she’s controlled everything you ate growing up, and drilled it so hard into your head that you can’t stand bad food now. He remembers, when you were younger and someone brought cake to practice to celebrate a birthday, you always barely took a bite before saying you were full. You claimed you didn’t like cake, but he always noticed the way you eyed it while everyone else ate.

He used to make fun of you for it, and today he knows he was an asshole. All he can hope is that your relationship with food is better now. And it looks like it is – you’re not as thin as you were before. You look healthy, and your skin and hair are glowing.

It takes him a few good seconds to realize he’s staring, as if something about you has changed. And he doesn’t know what changed, just knows that he feels struck.

You notice him staring, and you furrow your brows. “What are you looking at?”

It’s said aggressively. As if you’re angry. He only then realizes that you might be, and maybe that’s why you ignored him outside. He can’t for the life of himself figure out why you’d be angry – did he say something yesterday?

“Nothing,” he replies, and he looks away as his heart beats out of his chest.

You act like that for the whole of practice. For all the pity looks Heather throws his way, you send twice as many glares. It feels like last night never happened, and maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was just a nightmare, and he never told you everything.

He knows you know though, because whenever he puts too much weight on his leg as he demonstrates the movements he has in mind, you clench your jaw. A muscle feathers under your skin, and then you look away. Shame passes on your features, and then it’s gone to be replaced with a scowl.

He’s getting tired of it by the end of practice, so he pulls you aside to talk. Jiho stubbornly stays next to you, until Hobi walks up to her and asks if he can talk to her, probably sensing that Jungkook needs some time alone with you.

You both glare at each other while the others filter out, wishing you good night. Jungkook hears Scottie teasing Lance about meeting up with a girl, and the last thing he hears is Lance telling him to fuck off before everyone is finally out.

It takes almost twenty seconds before you blink and say, “What do you want?”

“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, folding his arms on his chest as he cocks an eyebrow.

You scoff. “With me? Nothing. What’s wrong with you?”

Do you know or do you not? He’s a little confused as you just look at him, clearly expecting an answer. He’s dumbfounded – the last thing he expected from telling you everything was you being furious at him.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.

It’s just a back and forth of questions at this point, with no visible answers in the distance. Indeed, you just say, “Do you think you did something wrong?”

It’s absurd, and it makes him laugh. Which, he reckons, might be taken as insulting. And of course you take it the bad way, because how else would you take it?

“You’re so fucking oblivious,” you grumble.

He’s still laughing. He wants to stop, but for some reason he cannot.

“What’s so funny?” you enquire, and your cheeks are turning red.

“Just,” he starts, “I don’t know. The last thing I expected from last night was you getting angry at me.”

You roll your eyes. “If you were looking for pity you won’t get any from me.”

That’s the thing. He doesn’t want any pity from you. And you saying so makes something warm blossom in his chest, and it sobers him up. His face falls serious, and he holds your gaze long enough that you raise your eyebrows in question.

“Thank you,” he says.

You scoff. “You’re fucking weird, Jeon.”

He shrugs. “That’s why you like me, uh?”

Your eyes widen, and you look so appalled he just starts laughing again. “Quite the opposite actually,” you say even though he’s laughing. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” he repeats. “I’m just relieved you haven’t changed.”

He really is. You have no idea how much.

“Okay?” you let out, and it sounds like a question. You scoff again, before adding, “Why didn’t you reply to my text?”

Oh, so this is what it’s about. You’re upset because he ignored your text. It feels absurd and stupid and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, so Jungkook just smiles and shrugs. “I genuinely don’t really want to talk about last night. I’m all okay today.”

And he does think he is, now that he’s talking to you.

You remain silent for a while, pulling at some dry skin on your bottom lip. You then brush a strand of hair that’s fallen from your ponytail behind your ear, nodding your head. “Understood. Won’t be nice to you again.”

“Oh please,” Jungkook teases. “You can’t resist it.”

He’s happy. The more he talks to you, the happier he is. He feels like he’s floating, and he wishes you’d both stay right then and there, in the studio, until the end of time.

He hasn’t felt so light in forever.

“Oh, I can, Jeon.” You fold your arms on your chest, imitating his posture. “Watch me.”

But there’s a teasing glint in your eyes, probably awakened by his own teasing demeanour.

“I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your text,” he apologizes, because he feels like he needs to clear the air with you. He doesn’t want you to be upset with him anymore. “I genuinely didn’t know what to say, and I figured I was going to see you tonight anyway.”

You look away for the first time in the conversation. Your eyes move down, and he’s pretty sure you’re looking at the scar on his stomach. It makes it itch, and if he weren’t with you, he’d scratch it. But he resists, offering you a tight-lipped smile as you look up at his eyes again.

“Well, forget I suggested coffee then,” you say. You wink at him. “I’ll start being a bitch again now.”

“Please do.”

You look startled. “You want me to be a bitch?”

He laughs, scratching the nape of his neck. “No.” He scrunches up his nose, thinking really hard about what he wants to say. Only he doesn’t know what to say. He feels like he’s never talked to you before in his whole life. He can barely remember breaking down in front of you not even twenty-four hours ago. “Yes? Just be your same usual self.”

“Noted,” you say, nodding your head forcefully.

It’s cute, and it makes your ponytail swing behind you. He has half a thought to reach and pull on it, just to annoy you, but he resists.

Instead, he looks around, before resuming his attention on you. “Just, one thing.”

You hold his gaze, cocking an eyebrow in question as you purse your lips. “Mmh?”

“Please don’t tell the others,” he says. It’s a little more serious than he was just a second ago, but he feels like it’s needed to get the point across. “I’d prefer if they didn’t know.”

The corners of your lips stretch into a small, soft smile. “I didn’t plan on telling anyone. I figured you’re the one that should tell them if you want to.” You glance towards the door, and you’re not watching him when you add, “I think Bridget told Heather though. And I don’t know if Heather will remain silent”.

He doesn’t care if Heather tells the others. He just doesn’t want you to do it. It makes no sense, but at the same time it makes all the sense in the world to him.

“Yeah, I think she knows too.” He pulls at his piercing, letting out a small sigh. “I’ll talk to her.”

You nod, and the room falls silent. He wishes he had more to tell you, but it seems you’ve run out of conversation topics, because you eventually wet your lips and say, “Well, I guess I’ll be going home now”. And then you laugh, shaking your head. “I was supposed to leave with Jiho, but I’m pretty sure she’s gone with Hobi.”

“Hobi talked about her for like an hour before we got here,” Jungkook admits, relieved that you provided a topic. “They’re going on a date tomorrow.”

You smile, widely, and he reckons you’re like him. Your friends’ happiness makes you happy, and happiness truly looks good on you. It makes your eyes sparkle, and you look like a kid who’s just received the perfect gift on Christmas morning.

“I know!” you yelp, taking him by surprise when you even clap your hands. “They’re going to the restaurant I suggested.”

There’s something warm in Jungkook’s chest. It just becomes stronger and stronger the more he looks at you, and it makes him feel wary. Enough so that he looks away and tries to tame it down.

“I hope everything will work out for them,” he says, and he scrapes his throat because the warmth is choking him up now.

“I’m sure it will”, you reply, confidently. “Jiho has been into him for like three years now.”

Jungkook feels bad for her, because three years ago Hobi was still with his ex. But it seems patience makes miracles, because she’s getting a date with Hobi now, isn’t she?

It makes Jungkook realize that sometimes, the right person for someone might have been around all along. They’ve just been blind to it. Now, that’s a thought that makes him want to get out of this room. To flee this cloud before it breaks, and he meets your gaze.

You’re watching him already, with a wistful look on your features. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He hates it. Hates everything that your little sentence makes him feel, so he just nods his head, before saying, “It’s getting late, I should hurry if I want to catch the bus”.           

Your eyes widen. “I’ll order you a Lyft, come on.”

“No!” he refuses. “It’s all good.”

“But it’s late,” you insist, and you bend down to grab your phone on your sweater.

It offers Jungkook a straight view to your cleavage, and he freezes, right as pink dusts his cheeks. “I swear,” he reassures you, adding your name before continuing, “I’d rather take the bus. But thank you for the offer.”

You fake-glare at him. “Right, I’m supposed to be a bitch anyway.” You fold your arms on your chest, cocking an eyebrow arrogantly, and you look just like you’ve always looked when you say, “What the fuck are you still doing here? You’re wasting my oxygen.”

It makes the both of you laugh, and Jungkook just shakes his head. “Please, I know you love looking at me.”

You look offended, somehow, and you scoff. “I’d rather gouge my eyeballs out of my head instead of having to look at you for a second longer.”

“Ouch, that was rough.”

“You deserved it.” You shrug your shoulders, before motioning at the door in a swooshing motion. “Now, go lick your wounds somewhere else.”

“Aren’t you leaving too?”

You glare at him now, and you’re so good at it he almost thinks you’re angry. “Why, do you want to walk me home?”

His mouth falls open. Would you let him walk you home? For some reason, he’s pretty sure you’ll punch him if he even suggests it. So instead, he chooses to say, “And suffer the whole way? Nah, I’m good.”

It’s a low-key mention of his injury. You immediately catch on to it, and Jungkook hates the look that takes over your features. He thought that you didn’t have pity for him in you, but it seems you do. You do and it feels like the fist around his heart is back, and the air burns a little.

You seem like you want to say something, but he’s quicker than you.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Jungkook.”

“No, I’m serious, don’t you fucking look at me like that.”

And just like that the light atmosphere shifted back into darkness.

You scoff, shaking your head. “And here I was starting to think that you’re a decent guy. Never mind, Jeon.” You scoff once more, and the corners of your mouth are pulled down in a look of pure disgust. “I’m going home.”

He lets you go. He doesn’t even look at you as you pick up your stuff and leave, not once glancing back.

No matter how enjoyable this interlude in your usual relationship was, Jungkook prefers the usual hate. It’s safer, more comfortable, and a habit that protects him from the vulnerability.

Why then is he staring at your text two hours later in his bed at home, unable to fall asleep, wishing he didn’t say what he did?

In all truth, he knows why, he just doesn’t want to formulate the thought. Doesn’t want to give it the power to exist in the confines of his brain. So he ignores it, shoves the warmth in his chest so far down in the hole occupied by his lost dream that he can’t really feel it anymore.

Only then does he feel safe again, but he still can’t fall asleep.

He hopes you’re not struggling with insomnia as much as he is.

Thursday, June 28th

                The auditions for nationals are in a week. Seven days, and you’re still not sure you’ve mastered the choreography well. You’re anxious – have been for weeks now – and all you want is to lie down on the floor until everything is over.

Which, coincidentally, is what Lance has been doing for the last fifteen minutes, claiming he needed a break from Jungkook. Because Jungkook is worse than Hobi, making you repeat the choreography for stupid unnecessary things like Jiho’s hair was in her face or Scottie’s shirt rode too high while he was doing a certain move.

In May, when you learned about what happened to Jungkook, you had a few days of feeling bad for him. Wishing you didn’t get in a fight with him during that dance practice, wishing your relationship with him wasn’t just hateful.

It feels like there’s been too much history between you for it to ever change. Because you saw a glimpse of something else, for a few minutes that night. Jungkook was more open, calmer, and his expressions were set in a softer look. It was easier to be around him, more enjoyable, and you wished for a fleeting moment that it could last.

Alas, it only lasted a few minutes before he moved back to the harsh look he reserved for you, only because he assumed you were pitying him. Which, maybe you were. You don’t know. It’s hard to tell when you haven’t been through what he has, and when you can tell he suffers.

But you’re not sure if it’s pity or concern. You don’t think he can tell the difference either.

“Lance,” you grumble as you finish the choreography, heart beating out of your chest. “Get the fuck up we need you.”

Lance mumbles something incoherent, before turning his head away from where you’re glaring at him. It makes you look up to catch Jungkook’s gaze, and he immediately looks away the moment your eyes meet. He’s been doing that a lot now too. Where he used to glare at you or smirk insufferably, Jungkook just ignores you.

You don’t think you like it. But you’ve gotten used to it over the course of the last few weeks, so you just roll along with it now.

You’ve kept his secret safe. You thought it would be hard, especially to hide it from Jiho, but after a few days it just became normal. Jiho has more to tell you about Hobi anyway.

Because they’ve found time to go on dates every week since then. Sweet dates, with him picking her up and bringing her flowers and doing things that he knows make her happy. Even at dance practice, everyone can see how they are sickly into each other. You’re happy for Jiho, you really are, but it’s starting to feel a little lonely.

At least you’ve got Jo and the other girls now too. You’ve met the mysterious Kiko now – a sweet girl with the voice of an angel – and your girl’s nights with Jiho have turned into Thirsty Thursdays. You haven’t understood the meaning of the Thirsty yet, considering all of them are dating now, but you just roll along with it.

It’s led to fun nights, and that really is the only thing that matters, right?

Tonight makes no exception. Jiho, Heather and you have dance practice until 10 pm, and then you’re supposed to meet with the girls at a bar on their side of town. Which means you’re already dressed up, though you put on a sports skirt to avoid showing off your ass to the rest of the boys. Not that it would matter – Scottie is not interested in women at all, Lance only has eyes for Chaeyeon now, Hobi is way too respectful for that and Jungkook doesn’t even look at you anymore.

You scoff, glancing away from Jungkook to settle your gaze back on Lance. “Get up,” you repeat, before walking over to him to kick him in the ribs. “Or I’ll tell Chaeyeon how much of a loser you are.”

He fakes offence. “Me, a loser? Nah, we’re going to win this shit.”

The sudden confidence is a boost to everyone’s mood, and soon enough you’re back to dancing, with a much-needed vigor. It’s enough that Jungkook lets you go after you’ve done the choreographies two times more, telling everyone they did a good job.

“Same time Saturday,” he says.

You think you notice him looking at you in the mirror, but as soon as you turn your head in that direction he’s already glanced away, focusing himself on typing something on his phone.

“We know,” Lance says jokingly, before punching Jungkook in the shoulder.

Jungkook snickers, and he deadpans, “You were two hours late last week because you were too busy with your girlfriend”.

“Can’t blame me,” Lance says, shrugging his shoulders. “Chae comes first, the rest of you can suck it up.” It’s cute and endearing, and your heart feels warm as Lance glances your way. You have no idea what brings him to think of that, but he scans the whole room before suggesting, “We should rent a cottage. After the auditions. We should all get shitfaced for three days straight.”

Hobi laughs from where he’s standing next to Jiho. “Scottie is too young for that.”

“Hey, I’m twenty-two!” Scottie exclaims. “I can get shitfaced.”

“You’re a baby,” Heather puts in. “Just accept it. I refuse to acknowledge the fact you are major now.”

Scottie rolls his eyes, placing a sassy fist on his hip. “Then sucks to be you because I am, and I’m going to get shitfaced with Lance. Right?”

Lance has a large grin on his lips. “Damn fucking right.”

“As long as we get a cottage with a hot tub I’m in,” Jiho says innocently. Hobi cocks an eyebrow as he looks at her, as if he didn’t just say Scottie can’t go. “What?” Jiho adds, shrugging her shoulders. “A cottage weekend does sound like fun.”

It does. It really does. You haven’t gone to the countryside in years now, and you can already picture a cute, picturesque cottage on the side of a lake, with a long quay you can lie on and stargaze. The cottage has a fireplace, a circle of rock in the middle of which flames burn at night until they turn to embers and you roast marshmallows on it. You can almost feel the warmth of the hot tub, and the laughter of friends seems to almost overtake your ears…

Yeah, you’re due for a trip out of the city.

“I want marshmallows,” you say, sighing dreamily. “I haven’t had marshmallows since like…”

“Since the camping trip when we were thirteen? When Jisung got shit on by that seagull?”

You burst out laughing at the same time as Jiho does, right as the memory comes back to you. It had been a fun camping trip, with Jiho’s parents renting a camper. They had invited you along on their trip, and you had gone to the beach with them.

Good memories indeed.

Your laughter recedes, and you notice everyone is looking at you. Even Jungkook. His eyes are a little widened, as if he’s surprised, and there’s a light flush on his cheeks when he looks away.

It’s the strangest sight to see, and you’re unable to shake the feeling away while you get ready with Jiho later to rush to the bar where Jo and the others are already waiting for you. Jiho notices your unease as she applies your eyeliner.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing,” you immediately say, way too fast for it to sound casual.

She just cocks an eyebrow and keeps applying the makeup. At least she has the decency to ignore the blush that creeps on your cheeks.

“It’s just…” you sigh, and turn your head when she starts to work on your second eye. “I don’t know.”

“Jungkook?”

You want to kill her for knowing you so well, so you remain silent, choosing peace over violence.

“I’m going to say something right now that might make you want to kill me,” Jiho says, lips pursed.

“I would advise not saying it,” you mumble and she playfully pats your cheek.

“Don’t move.” You pout, but obey nonetheless. She continues working in silence for a time, before saying, “I know about the accident”.

Your heart stops in your chest, and you’re pretty sure all colours have drained out of your features. You still try to play it cool, saying, “What accident?”

“February last year? Jungkook got injured, then ghosted us. Ring a bell?”

You can’t really pretend you don’t know what she’s talking about, can you? “How do you know?”

“Hobi told me,” she admits. “He made me promise to never talk about it, but he mentioned you knew already.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t blame you for not telling me,” she reassures you, having sensed your discomfort. “Actually, it tells a lot about your relationship with JK that you respected his decision.”

You scoff as she pulls the eyeliner away from your face, putting it down on her vanity to grab her La Neige lip tint. “My relationship with Jungkook? We’re not even friends.”

“Why though?”

It’s a good question that just pisses you off further. “Because he’s a dick. He told me about the accident and got angry at me for looking concerned and then he started ignoring me.” You chuckle bitterly. “It’s not like I’m going to try and make him talk to me. I don’t give a shit about him.”

Jiho is silent for a long time. Far too long for it to be normal. Like she doesn’t believe you at all and is waiting for you to realize. You’re just as stubborn, so you don’t say anything as she puts the lip tint on her pretty lips.

It makes for an awkward two minutes, but she’s the one that breaks first. “You don’t believe that.”

You furrow your brows. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

She laughs. Not in a mean way, probably just because your cheeks are burning and she believes she can read you like the back of her hand. “Because you don’t believe that.”

You fold your arms on your chest, sitting back in the chair she’s forced you to sit in while she did your eyeliner. You remain silent once again, clenching your jaw as you choose not to get upset. You’re not sure it works, and Jiho just playfully punches you on the shoulder.

“Calm down, babe,” she says. “He’s changed.”

“He’s still an ass with me,” you point out. “He’s changed with the rest of you guys, but he’s even worse with me. He’s been completely ignoring me for weeks.”

“Because he’s scared of what you think about him.”

“He doesn’t give a shit about what I think of him? He’s made that clear enough.” Jiho goes back to her infuriating silence. And you don’t want the conversation to keep going in that direction, so you ask, “How has it been going with Hobi anyway?”

She flushes red as she always does whenever Hobi is mentioned. “Do not think this conversation is over,” she says, threatening you with the lip tint bottle. “But it’s been…” She chuckles. “It’s been great. I think we’re pretty much official now.”

It’s disgustingly cute. It makes you think of Lance and Chaeyeon, of Heather and Bridget, Jo and Taehyung and Kiko and Yoongi…

It makes you feel lonely, like Lance did earlier. It’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to growing up, so it’s easy to let it slide over you instead of letting it fester inside.

“Look at you,” you say teasingly. “Who knew you’d pull your lifelong crush?”

“Lifelong?” she snickers. “I’ve had a crush on him for like two years.”

You throw a no-bullshit look her way.

“Okay maybe three…”

It makes you both laugh, and it diffuses the situation that was escalating just a moment ago. You’re relieved, because you’re pretty sure if she mentioned Jungkook just once more you would have blown up in her face.

You take shots downstairs with Jisung and Felix before going, and you giggle in the Lyft on the way to the bar the other girls chose. As per usual, you’re the two last to get there – fashionably late is the way to go, right?

It takes you way too long to realize girl’s night will in fact not be girl’s night. Yoongi is the first you notice, maybe because he’s looking at the exit when you walk in, as if he’s just waiting for the right time to bail. He nods as he sees you, and Kiko turns. She smiles her shy smile, the one that doesn’t show her teeth, and she nods as well, almost a copycat of her boyfriend.

Then it’s like a domino effect, and everyone turns to look at you. Nine pairs of eyes, all on you: Jin, Valeria, Taehyung, Jo, Bridget, Heather, Kiko, Yoongi and Jimin. The latter offers you a secretive smile.

You might have been texting him a little. Nothing serious, but he does appear in your dms once in a while, replying to a story you posted. You always decided to ignore him, only liking his replies, but tonight there’s something in the way Park Jimin is looking at you, sitting there, that makes something warm trickle down your spine.

Maybe because of your conversation with Jiho. It’s hard to tell, and your best friend pulls you towards the rest of the group before you can figure it out. The feeling only increases tenfold when you stop next to the table, and Jimin gets up to greet you, quickly followed by the others.

You hug everyone, and Jo holds you a second longer. “Sorry for inviting the rest, Tae begged and I figured…” You pull away from the hug, and she does have a sheepish look on her features. “Thirsty Thursday doesn’t mean no men?”

You laugh at that comment, shrugging your shoulders. “It’s fine, don’t worry.”

And really, you don’t mind. You like hanging out with them all. You’re relieved they didn’t think to invite Jungkook though, because one thing you’ve figured is that, where Jimin goes Jungkook usually follows.

The night starts off with talking and a few drinks with the group, until you find yourself intoxicated more than you have initially planned to. It doesn’t really matter – you have a day off tomorrow at the internship. Indeed, it only goes from Monday to Thursday, since the lawyer you follow takes the day off on Fridays for the whole of summer.

So you drink, and when they clear a spot for the dancefloor, you let Jiho pull you to it. Let her dance with you, like you usually do when you’re trying to get a guy’s attention. You reckon she’s drunker than you – she’s a giggly mess and she keeps stepping on your feet, which she never usually does. It’s fun, and you feel some anxiety peel away from your skin as if you’re an onion and someone’s about to cut you up to pieces.

You do feel like somebody is about to cut you up to pieces when Jimin moves closer to you, and the smirk on his lips sets something on fire inside of you. Or maybe it’s the alcohol. It doesn’t matter because you pull away from Jiho to move closer to him, almost instinctively.

It’s like he fits like a glove. You face him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him into the dance as his hands find your waist. One of them slips to your back, and he presses you against him as you move to the music, the rhythm a sensual dance between the two of you.

“Hello, you,” he purrs, and you look up at him.

“Hello,” you reply in the same tone, and he makes you spin until your back is facing him. He’s impossibly close and as his hands guide your hips, your eyes trail up.

You entirely stop moving when your gaze meets Jungkook. He’s standing near the door, clad in different clothes than earlier today, but in that same black shade he seems to adore. He also has a chain, with large links that give a rougher vibe to him.

The look on his features is rough too, especially as Jimin leans to speak into your ear. “I thought you might want to piss him off.”

You chuckle, turning your head to gaze at the man behind you over your shoulder. It brings your face way too close to his, and you have to resist the lava in your blood that makes you want to close the gap.

It’s the self-destructive kind of magma, and you don’t feel like indulging in it. Instead, you purr, “Why do you think I’d want to piss him off?”

Jimin chuckles, and you turn your head away from him because damn him, his lips really are inviting. “He’s been a little shit at home. I assume he’s been that way with you too.”

You laugh, and it’s bitter, angry. It surprises even you. “He’s been ignoring me.” You turn in Jimin’s arms, until you’re facing him. You keep your head hung low, enough so that he can’t lean down and press his lips against yours. Jimin is a gentleman though, you know he’d never kiss you without asking for consent first.

“Explains why he’s been a little shit then,” he says matter-of-factly. He straightens a little, putting a comfortable distance between your faces.

“And you think this little show is going to piss him off?”

He smirks, tilting his head to the side. All the while he’s been making you move to the music, and you know to outside gazes you look like you’re flirting. Can planning to piss Jeon Jungkook off count as flirting?

“Oh, I know it will,” Jimin says, shrugging his shoulders. “Jungkook wears his emotions on his face.”

Maybe he does. Around you, his emotion is usually mostly contempt, so you don’t really know.

“What do you gain from pissing him off?” you ask, and you genuinely wonder. What is Jimin trying to do?

“Nothing,” he admits. He purses his lips, before offering you yet another dashing smile. “Mostly I just want to see what he’ll do.”

Jimin pulls you a little closer, and his forehead presses against yours.

“What are you doing?” you murmur, as your heart beats like a hammer against your ribcage. Hell, even if you’re not really into Jimin like that, he’s Park Jimin. You don’t think anyone in their right mind could stay indifferent to him.

“He’s looking right now,” he replies. He chuckles, before saying, “Now, let me tell you what you’re going to do”. His lips move so close to you it feels as if your brain is short-circuiting in your head. “You’re going to act as if I’ve just offended you, and you go to the bathroom.”

“Why?”

“He’ll follow, and maybe he’ll finally…”

Jimin never finishes his sentence. Someone bumps into you, and it breaks the contact between you and him. Instead of pulling you back in, Jimin motions towards the bathroom, offering you an encouraging smile. You’re stunned for a moment, and you hope it does the trick. You hope you really do look offended, because in truth, you were enjoying Jimin’s proximity.

You don’t like that you were. It feels like you shouldn’t be enjoying his proximity at all. He’s not even really your friend anyway.

You don’t have a choice but to follow his advice though, and you turn around, beelining straight to the bathroom. You make your way through the crowd, scrunching up your nose in disgust at the sweaty guy your hand accidentally touched, and a few seconds later you finally find the line to the bathroom.

It’s a unisex bathroom, with three stalls that are currently all occupied. There’s a guy in front of you, and you glare at him as he smiles at you. He frowns, but it works and he turns back around. A stall frees up a little under a minute later, and you’re mindlessly watching a girl washing her hands when a large hand finds the small of your back.

You startle, and you turn around fully ready to knock some sense into whoever it is, until you see it’s Jungkook.

You freeze for a few seconds, and then let out a laugh as you realize whatever Jimin was doing worked.

“You and Jimin, uh,” Jungkook says bitterly, and his hand clenches into a fist where it falls at his side.

You cock your head to the side. “So you’re talking to me now?”

He plays with his piercing in silence, before scoffing. “I was never not talking to you.” You widen your eyes and let out a disbelieved laugh as you fold your arms on your chest. “I’m serious,” he adds. “I just…”

“Don’t even try to explain, Jeon, save your oxygen.”

He’s frowning now, and you reckon he probably has the same expression on his features that you have on yours. “I thought you said you weren’t going to flirt with Jimin.”

“That was over a month ago,” you point out. “People change, unless you haven’t noticed.”

“Oh, I know,” he says, chuckling bitterly. “But Jimin? There are dozens of guys in this bar, can’t you just choose someone else to fuck?”

You’re starting to see red. You feel it in the tremble that starts deep down in your core, before taking over the whole of your body. “I’m not going to fuck Jimin. He’s just a friend.”

“You dance with all of your friends like that?”

You turn away from him, hoping one of the stalls will be free now, but you’re in no luck. He grabs your arm, forcing you to turn back around. Your eyes drop to his hand on your arm. His fingers are gentle, way gentler than his features. “Fucking let go of me,” you snap. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t know what part of getting into an accident made you want to act like you’re just a fucking victim of everything around you but my life has nothing to do with yours. Why do you fucking care?”

He looks stunned. “I… What?”

His confusion douses your fury, and you furrow your brows. “What do you mean, what?”

“I don’t care.”

You don’t know who he is trying to convince right now. And you don’t feel like getting to the bottom of it with him. In fact, you really don’t like the look on his face, and you just want to put distance between you and him. So you roll your eyes, before saying, “Alright then, leave me alone, Jeon. I won’t dance with Jimin again.”

He doesn’t even look happy or relieved that you’re saying that. Instead, his features fall a little, moving from a frown to a sad expression that makes something stir in your chest. “I… If you want to get with Jimin, you can.”

Now, you really are confused. “You come here to be a little bitch about this all and now you’re saying it’s fine?”

He pulls at his piercing, and his eyes flicker to the man that walks past you, indicating that a stall must be free now. “Yeah. If that’s what you want, who am I to tell you not to do it?”

You don’t know. You have no idea how the conversation managed to take this turn, so you wet your lips, cocking an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I…” he trails off, shrugging his shoulders. “I was being a dick. You’re right, I should stop acting like I’m a fucking victim.”

Now, your heart really does ache in your chest. Because what you said was inconsiderate, and you don’t even really mean it. Not the way that he interpreted it though, that’s for sure.

“Jungkook…”

“No, it’s really okay,” he says. He still looks sad, but he offers you a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sorry.”

Just like that he’s walking away, and why are you following him? You stop him by grabbing his arm, just like he did to you a moment ago. You hold on to him longer than he did to you, because his skin is warm under your fingers. His tattoos didn’t take away the softness of his skin, and you don’t really want to let him go. Not just yet.

“I didn’t mean it.” You look him in the eyes as he turns just enough so that his gaze can meet yours. “I got angry.”

“No but you’re right,” he insists. “I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know why I don’t like you talking to Jimin. You can do whatever you want.”

You let his arm go, albeit reluctantly. “If it can reassure you, I am not interested in Jimin like that. Like yes, he’s attractive, but I’m not really looking for a relationship right now.”

At that Jungkook laughs. It’s somehow melancholic, and you reckon you’ve brought his demons to the forefront of his mind tonight. “Jimin-hyung doesn’t do relationships, you’re in luck.”

“No,” you grumble, and you shut your eyes, as if you have to explain something to a thick-headed five years old. “I’m really not interested in Jimin. Like at all.” Your eyelids flutter open, and you catch the movement of Jungkook’s eyes as they snap away from you.

“Okay,” he lets out flatly. “I’m sorry I ruined it.”

He looks genuine. You’d be angry at him if he didn’t really look as genuine as he does right now.

“Nothing’s ruined, I promise,” you reassure him and you offer him a small smile. “I was tired of dancing anyway.”

The word ‘dancing’ has his gaze trail to the dancefloor, and he bites at his piercing before glancing back at you. “Oh.”

You realize this is awkward. Because what you said really seems to have upset Jungkook. And you can’t really blame him, it was low. The only thing is, you’re not close enough to him to make him understand. So all you can do when he says he’s going to head home is wish him goodnight.

You feel horrible as you watch him leave, and he’s only just crossed the doors leading to the world outside when you break into a small jog. You make it outside in a hurry, just to see he’s leaning against the wall next to the door.

He seems startled to see you, and you feel just as startled to see he hasn’t really left yet.

“I was wondering,” you let out, and you take a deep breath to steady yourself. “Are you going to come to the cottage? You didn’t say you would earlier.”

You have no idea why that’s come to your mind, but you’re just going to roll with it.

“Uh.” He glances down at his phone in his hand. “Am I even invited?”

You wet your lips, shrugging. “I mean, you’re part of the crew, of course you are.”

He holds your gaze for so long you think the Earth has time to revolve around the sun once before he speaks again. “Am I really part of the crew?”

You reckon he might need to hear it, so you don’t hesitate when you say, “Of course. We’d be nothing without you.”

At that the sad expression on his features melts away. It does so slowly, starting with his eyes. They crinkle at the corners, sparkling a little, and then it trickles down his face, until the corners of his lips tug upwards. It makes you smile too, and you just gaze at each other like that for a few heartbeats. It feels intimate, miles away from the usual bickering and hatred that you share.

It’s new, but it doesn’t feel scary. Jungkook doesn’t feel scary when he’s smiling softly.

“Yes, I’ll come,” he finally says.

It makes you blink, and it’s like the scene is coming back into focus. You realize there are a couple of people smoking a few meters away, and a soft breeze pushes the smoke towards you. You hate the smell, but somehow you can’t shake the smile from your lips.

“Good.” You nod once, and you glance towards the door. “I guess… I guess I’ll let you go home then.”

He nods too, and he tilts his head to the side. He’s surveying you with those big eyes of his. They shine with stars right now, as if his happiness brings the constellations to his gaze. Or maybe it’s just the reflection from the streetlights and car headlights, but it’s beautiful.

Jungkook has beautiful eyes.

“Just waiting for a Lyft,” he says, motioning up with his phone.

You worry at your lips, before flattening your skirt mindlessly. “Is it going to be here anytime soon?”

He looks at the rectangle of light, face falling serious. It takes him a few seconds, but then he nods. “Yep. Should pull up pretty much now.”

You glance at the two sides of the street, and sure enough a car slows down until it stops in front of you. “Alright then,” you say. “Good night, Jeon.”

You don’t usually say his last name like you said it just now. It feels different, in all the right ways that it can.

“Good night,” he echoes, tentatively adding your name at the end. “I’ll see you at practice Saturday?”

“Yes. See you then.”

You’re grinning like an idiot when you’re home later, thinking of the interaction. It felt refreshing to be with Jungkook like that. As if you can be friends.

You never imagined you would want to be friends with him, but somehow tonight you want it. It only doubles up when a series of texts appears on your screen, hiding the top part of the anime you’re watching in bed before going to sleep.

[3:02 am] unsaved number: lmaooi jmin saud i cockblocled him😂 [3:02 am] unsaved number: cockblocked* [3:02 am] unsaved number: sry im drunk

You laugh softly, turning on your back as you pause the anime. You go to the conversation, and you’re about to reply when he adds,

[3:03 am] unsaved number: plz ignorr this

You don’t hesitate when you save his number under his name.

Prev | Next

☆☆☆☆☆

What do we think of this chapter?? Enemies to lovers not too enemies anymore uh? Hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts 2023. Please do not copy, repost or translate.

Taglist: (strike-through means dumblr is not letting me tag you my bad)

@chimchimmarie | @pamzn | @sugaluvmyg | @tearyjjeon | @jkclouds | @libra04 | @parkinglot-nights | @ggukieasy | @omnomnomtron | @jichimx | @synnfulqt | @leedoesntknaur | @pornichett | @melodiesforari | @oopscoop | @nadzzzblog | @amylouisecullen

[spacecowboyhotch]

In Plain Sight, Ch 2: A Hoard of Cupids

summary: nathan’s much more insightful about you than he used to be. it’s making you uneasy…and curious.

pairing: nathan bateman x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, enemies to lovers (sorta), boss/employee dynamics, pining, nathan trying to be nice but he’s so abrasive lol, pining, mentions of caretaking/sick family members, mentions of emotionally abusive parents, masturbation (m), sub!nathan if you squint

wc: 2,745

AN: back at it with part twoooo. thank you all for the kind words and support on this fic, i didn’t expect it to get the response it did but i’m really excited to give y’all the rest. fair warning that these chapters seem to be getting longer as i write on. happy reading!

in plain sight masterlist | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

Nathan gives you space— at first. When you return the next day at 7 a.m. sharp he’s nowhere to be found. Not in the living room or in the kitchen, not on his patio boxing. You assume he’s in his room, probably toying with one of his bots in a distasteful manner. The idea makes you shudder. But is it not easier to come to work with every task he could want you to do placed on his desk, no fuss?

You don’t like Nathan Bateman. He’s a pompous asshole, a know it all, a man who thinks only about his own desires. When he apologized— or rather attempted to— yesterday you thought that maybe you slipped and fallen down the stairs on your way out. By his standards, it was a top tier apology. You’d never once heard him apologize to anyone. On your drive home you had wondered if he had ever apologized in his life. The thought made you giggle, and then you’d turned up the music and forgotten about him until right now.

Sat at your desk, an ungodly stack of things to do. There’s a note sat on top. It’s simple and straightforward, lacking emotion but somehow still has your stomach flipping. It reads:

In meetings all day— let me know if you need anything. Go home early today.

Mr. Bateman

P.S. I’ll spruce up my apologizing skills.

You regard the note cautiously, raising your brow at it before you let yourself laugh a little. Was this a joke or had Nathan Bateman taken some criticism to heart (which is rumored to not exist). You fold the note up, and for some reason slip it into your bag.

The last thing that’s on your mind is that Nathan’s watching you. He sits in the dark at his monitors, leaning in closely. His eyes trace your figure on the screens intensely, watching as you read and read and read. He expects no reaction from you beside maybe throwing it in the trash. But then you laugh, and he watches you store it for safekeeping. A piece of him will go home with you. Nathan never thought he’d be jealous of a piece of paper, not when he seems to have the entire world at his fingertips.

—

He returns to his normal behavior after a week— partially because he thinks you settled in. And partially because…well he begrudgingly can admit to himself, in the comfort of his own mind, that he misses you. When you get to work the next Monday he’s sat on an observation table, examining what looks like a deconstructed robot brain.

You aren’t even able to open your mouth and say good morning before he’s talking to you.

“Are you sleeping okay?” He asks, his eyes appraising you intensely.

You stop in your tracks, regarding him as always, your expression pieced into that calm expression. So you’re back to normal, none of that fire. He expected it but that doesn’t keep him from feeling disappointed.

“Sir?”

“You look really fucking tired. Exhausted,” He tacts on for good measure.

Your spine goes completely rigid, your grip on your bag tightening. You are tired. So very tired. You work shitty hours for incredible money and then go home to take care of your younger sisters and mother. Dealing with Nathan is for them. For your sisters’ schooling, so they won’t feel left out when the other kids have the newest gadget or shoes. For your mother’s ever piling medical bills. It’s important that you don’t jeopardize something so precious.

“Is it affecting my work? Have I done something wrong?” You ask him softly.

“No— that’s not why I’m—“ He stutters before closing his mouth and starting anew. You’ve never seen him like this. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was flustered. But knowing Nathan, he’s just never asked a single employee he’s ever had if they’re alright. “I’m your boss, I worry about your well being. That’s what good bosses do.”

“Are you sure?” You ask evenly, eyes still trained on him.

“Am I—“ He stops, eyes wide for a fraction of a second before he bites away his smile. “Are you fucking with me?”

If he was looking at you so intentionally he would miss the way your mouth twitches. “I’m fine, Mr. Bateman. I have a lot of responsibilities, not only here but out there as well.”

“Out there?”

“The real world. Thank you for the concern, sir.”

For the second time, you’ve rendered Nathan speechless. That night he lays in bed thinking of you, like many nights prior. He turns your words over in his head time and time again. The real world. Do you think he doesn’t know what it’s like out there? He wonders how much research you’d done for the job. Nathan used his brain to get here, climbing and climbing. He hadn’t been born into this but his personality lent itself to such a conclusion. Nathan knows what his real world used to look like, though one day he hopes that any of his contraptions can help him forget. He wonders what your real world looks like.

There’s no ring on your finger, but you could have a partner. Kids? Another job? He pays you well enough for that to not be necessary. Maybe you volunteer at a puppy shelter. He could picture it. You in something other than your stuffy work clothes, a smile on your face as you drown in puppy breath and slobber.

He groans, rolling over in bed to plant his face deeply in the pillow. Maybe he can smother himself out of this. Thinking about puppies? He might as well be one, he’s practically lovesick if you have him thinking like this. When would he get used to feeling this way? His usual cynical thoughts feel like they’re being pillaged by a hoard of cupids.

He doesn’t even know if you feel the same. Being better for you is one thing, but what if there’s no payoff? What if he changes for you and you leave him high and dry? Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He feels the back of his neck sweating and sits up.

Nathan’s been down this road before, it’s brought him his fortune and an insane work ethic. It’s all brought him sorrow he’ll never be able to escape. Being with his parents feels like a fever dream sometimes and other times he feels 6 again, like he’s drowning in their expectations and insults, trying to measure up. He’d given up eventually, once he realized that they would never love him the way parents should. Why try to do anything anyone wanted but himself when they could still treat him poorly for it?

He’s the way he is from his own indoctrination. He doesn’t know where he would be if he hadn’t convinced himself that he was the only person that truly matters.

But, now there’s you. You, who looks so soft, you that scratches an itch he didn’t even realize he had. You, that he wants to goad and prod and poke until you unleash all of yourself on him. He closes his eyes and lays back, envisioning you right here with him. He feels insane, his heart— his mind, his dick— are taking him through a whirlwind of emotions right now.

He palms himself through his boxers, eyes squeezing shut tighter than before as he tries to narrate. He pictures you in one of his white shirts, it’s fabric nearly see-through with the way it clings to your breasts. He grasps his length through his boxers letting out a heaving sigh. Fuck he wishes this was you.

If there’s anything that Nathan knows how to do its not only being smartest but the most imaginative. He’s been daydreaming for as long as he can remember. Universes with better outcomes— having worth, or loving parents or anyone for that matter. Anyone to be on his side. He imagined codes and synthetic body parts that live and breathe in front of him. He can surely imagine you, breathy and horny in his bed, jerking him off. He doesn’t care if it’s fucked up, or inappropriate. He wants you, and maybe this is the only way he can have you. He slides his boxers down, finally done teasing himself. Licking his palm, he grabs his cock, starts stroking and succumbs to the thought of you.

Another moan bubbles out of his throat. He can see your nipples through his shirt when you straddle him like this. Your thighs are soft against his own and he would reach for your free hand, thread his fingers through your own. Your hands are smaller than his, smooth and supple. And god, you’re stroking him just the way he likes it, the soft wet sound making pleasure shoot through his groin.

You’d overstimulate him wouldn’t you? With that clever mouth barely pulling up a grin, eyes full of fire as you stroke him past the point of pleasure. Would you make him watch? See the way your hands would grow slick and shiny with his cum as you kept pumping and pumping, pushing him to another release. Covering you both in him, until you’re too needy to keep toying with him. Nathan cums just as he’s imagining the feeling of you dragging your bare pussy against his sensitive cock. He whines and keens off the bed, the high singing in his veins. He swears he can almost imagine the way you would moan.

His eyes open, the spell broken. He’s alone, covered in his own spend, chest heaving like he just ran a 10k. He avoids his reflection when he walks into the bathroom to clean up. His loneliness spikes again and he heads to the kitchen, reaching for the first bottle he can find.

—

“You’re late,” He says stiffly, crossing his arms as he watches you cross the space to sit at your desk.

The day after he’d gotten off thinking of you he’d had the slightest difficulty looking at you. It quickly faded, he was too greedy. Too needy, if he’s being honest. He can’t get enough, he doesn’t know if he could ever say it but you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

You’re openly frazzled; your shirt isn’t tucked in, your hair is a little more frizzy than usual and you look as tired as ever. He regrets his biting tone immediately.

Even as you explain you’re moving, setting your to-go mug on the desk, fetching your calendar, booting up your computer. “I know, I’m sorry, Mr. Bateman. My sisters were less than cooperative this morning.”

Nathan turns completely away from the bins he’s been searching through, raising a brow at you in surprise, “Your sisters?”

“Yes— one is 7 the other is 14. The little made getting out of the house…difficult,” You murmur distractedly, eyes trained on your screen.

“Isn’t that your parents’ fucking job?”

His question snaps you back to the present— you hadn’t shared nearly as much as you could’ve. But you’d gone into this job wanting to be nameless and faceless. Memorable only for the quality of the work you do.

You shake your head, daring a quick glance in his direction that you immediately regret when your eyes meet his.“I realized that I’ve shared far too much about my personal life. I should work, Mr. Bateman.”

Nathan immediately understands your deflecting. How many times has he been asked by reporters and interviewers where his family is? Enough times that he’s had his publicist strike the topic from the acceptable lists. That was about all he was good for anyway, Nathan says what he wants when he wants.

He goes back to the task at hand— though now with you here he doesn’t quite remember what that was. A part…some sort of part that he needed. Wires? Screws? A metal plate? He sighs in frustration and leaves without another word.

Your gaze is on the door as soon as it shuts, making sure he’s gone. The tears that you’ve been biting back fall and you bury your face in your hands. Your youngest sister had begged and pleaded for you to stay warm in bed with her this morning. With your mother so sick, you’ve practically raised her yourself these last few years. It makes her needy, which you understand. But what she doesn’t understand is how delicate the balance you found in caring for your entire family is. Middle sister lacks just as much understanding, with heaps of attitude. She doesn’t want to snuggle with you or with younger sister. Mediating this entire situation is what made you late.

It feels like you’re cracking under the pressure but that isn’t an option, is it? As if the universe wants to make it clear, your computer chimes. It’s Nathan, asking you to come to his office.

—

He’d meant to go clear his head in his office and come back to get whatever part he was in need of. But, when he sat in his chair he was met with the sight of you hunched over your desk, presumably crying by the way your shoulders jerked every once and a while.

He’s pinging you before he can think better of it. He watches you read his message. You’re such an anomaly— you sit up immediately, reaching for some tissues and cleaning yourself up as if nothing happened. You even check yourself in the reflection of your computer, fidgeting with your hair, tucking in your shirt once you stand. As soon as you start out of the office he turns off his monitors, not one to be caught snooping around though it’s right and was clear in the contract. Maybe you’ve forgotten. Perhaps you don’t think your anything worth watching…Nathan would like to change that assumption.

“You pinged me, sir?”

How would he play this? He couldn’t admit that he just watched you cry.

“Trying my hand at this apologizing shit again. I— Nathan Bateman— am sorry for being insensitive. Like I said last time, I don’t know your life or you. Alright, how was that?”

“I would say a solid, 5/10, which is a 50% improvement.”

“Fuck me, you’re a tough crowd. What am I docked for? You know I’m all about perfection.”

“There was a lack of originality. And you omitted your middle name.”

It takes everything in Nathan not to giggle. The way the words come out of your mouth are so funny… or maybe he’s just obsessed. It could be both. “My middle name is classified information.”

“Does Wikipedia know that?” You ask, tilting your head in that uncanny way.

Nathan can’t hold in his laugh this time, running a hand over his beard, “You’re funnier than you look.”

Your mouth twitches, and you give him the smallest nod, “Thank you, sir. Is that all?”

He pretends to think about it. “This apology is feeling pretty one-sided to me.”

“I accept your apology, Mr. Bateman, thank you.”

“Accept something else,” He proposes, going out on a limb. Suddenly your stare is too intense, the room is too hot and small. What the fuck is he doing?

“What’s that?” You ask, as soft and sweet as ever.

“Dinner. Tomorrow,” He says simply.

“With you?”

Nathan ignores the twinge in his heart— your tone barely changed. If he wasn’t with you every single day, studying you, he wouldn’t even have noticed.

“I can invite the droids if you want. They’ll just stare at us while we eat.”

Your hand tightens around your planner. Dinner with Nathan…choosing to be around him? It seemed like as of late he was trying to be…more palatable. This could be an act of good faith. But, you have your sisters and mother to think about. You’ve given her nurse enough overtime hours in the last few weeks.

“Without getting too personal, I don’t think I’ll be able to swing it sir, I have to get home to my sisters as soon as possible.”

Yes, your family, that you never talk about. He could accommodate, what’s he the fucking boss for if he can’t?

“We’ll do it early.”

You sway a little as you think about this— that’s new, he thinks to himself, filing that information away for later.

“You’ve already got me apologizing, I can’t add saying please to the list of acceptable behaviors. I’ll lose my fucking edge.”

“How early?”

“3:30.”

“Alright, then, sir.”

nathan taglist: @missdictatorme, @hon3yboy, @runa-falls, @campingwiththecharmings, @toracainz, @steven-grants-world, @clemdango04, @jdbxws, @crispysublimecupcake, @sub-aro, @faretheeoscar, @cupidysm, @whentheskyispinkandabitblue , @nova-ivy541, @sparkypantelones, @veritable-trash, @mangoslushcrush, @kotaropuppy

[itstheghostofmypast]

Meow (Ch-4)

Choi San x (f)Reader

Summary: He had spent an entire millennia in solitude, waiting for her to come back to him, bearing this curse that was a constant reminder of his ignorance, his mistake, and his guilt. He had forgotten how fate had always been cruel to him, punishing him for all he had done, and so be it, meeting her in the 21st century should have brought him joy- there was only one problem, his love for her may not have decreased a drop, but she may love Poofy more than she ever loved him.

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word Count: 15k

Est Read Time: 1 hr 15 min

Warnings: death of a major character, abuse, war, PTSD.

Rating: Mature

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @san-network

Masterlist I Chp-3

He watched her walk out of the room, making sure to close it behind her, giving him some form of space, though he could hear the way she let out a sigh, so she was still afraid- no, perhaps uneasy at best. Well, he did leave some impression on her, invading her home, taking up her private quarters for two weeks, having her take care of him, such carelessness, San, it was not like you to burden such a delicate flower- visibly scoffing at the train of thought he huffed, laying back down as his head collided with the soft pillow breaking the blow, honestly, he had wanted it to hit hard enough to knock him out, for the way the Moon had fated him with a human was as exhausting as the time she had blessed him to be the protector of this land. However, he now preferred the latter any day. The more important and disturbing question that lingered at the back of his mind was the fact that neither of his brothers had looked for him during this time. Well, usually, he wouldn't let them wander around alone, especially in unknown areas that Yunho had not mapped, but he did feel like they could've sent the wolves to look for him. Or maybe they did and he didn't know? What if they couldn't find him?

The door slid open, causing him to close his eyes, and pretend he was asleep, he was still cautious of her, she had yet to prove her innocence. She may have been only taking care of him to gain a favour or his trust, only to exploit him later, or worse, ambush him, betray him, shattering the heart that had now begun beating for her- oh this was going to be a problem, he huffed, trying to keep his eyes closed and expressions relaxed.

She walked in with the tray, mindful of her robes, glad she had worn the light pastels with the gold highlights, a good first impression is important. Making her way around the bed she placed the tray on the small table, turning to face him, only to find him asleep.

"Oh...my, he must still be tired," she whispered, leaning closer to expect the damage, her original plan was to change the bandages after he finished eating, but since he was asleep now, she could just do it whenever he woke up. Her ears picked up his little huff, eyes flickering from his shoulder to his face, was he in some form of pain? Shifting ever so slightly she moved a bit closer, closer to his head, with deft fingers she brushed a few strands of hair out of his eyes, noting the shift of expression when she gently carded her fingers through his hair, actually she was trying to aim for his kitty ears, but she needed to take it slow.

He bit his lower lip at the gesture, trying to control himself, his body had begun to respond to her actions, it was no longer following his will and that scared him. He knew that around your other half instinct would often take over but she was not aware of their 'fated relationship', what if he ended up losing complete control and giving into his desires, one which were infatuated by his heart and burning passion for her. Perhaps he should open his eyes and scare her away again, the further she stayed the bet- a loud purr emitted from his throat, causing his eyes to snap open as she froze, fingers still in his hair, giving him a sheepish smile- though the fear swirling in her eyes almost gave her away- almost.

"What...are you doing?" A strained whisper broke past his lips, finally shattering the silence as he tried to even out his breathing, his purrs growing louder when she began to scratch below his ear, petting him like a cat, "My apologies...but you have really cute ears...Poofy."

Clearing her throat she slowly pulled back, praying to the Moon that he did not notice her flushed face, truth be told she had never laid eyes on a man more beautiful, so alluring and charismatic. He intrigued her, made her turn back to the curious little girl she was, the same girl who found Yuyu hiding behind the bushes at their home, who brought Yuyu to meet her mother and forced him to become her playmate- but there was something different about Poofy, the way his piercing gaze lingered on her, she could feel the way he was scanning her, sizing her up, drinking in her presence when she had first introduced herself, it was...different.

He gripped her wrist whilst she was about to pull back, maintaining eye contact, admiring the way her face was near his, pretty sure with a tug he'd have her fall on top of him- perhaps another time. Slowly bringing her hand back to his head he placed his hand on top of her, letting out a quiet purr before closing his eyes, "You may proceed, tiny human."

Smiling at the gesture, she tried to ignore the tingling sensation of his hand on hers, he was so warm, she'd never really held hands with anyone before- technically this wasn't holding hands, well in a sense, oh god, this intimacy was going to driver her insane. Was it common for his kind to be this physical, Yuyu would always hold her hand too, well then, Yuyu was Yuyu, he was different, he was sweet and playful, and he was one of the few important people in her life- was.

That night she found herself sitting on the futon, back pressed against the wall, her fingers in his hair, playing with the strands, caressing his ears, with his head in her lap- truth be told she didn't remember how or when he'd way onto her lap. Still, he was snuggling closer and his loud, soothing purrs were lulling her to sleep, it had been long since sleep had come to her on its own, often she'd need to drink her sleep-inducing drops, prescribed to her ever since that day, without them she would lay on her cold, large bed for hours, listening to the silence, letting the bitter reality of her meaningless existence prick at her bones, tempting her to take matters in her own hands often. Still, then she would remember the promise, too afraid to take any action that might ruin the chances of her ever reuniting with Yuyu. Her fingers danced across his hair as she looked down at him only to find him staring back at her, causing her breath to him, he was...so...shameless, not an ounce of unease swirling within his brown orbs, staring up at her shamelessly, like he had every right to do so, he was doing it again, he was trying to read her, study her. She didn't want to break eye contact, but she was amazed and appalled by his audacity, the proximity and intimacy had her heart hammering against her ribs, bouncing around, yet, he was so calm, so relaxed and so warm, her eyes flickered to his lips, not wanting to look at him anymore, only to notice his lips slightly quirk upwards, before he spoke, "You think a lot, tiny human, your thoughts keep you awake and they're keeping me awake."

"You really are rude, Poofy." She huffed, only to squeak when he nuzzled his face in her lap, trying to push him off but he glanced at her, "Is this how you treat your patient, Princess of the East?"

Princess? She never told him- how? What?

"How do you...know?" She whispered, only for him to sigh, reaching for her hand that had stopped on his head, gently shaking it causing her to jerk out of her daze, she never knew she stopped it, only to start again when he sighed sleepily, "A conversation for tomorrow, Princess of the East, for now, tend to my wounds."

She could only shake her head in response, he really was something else, so closed off yet so clingy, like they had known each other for millennia, maybe if they had, things might have been different for her, for Yuyu, for her mother.

The Moon really did give her another Poofy.

.

The next morning, she had woken up by a loud snore, eyes snapping open at the volume, how could someone snore so loud- oh heavens. Her face warmed up at the thought of it, unfortunately, she couldn't even blame the sun, squinting at the light as she made her down the vast field. With her basket in hand, she was busy making her way to the other end of the field, near the trees, in need of some willow catkins, his wound was healing but the inflammation was still there, which is why she had made her way out of the cabin early in the morning, well because of that and the fact that if she had continued to lay on top of his chest, she would have combusted- not only was it extremely unladylike of her do to so, she has no memory of snuggling up next to him, all she remembered was him falling asleep in her lap and she had rested her head against the wall, closing her eyes for just a second.

A rustle from behind the bushes had her freezing up, she slowly turned her head to glance at whatever hid behind, only to let out a small squeak when a giant brown bear slowly walked out, though his eyes bore a form of gentleness she had barely seen before. She had no plans of getting mulled by a bear today, so she followed what all the books on survival she had read taught her, stay still, and pray to the Moon that the beast lose interest in her and leave. Though after ten minutes of standing there, unmoving she felt the sudden urge to sneeze- oh no. With an ungraceful sneeze, she fell backwards, the flowers cushioning her fall but before her, the bear stalked towards her slowly, and like the scared little girl she was deep down inside she sat there, closing her eyes, hoping it’d be quick. Though it never came, cracking open an eye she found its head stuffed in her basket, and that’s all it took for her to decide that this was the best time to escape.

Slamming open the door to the cabin she ran inside, not even bothering to close it, only glancing behind her to make sure it wasn't following her, then colliding with another body, with a squeak followed by a loud thud she gasped, pushing herself up on her hands, only to come face to face with a frown.

"I admire your brave advances Princess, but I believe I am not your type." He smirked, fingers twitching to grab hold of her, though he held himself back. Truth be told he had been looking for her as soon as he had woken up, and although he couldn't find her, he had decided to do something else, snoop around.

Unfortunately, if one were to break in, they'd find nothing out of the ordinary, other than the fact that this belonged to a peasant, a peasant woman, which is why mid-searching his goal had changed, to find all the places someone could break in from, especially given the knowledge that a woman lived here alone. This was not a safe arrangement for any woman, let alone one of her statures. Eleven, in total there were eleven places within this cabin where someone could break in, he needed to talk to her about it.

Apologising she slowly moved off him, only to lay on the floor, trying to calm herself down as she stared at the ceiling, lying next to him, she was too scared even to register his joke, too scared to ask him how he was feeling or how he had even moved? There were no bears in this part of the forest, hell, there were almost no predators in this part of the kingdom, that's why they had moved her here right? Not only because they wanted her to stay away from political matters but because it was safe too, right? They'd never...harm her?

He sat up quietly, turning his head to find her blankly staring at the ceiling, well, he could hear the little voices, squeaking around, but he was unable to make out any form of coherency, perhaps he still had a lot to learn from Hongjoong and Yeosang, the two could read thoughts, probably knit a whole gown with them and the person wouldn't have picked up on it- if he had actually listened to Hongjoong's lectures he could've plucked out these thoughts feeding off her life force, draining her serotonin- alas, that was not a trait he possessed and using words was always a quality possessed by Yunho or Wooyoung, but if he were to try...for her...just for her- wait, why should he try for her, what has she ever done other than saving him? More importantly, she is a mere mortal and royalty at that, a proper, spoiled, pompous and arrogant creature, of course, she would be no different from those who had visited their temple, demanding the land and its beauty- pitiful creatures of ignorance,  starting a war to take back what was never there's, this false sense of power than consumes them disgusted him, they disgusted him and she disgusted- his eyes flickered to meet her meek gaze, to notice the rosy hue spreading across her cheeks, licking her lips as she sat up, staring at him, before mumbling, "Are you...hurting, Poofy? You're scowling?" 

Truth be told she had stopped thinking about her family problems as soon as he had gotten up, somewhat proud of her medicinal skills, he was healing and he was healing quickly, sure, his supernatural powers had helped speed up the process but she was glad that she could be of use, of use to someone at least. Another new occurring issue however was the way he'd look at her, his eyes would be so serious and cold, a story untold swirling within his dark orbs that were often fixed on her face, her form and perhaps even her soul, but that never scared her, because with this cold stare accompanied a pout, one that would have her giggling inside, she had never seen a man so masculine yet so...cute? 

"I'm..." he tried to focus on the distant noise radiating from her, but it had begun to fade away, he had noticed this the first time she had introduced herself to him, every time she'd be sitting quietly the noise would grow in volume and frequency, often resembling the shrieks and howls of the demon fleets he fought off with his brothers at the brink of dawn, the trials the Moon had put them through to prove their worth, which is why he was often like this around her, though he could feel no ounce of satanic residue off her, what was more concerning how when she would become to converse with him, they'd quickly disappear into nothingness. Instead, he'd be staring at a warm, calm presence, just carefree in motion and living, much like how he noticed about the field sunflowers, swaying side to side as the wind would lovingly caress them, easing away all their frustration and worries, leaving them to look up at the sun and bask in its glory, just like that she'd smile at him, as tranquil as the summer sea, waiting patiently for him to speak his mind, "I'm just a bit hungry, Princess. "

That is exactly how the War Chief found himself back on the futon, in front of him a table filled with food for him, though he eyed her coming and leaving the room with more food only for him to grab hold of her wrist when she was placing a cup of juice, "Either eat with me or stop bringing more food."

She flinched at the contact, something he noticed but didn’t react to, nor did he loosen his grip, only tugged her down, making her sit near him. Clearing her throat she slowly moved to increase the distance between the two, but sat there with her hands on her lap, looking at him eat quietly, “Is it good?” she asked, trying to strike up a conversation, she had begun to follow her mother’s recipes, although no one at home would eat them, which is why she wanted his opinion, perhaps she could be able to make food like her mother did, the same food that attracted Yuyu to their palace.

“I haven’t had meat this tender in a while,” he cleared his throat, putting down the chopsticks, “I’ve been on my own for months, making rounds of dark patches, so I cook whatever I can hunt or just have a small snack,” turning to look at her quizzical look he sighed, “Dark patches are concealed areas, after the great war the earth was divided up, land was sectioned, our maps were rendered useless, now there are three types of territories-

“Oh, I know that.” She cut him off before quickly covering her mouth, dipping her head as an apology, “My apologies, please continue, that was out of my place.”

True, she knew, she had a lot of knowledge about the kingdom, before and after the great war, but the war had happened centuries before she was born, though she could read, her mother had taught her how to, and she could write as well, a quality her father disapproved off, especially after she had begun to show interest in the way the kingdom worked, from political matters to military actions. Truth be told, the war had always fascinated her, to think the human army had fought off the beasts that roamed the land freely, she too much like everyone else had believed them to be beasts, ones cursed by the Moon, even though her mother had often convinced her how that was untrue, she did not believe her mother’s claims and chose to believe what her ancestors and her father both talked about, how the beasts were pure barbarians that destroyed all that came in their way, or at least she thought she believed it till she had met Yuyu. Unfortunately, she was now afraid that her sudden interest would offend him, having him dismiss her like her father or brothers did, that very thought led her to bow deeper, an apology at the tip of her tongue but he cut her off.

“What are you doing, Princess?” he asked, out of genuine curiosity, this little human was definitely interesting, the Moon had really searched hard to find a cracked nut for him- so much for being the Moon’s favourite, “Why are you apologising? It has been long since I’ve met a human who knew about the history of the world, continue, I want to know if what you know is closer to the truth or have you been fed by the corrupted version?”

She peaked up from her lashes, noticing how he gave her a reassuring smile, before slowly sitting up straight, clearing her throat, unsure if he was serious, or not, but deciding to continue anyway, “Centuries ago, the land was split into three portions; man, beasts and demons. Humans were well, normal and unimportant, mortal beings such as me, we were at the bottom of the food chain, not directly linked to the Moon, but were under her supervision nonetheless, for she loves all the living equally,” he smirked at her statement, well, she did love the living, but he was definitely her favourite, “then came the two who were either cursed by the Moon or blessed, originally, human scriptures held the truth about the two clans, the Lurkers, those who were cursed by the Moon, often man or beast turned into Lurkers, they held within them essence of dark magic and were fuelled with the same passion of demons, and then the second clan was on top of the pyramid, the beasts, also…known as the guardians, such as yourself, you were blessed by the Moon, given traits similar to an animal that became your spirit, I knew one who was a canine, back then he was a puppy, I know not who or what he is now and …you’re the second guardian I’ve met.” She smiled at him, proud when looked at her with a look of sheer surprise, truth be told he was impressed by her knowledge, which pushed her to continue her little history lessons, “Now our scriptures hold lies, truthfully I used to believe them, choosing to ignore my mother’s stories, she had knowledge of the original scriptures hidden in the palace, our current scriptures claim how the beasts and Lurkers attacked humans, but the truth is that the Lurkers and humans worked together to bring down the guardians to take their lands and they almost did, until they turned on each other, the guardians used this as an advantage, they say that day the sun and the Moon stood together in the vast sky, the two dragons, lunar and solar guided and protected their armies below, one that was led by the Canidae, one that was led by the Ursidae, and one that was led by Felidae- they say the Felidae was the strongest batch, led by a giant black beast, its fur was as dark as the silent, deadly sky but its golden eyes were as bright as the piercing sun, some say it resembled a panther, that day the guardians won, but once again chose to honour the Moon’s decision of choosing them as the guardians, putting forth the request of showing mercy upon the Lurkers and the humans, so the humans were banished from certain areas, though they held more land now, and the Lurkers were…cursed into becoming goblins.”

She looked up from her hands to face him, to only squeak at how close he had moved to her, he was very much in her personal space, and again, instead of letting her move back, he gently pinched her chin, forcing her to face him as he studied her, “Tell me, princess, you know so much about us, yet you were afraid at the sight of another guardian today?” Her face contorted at his statement, she had met no other guardian today she had met no one else at all, no one but the bear- a small gasp escaped her lip as her curious eyes met his mischievous gaze, letting her pull his hand away as she gripped his wrist, whispering, “The…bear…but how did you know I met…someone?”

He let her hold onto his hand, somewhat surprised by how she didn’t pull back, perhaps she had not realised it, usually, she’d pull back like she was repelled by his presence, “I saw you leave with a basket, you came back empty handed and scared, the look in your eyes was not one held by a woman being chased by a man, I have saved many women as such as usually they are in fear of those bastards following them, you were not which meant it was a creature you thought was not smart enough.”

“Oh my…” letting go of his hands she covered her face with her hands, letting out a shaky breath, mumbling to herself, “What if they think I’ve done something to you- I was so scared, usually no animals come around here, the East is covered with the forest, but no actual animal life, if you have noticed, so I- especially not predators such as that- I am so sorry, maybe I should’ve talked to it-

He cut her off by pealing her hands off her face as he held her cold hands in his warmer, larger hands, “Who was it?”

“A…bear.”

“You met…” he paused for a moment, eying her, he still didn’t trust her enough to let her in, soulmate or not, that issue was still to be decided, “Jong,” he decided not to tell her his real name either, “ that is his animal spirit, I believe they sent him to look for me, as you know I was out cold for two weeks, before that, I had been out on my own for months, but I would send letters often.”

“I see.” She sighed, only to realise he was holding her hands, clearing her throat as she slipped out of his grasp, she got up, only to trip off his tail and squeak as she fell onto his lap, glaring at the way he smirked at her, truth be told he was still put off by the fact that she was a human, but her knowledge about the truth may have peaked his interest, that and the cute reactions she’d give when he’d tease her were of clear amusement.

“Very funny,” she huffed trying to move but he wrapped his arms, around her, making her squirm, “S-stop, this is in-inappropriate!”

“Aww, but I thought you liked sleeping on my chest” he chuckled, before it turned into a boisterous laugh at the way she whined, pushing off him trying to hide her blushing face. Ironically it was not her who had snuggled up against him the previous night, but when he had woken up, he had noticed the uncomfortable position she was asleep in, sitting there with his head on her lap, which is why he had helped her lie down, only to end up staring the futon with her, but her constant whimpering and small cries had him wrapping his arms around her, forcing the bitter thoughts away, trying to follow the method taught by Yeosang, to pluck away all the negative thoughts and memories, at least temporarily so she could sleep in peace, he was mindful enough to not interfere with her memories, choosing to respect her privacy, her past was a secret only for her to hold, he knew and respected that.

He let go of her, laughing when she mumbled how annoying she was, and declaring her exit with a, “You need to rest, I’ll clean everything up.” For a princess, she sure did live a domestic life. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, watching her stack up the dishes, taking in her side profile, he’d be lying if he were to say she was not one of the most beautiful creatures he had laid his eyes upon, perhaps the most beautiful human for sure- or was this feeling a result of her being his other half?

“Poofy?”

“Hmmm?” his eyes locked with hers, taking in the insecurities swirling within her gaze.

“You- you won’t disappear right?”

He took a moment to process her question, watching how she bit her lip, staring no longer at him but at his tail, then at the plates. Perhaps he took a minute too long because as soon as the silence began to grow, she cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice steady and gave him a small smile, “Forget what I asked- I’ll go bring your ointment-

“I will not.”

The way his words cut her off had her expressions relax, her typical faux smile turning into a thin line, as she stared at him, trying to take in any signs of insincerity, but she could find none, or perhaps he was too good at hiding them. At the back of their minds, both knew he had to go, she had no idea about ‘the one’ and he had yet to decide if he deemed her worthy to be her other half, even if the Moon had dedicated her to him.

.

“You- seriously you lost her?” Hongjoong sighed, looking up from another scroll to find the man staring at the floor, acting all guilty, of course, he did not tell his king how he had gotten distracted by the catkins in the basket she had left behind.

“I fear Jongho needs a good beating.” They heard a little chirp, causing the youngest to roll his eyes, and snap back, “I lost her because she has no scent you fool.”

That statement led Yeosang to look up from his book and finally speak up, "What do you mean?" He asked the youngest, every individual had a personal scent, perhaps she was masking hers somehow, "Was it masked?" 

Jongho shook his head, tossing the basket to Yunho who caught it, staring at the weaved basket, trying to find any traces of her, but he couldn't, odd, he clearly remembered her having a particular sweet scent as a child, one that had lured him to him- like of sugar syrup.

Mumbling something to himself Yeosang walked out of the chambers, leaving the rest confused, though Seonghwa sighed, before looking at Hongjoong warily, "I told you she's no good, we don't even know what condition he's in, what if he's hurting? What if she's torturing information out of him?"

.

"CAN YOU PLEASE STOP! THIS IS PURE TORTURE!"

He wailed, causing her to roll her eyes at him, ignoring him as she spread the ointment, snorting when he hissed like a cat at her. "How can someone as big as you cry like a child? It barely even stings." She chuckled, pulling her hand back when he sat up and glared at her, resting on his right elbow, "How can someone as pretty as you cause so much pain?" He finished before his cheeks flushed at his confession, eyes meeting hers for a split second before both averted their gaze, he cleared his throat and laid back down quietly, while she continued to spread the ointment on the healing stitches.

"I-I'll be gentle..." she whispered, not looking at anywhere but the stitches, though she felt him relax under her touch, earning a meek, uncharacteristic, "Thank you."

.

Yeosang slid the door open with such force that everyone in the room felt the tremors within the wall, "Look." He huffed, walking in, his blonde locks shining, emitting a warm glow - it had been a while since they'd seen his aura, watching him in his angelic glow, this was either good news or perhaps horrible news.

He walked up to the center of the room and placed a plant pot on the table, painted purple, it was San's. The once dirt-filled pot now had a little sunflower standing in the centre, its small petals glowing, much like the healer, "That's why you can't find her scent," he turned to Jongho, but much like everyone else the youngest was staring at the tiny flower in awe, the bittersweet reality seeping in, San had found his other half, and she was human.

"She...oh." Seonghwa's eyes snapped up at Yunho, taking in his defeated look, an irritable feeling bubble within him, San and Yunho had a stupid, juvenile bet, which one of the two would find a soulmate first, to be their 'one', although he never assumed San's one would be linked with Yunho, wonders of fate were still above her comprehension. Nonetheless, this foolish cat and dog race may prove to be troublesome.

"Wooyoung" his voice boomed, even Hongjoong felt the intensity of his thoughts, something was bothering Seonghwa, it had been for a while, not only did he send San to a dark patch without backup, but he had been the first one to notice his lack of letters as well, what was he looking for? Truth be told, although both the king and his advisors were dragons, one with the heart of the dear Moon and the other with the heart of the mighty sun, he never understood Seonghwa well enough to pick up on his little side quests, to him he was a mystery, much like the endless sky.

"Hmm?" He perked up at the call of his name, looking away from the little flower to the eldest, taking note of his glowing eyes, before letting out a tired sigh, "Fine, I'll go look for him..." he turned around though the firm grip on his shoulder had him wince as he mumbled an, "And talk to him."

.

Washing the last dish, she placed it on the rack, shaking the water off her hands before staring outside through the window, sighing as she welcomed the cool breeze, she loved nights like these, not a cloud in sight, only the stars twirling around their mother, the Moon, all watching down on her, keeping her safe, keeping her sane. 

Sighing she leaned against the sink, thinking back to how Poofy had called her pretty. Truth be told, she was often complimented on her looks, though most compliments seemed superficial, either trying to appeal to her father or for some political agenda, though both were completely pointless, for her father she held no worth, she was useless, and in terms of political control- well, she wouldn't be sent to this cabin out in the middle of nowhere if she were of any use or value, now would she? She was called pretty by only one other person before, Yuyu, and although she had felt the depth of his statement, felt the admiration, what she felt today was different- the way her heart had fluttered around in the cage of her bones, she felt her entire face warm up, and she knew for a fact that her hands were shaking after that statement, especially against his skin. He had decided not to speak to her after that, perhaps a guardian such as himself wanted nothing more with a mortal like her- technically he too was not immortal, sure he was centuries old but guardians too had a lifespan, only the longest out of the three species. Even when she had whispered how she was finished, he only quietly thanked her before looking the other way and mumbling, "I would like to rest, leave tiny human." He had stopped calling her Princess as well, she really did wonder why.

He lay there staring at the ceiling, the embarrassing memory of his confession flashing before his eyes, causing him to jerk himself back to reality and hiss in anger. On a serious note, he couldn’t believe he let it slip, it was just so out of the blue, especially when she was teasing him, her growing confidence around her was somewhat causing his self-control to slip out of his grasp and although he was somewhat enjoying it, he could not give himself the leverage of this love for two reasons; she was a mortal, she would grow old and would need constant companionship, as a War Chief who was also a guardian, he was always busy, always gone for war or for mapping quests, he could not provide her with the constant love and affection she...deserved? Or could she provide him with the undying devotion and time he was entitled to- though deep down he knew the only issue was the time given to them, not the love, if she was giving him her attention when they were mere strangers, perhaps she would shower him with more. The second and more pressing matter was that she was royalty, human royalty and humans had an innate sense of selfishness rooted within them, so what guarantee did he have that she would not leave him for another more powerful or she would not deceive him? Would she not be more loyal to her own kind? Her own father? Her siblings or even her nation, if she were to attain the throne. She had the wisdom and knowledge, and with a few years of grooming, she'd be fit to take the throne. With a huff he turned his side, taking in a deep breath but he instantly regretted it, she had laid here beside him the night earlier, her scent was all over the place, and his pillow was the epicentre at the moment- shit.

.

"Ow." She hissed, putting the needle down, apparently, the embroidery was harder than she expected, that and the giant slash in his vest left by the dagger was more of a nuisance.  Frankly, she was surprised how he never asked for where his clothes went, not his vest or coat, now that she got a closer look she could see the small crest imprinted right below the collar at the back of the coat, an infinity symbol, with a diamond on the centre- was this real? 

A little chirp caught her ear, followed by the nearby rustling of leaves. Usually, she wouldn't sit out on the porch, but the weather was just perfect tonight, and his constant, loud snores kept on reminding her of his alluring presence. Placing the vest on her lap she looked around, the few lit lanterns were not enough to show her what lay beyond the porch, normally she was afraid of the slightest of sound, any and everything would scare her, the dark, the violent wind, any storm passing by would have her shivering under the covers, especially when she was sent away to the cabin for long periods, such as this, it was never a pleasant experience, but then ever since he had arrived, it would feel as if the sun had finally decided to step out from behind the looming, dark clouds that were slowly suffocating her, as if she finally had something to turn to, to look up to, to bask in the glory of someone so warm, someone so soft, someone so safe, someone so - another chirp had her stand up, and slowly walk towards the end of the porch, stepping onto the final step before she'd touch the dirt path, a lantern in hand.

"Wh-who is it?" She called out, only to be met with silence, "I- are you...one of them?" She asked again, at this point she didn't know who she was calling out, but something at the back of her mind kept reminding her that it didn't matter because he'd come to rescue her, the Moon would bear witness to that. 

Something moved beside her causing her to squeak, and move the lantern towards the source, only to find a pair of golden glowing eyes, her breath hitched as she took a step back, only to realise it was a fox. She had never seen one up close, a small gasp escaped her and she moved closer, before stopping when it flinched, emitting a growl, only for her to clear her throat, "I-I won't hurt you...are you...are you here for Poofy?"

At the name the fox visibly looked confused, she could even make out the small frown he had, his tail tapping against the dirt, only for her to chuckle, "He won't tell me his real name, I need to know if you're actually one of them or an animal- I don't want to disturb him otherwise."

The fox moved closer and she froze, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Her worries died down when she felt him boop his wet nose against her hand, ducking his head so she could pet his head, which led her to giggle. "Wow, your fur is really soft" she mused, making sure to scratch behind his ear, which led his tail to tap faster, "You're really affectionate, aren't you? Poofy didn't even let me pet him for around three weeks of being here."

The fox pulled back and looked at her then at the cabin, letting out a chirp, he moved to slowly push her with his head causing her to gasp, "So pushy, all right, all right. I'll go get him." With that, she picked up her things and turned to give the waiting pretty fox one last look, before going inside.."Poofy?" She knocked before entering the room, making her way into the dark room, rolling her eyes at the sound of his snores, he was one heavy sleeper. Moving closer she reached for his head, slowly scratching below his ear, causing him to purr, stirring awake when she leaned closer to whisper, "Poofy, your friend is here to see you."

Cracking open an eye he whined, "Who is it?"

"A fox."

"Stay here." Instantly he sat up, causing her to yelp and fall back on her behind, looking up at him in utter shock, "What? Why? I thought-"

"No." He leaned closer, before grabbing her face, squishing her cheeks lightly, enough for her to whine and try to push his hand away. 

"Have you forgotten what state you found me in? Hmmm, Princess, when you found not a cat, but a man on your bed?" His smirk deepened at the way her eyes widened at his question, face flushing at the flashback of how when she had come to check up on the cat the next morning, she had almost screamed at the top of her lungs, on her bed lay a man in the nude- oh.

"Mhmmm, now be a good little princess and stay here." With that he let go only for her to cover her face with her hands, whining and complaining about bringing up a topic she had not touched on purpose, she had been trying to avoid it, even going as far as stealing one of her brother's pants for him- though she had to mend it, turns out guardians are bigger in size than an average man.

.

Closing the front door behind him he stepped out, his bare feet padding across the wooden porch, only to stop at the top of the three staired staircase, staring at the fox sitting at the opposite end.

"Took you all long enough." He huffed before tossing a sheet at the fox, watching it land on its head, only for it to chirp and whine, shaking it off, before looking up at the man with some sort of guilt- the foxie face as he'd say, a much better look than the puppy dog face, most would agree.

"Put that on, nobody wants to see a naked Wooyong."

"Especially her? Hmm, Poofy?"  

A pleasant smile graced his features as his brother stood where the fox once stood, tying the sheet around his lower half all tight, though San would've preferred if he had draped it over himself completely, he had brought a fairly large sheet, there was no need to show skin.

"Especially her." 

Wooyoung let out a giggle, "So it's true, she really is the one, huh?" He smiled, though it soon morphed into a frown at the way his brother was staring at the Moon, "What's wrong, Sannie?"

Typical Wooyoung, to delay the task handed down to him, only to deal with the emotional turmoil his brothers were going through, perhaps that is why the Moon had assigned him with the role of a subordinate and not a leader of any kind, though he was more than happy to take it, nature had always been his companion and he would happily spend his days lounging around in the sun, rolling around in the grass or even dipping into the crystal cool lake for a swim than being part of any other war.

 Sighing he walked closer to his brother, gesturing for him to follow. The two had begun to walk down the dirt path, into the very sunflower field where she had found him, on the brink of death. They needed to have the conversation away from the cabin, away from prying ears. "She is...but she is human...and she is royalty, a princess. She possesses the knowledge about the truth, but...I fear I- she might betray us, all humans do and-'

"Is that all you fear, San?" The younger one asked, turning to a sunflower, admiring the way nature worked, the sunflowers here were bigger, the head of the flower was as big as his hand, while the flower in San's pot was still small, was it to grow and bloom when their love would too?

"I," pausing for a moment he shook his head, "Of course, that's all, humans have been a source of worry and perhaps this is only a test the Moon has given me, to check if I can resist and stay steadfast to her truth."

"Then why haven't you come back yet?"

His question caught him off guard, watching the younger one with a look of scepticism, what was he implying, "Are you...questioning my loyalty, Wooyoung?"

"No, but I need to know why you are pretending to be sick, your tail and your ears, this is all for show, isn't it? I don't think it would take a War Chief, The War Chief of the Guardian Army, blessed by both the Moon and her brother the Sun, more than a month to heal, now would it Sannie?" He turned to look at the taller man, listening to the silence around them, on his way here he had noticed how no other life form but flora existed, no animals or insects, none, it was unnatural, it was as if a certain presence was keeping them away and he was sure this had been happening long before San had arrived, he was also sure that San had noticed this, but chose to ignore it. Within a second his nails morphed into claws, stabbing into the large sunflower, instantly earning a growl from the man in front of him, "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" With that he ripped off the head, turning to look at the growling beast only to be tackled by him onto the ground as his grip tightened around the damaged flower, while the latter squeezed his throat, hissing at him, "Don't hurt the flowers."

"Why?"

"You know why!" His grip tightened as he yelled.

"She knows Yunho."

Immediately his grip loosened, slowly moving off him, features morphing back to a calm state, "What?" He breathed out, thinking back to how Yunho, when he was a mere healing pup, would escape from the temple, coming to the human world where he had befriended a human girl, for a long time he'd claim this human was his other half, though all of them would dismiss the thought, passing it off as a joke.

"She....come home Sannie, Seonghwa is calling for you, talk to Yunho, sort it out, I-" his fingers loosened the grip on the flower, "There's a sunflower growing in your pot...Yeosang wants to see you to- they're all worried about you, I'm worried about you." He sat up, staring at his brother who was sitting on his knees, staring up at the Moon, he was about to call him again, until he noticed the way his shoulders were trembling, and how he was biting his lip, trying to contain the overflow of emotions, of the confusion and frustration."Let's go home, Sannie."

.

"Poofy?" She sighed, slowly sitting up, and looking around the room. The sunlight blocked by the curtains was the only way she realised how late she had slept for- wait she was in her bed? Pushing the covers off her she stumbled out of the room into the small hall, "Poofy?" Calling out once more she looked around the cabin, before walking out barefoot, slamming the door open and onto the porch, squinting at the sudden increase in brightness, the sun sure was happy today.

"POOFY?!"

Her calls were becoming more frantic, more desperate, her small steps turning into sprints as she ran down the sunflower field, calling out his name. He couldn't leave like that, he said he wouldn't, also he wasn't healed yet! He was still sick and- she stopped at the sight of her sheet on the ground, a shaky breath escaping her as she knelt down to pick it up, only to spot a crushed sunflower head next to it. Her gut twisted at the sight of the poor flower, reaching for it instead as she cradled it in her hands, looking at it with blurry eyes, whimpering out a quiet, "There, there, you're safe now, you're not hurting anymore, you're loved."

.

"You can stop kneeling you know-"

"No. Let him, it's his punishment after all." Seonghwa scoffed from his seat, eying the way their king was pitying the overgrown, spoiled, obnoxious cat- not once did this foolish child think of how worried he was. How he was worried he was hurt, lost or worse, no instead, he was busy trying to mingle with a human-

"Since when did Seonghwa get the throne?" A deep chuckle resonated in the room, causing the youngest to raise his head off the floor, giving him a small smile, though the healer earned a scoff from the advisor.

"Sit up, lover boy, we need to talk." He said patting his shoulder as he placed the purple pot on the table that divided Hongjoong and San. Taking a seat on the cushioned floor beside the War Chief, "So, explain yourself, though I'd skip the erotic detai-"

"Nothing as such happened, Sangie." San quickly cut him off trying to ignore the way the king was now frowning at him, "I swear I didn't do anything- we didn't do anything!" He clarified quickly, "I'm not an idiot."

"I doubt that." Seonghwa mumbled causing Hongjoong to interject, "Enough. Please, can we please get to the bottom of this before this gets any more frustrating?"

"Okay, so this," Yeosang moved the pot closer to San, "Is what grew overnight, so, tell me, what happened that this happened overnight and don't lie or hold back important information." 

San looked at him and then at Hongjoong who encouraged him to continue, watching how everyone had entered the chambers, including Yunho, though he remained at the back and sitting next to the door quietly. He had been lost in thought since the day they had found out about San's soulmate.

"I was attacked by two of the Xikeys, came out of nowhere." He began only to be interrupted by Mingi, "Two small goblins? They caught u off guard, how?"

"Bet he was staring at a butterfly." Wooyoung snickered, causing the light laughter to resonate, only once it died down they were met with silence, all eyes turning to the War Chief who was staring at his hands, blushing like a tomato.

"For the love of- Demote him. Please." Seonghwa huffed, running his fingers through his silky locks, trying to calm himself down, "Are you serious?"

"I-it was a blue monarch butterfly, it's been so long since I've seen one." He mumbled before pouting at Hongjoong, "There were so many of them, and - and there was no other animal there, like the forest was empty, surrounded by flowers and these butterflies so I was confused about that too, it's awfully silent there." 

"He's right." Wooyoung added, only for Jongho to add, "About both things, there are no other animals there and it is deathly silent. What was in that area before the human kingdom took over the land of the East?" He turned to Yunho, all of them, except San, he was still staring ahead, not yet ready to face the map maker. 

"I'm not sure, I think it belonged to an old Lurker, Azmer if I remember correctly." He announced, noting how everyone was quietly staring at him, "I'm not sure where San went to particularly, perhaps that area wasn't under his rule, but-"

"Azmer was the only one of the ten Kings of the Lurkers, it's said that he refused to part take in the war because he believed all three nations could live in harmony." He sighed, only to lock eyes with San, who was now staring at him. A playful smirk graced the map maker's face, "What's wrong Sannie? I'm sure she would have told you if you asked her, "What did you learn about her in the past month?"

"Yunho..." Hongjoong warned, picking up at how the feline of the group was growling, turning around in all his pride as he stared at the mapmaker slouching against the wall from his cushioned seat.

"I did not want to learn anything about her-"

"Then why were you still there?" He cut San off, "You don't want her as your other half either, she's been through enough rejections as is and-"

"Funny, she mentioned a puppy who disappeared, I guess you rejected her too." He smirked, observing the way the colour drained from the other's face,  frankly, this puppy's smile had been a pain ever since he had come back.

"At least she remembered me."

"Yet, I'm the one she's paired up with-"

"You don't deserve her!"

"And you do, mutt?!"

"ENOUGH"

The hall went quiet, both Wooyoung and Yeosang exchanged a look, then glancing at Hongjoong, who was staring at Seonghwa, his fangs poking out, as he walked towards San and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer, "You were gone for a month, you wasted a month, risked our defence like and learned what? Nothing?" He hissed, feeding off the fear emitting from the younger ones' eyes, as the lunar dragon turned his head to the map maker, "What do you know?" the timber of his voice having Yunho dip his head in obedience, he tossed the War Cheif aside, watching him fall back onto the floor as he reached for the flower pot, fingers caressing the petals before his elongated nail clipped off a petal, earning a whine from the panthers. His emerald orbs flickered towards the Guardian, who was now kneeling once more, bowing to the lunar dragon, "P-please, my liege, do not hurt her." He whispered, his forehead pressing against the carpeted floor, hands fisted beside his head, no pride present within his being, something everyone noticed in the room. The War Chief had been known for his pride and prejudice, yet here he was, begging for - well, he didn't know either, perhaps he was just begging for love, to be loved, to share the ample love he had within him, to feel whatever he'd read about in those little stories he'd read as a kitten. 

"Seonghwa..." Hongjoong sighed, noticing his little kitty-cat trembling in all his mountainous glory, though he knew when his brother, the dragon birthed by the Moon, was much softer than he was deep down, though his anger knew no bounds, something the Solar dragon feared.

 "Yunho." Hongjoong turned to the map maker when his brother ignored him, not out of spite, but because he was too busy trying to read the man before him, he could sense the inner turmoil, he could tell this fool was holding back, perhaps he too would have done the same in this situation, but he should have been able to see past his emotions, to look at the truth objectively, not to let his emotions get the better of him, San had never neglected his duties, he had never let anything distract him.

"She's....Azmer's granddaughter." Yunho sighed, eying Mingi who gasped but quickly covered it up with a cough- the action had the youngest two choke on a laugh, earning a glare from the green-eyed serpent, quietening them down.

"San, did you...find something odd about her?" He finally asked the man who was still kneeling with his forehead pressed against the floor, it somehow bothered him how readily San was willing to throw away all he had for her, yet he knew nothing about her if he was not devoted to the Moon, he would've said that she had made a mistake, blessing San with an angel in disguise.

"Get up," Seonghwa mumbled before going back to his original spot, against the window, staring out at the setting sun, knowing that Mother would disapprove of him treating his brothers like this, she'd talk about mercy and lecture him about compassion once more.

Sitting up on his knees he placed his hands on his thighs, facing the room, his eyes not meeting a single pair that was on him, "She has nightmares...almost life-like, " he sighed, thinking back to how she was whimpering in her sleep the night she had slept next to him, she would struggle against the sheets, trying to rip out of his grasp when he had tried to calm her down, only to end up using magic to settle her unease, "There are voices, she hears them while she's awake too and they only stop or die down when I speak to her or when she's not sitting in silence....at first I thought I was imagining things, then I thought she was a witch but...they're always around her, it's so noisy, "he mumbled, a wave of guilt splashing over him as his eyes widened for a split second, something noticed by Hongjoong and Yeosang who shared a look.

"What is it San?" Hongjoong asked, leaning closer to the table, "What did you just remember?"

"She..." he turned to look at Yunho, "made me promise...not to disappear."

"She has Lurker blood." Yeosang finally intervened, walking over to where Seonghwa sat, looking out at the pale purple sky before reaching for a scroll on the shelf beside the window, "Lurkers turn the way they are because they are cursed, while the Moon wanted to show them mercy, her brother, the Sun believed they should be punished, so each Lurker is doomed to hear the screams of not only their ancestors but the victims' as well," opening the scroll he placed it on the table to show to Hongjoong, however, everyone had hudled around the king, a small smile gracing the King's lips, regardless of the seriousness of the matter.

San was reading the scroll when he felt a hand squeeze his shoulder, causing him to turn his head and meet Yunho's apologetic gaze, one he returned with a small smile.

"I...had to use the spell you taught him," he turned back to Yeosang who nodded, raising a brow, "Funny, how you said you'd never need it when I was teaching you."

"So, she's a Lurker, stay away from her, or kill her, either way, the king will use her for her own benefit." 

The harsh words had the War Chief biting his lip, trying to keep in the growl. Shaking his head Hongjoong finally stood up, and turned to look at his advisor, "Advice that advocates war and violence is not what a king needs, your personal grievances are noted, but San can not deny the path the Moon has chosen for him."

Seonghwa turned to face the king, a scowl gracing his angelic, handsome features, "Fine, my advice is he goes, but as a cat, she should not know he is there. He had his time with her and learnt nothing about her, observe her from afar." With that he stormed out of the chambers, his silk robes tailing behind him, swishing like his actual tail, slamming the door behind him.

San turned to look at the sighing King, only to pout at him when he raised an eyebrow at his War Chief and then the rest of the council, "All of you, prepare for San's quest- and please do not do anything that would put us or.... her at risk."

.

Taking in the fresh air he sighed, his elbows resting against the window sill as he looked far ahead at the forest below, the Moon watching him from above. Truthfully, he had missed his room, his soft bed and covers, his personal space- but oddly enough he missed the small futon of her more, his softer bedding was not warm enough, it did not carry her scent or her warmth, his room seemed too big for him now, too bland and empty. Seonghwa was right however, he knew nothing about her, but how knowledgeable she was, well informed, well, she could stitch and sew, she knew how to cook and clean, she even knew how to create her own medicine- she was very soft as well, warm too, her skin felt so cold against his, like the cool splash of water in the burning heat, was this enough to claim he knew her though?

A knock on the door had him turn from his place of brooding, watching it open as a familiar face stepped in, with a smile, in his hand he carried a plate of apples, "Yeosang said these are special, he grew them in his garden with Jongho, they'll help replenish your strength. "

With pursed lips he nodded at the taller man, gesturing towards the small table at the other end of the room before turning back to look outside. 

Yunho sighed at the way he was ignoring him, honestly, there was a point when these two were inseparable, but perhaps as they grew older, the feline turned more quiet, more reserved, perhaps even more shy than he claimed not to be, Yunho was the opposite however, the mapmaker was completely different. Ever since he was a young pup, he’d be adventuring around and about, even when they were mere children, young soldiers of their respective armies. Hongjoong did say they were different because Yunho belonged to his army, the Solar Dragon, while San was part of the Lunar Serpent’s fleet.

“Why did you leave her?”

His question caught the mapmaker off guard, having him quietly stand next to the man, closing his eyes when he felt the win caress through his hair lovingly, truth be told he loved nights like these, cloudless nights where the Moon would shine bright on them, watching their every move with her tender love.

“I…had no choice.” He whispered, opening his eyes to look ahead at the endless sea of dark green, the forest, the land that was under Hongjoong’s kingdom was more than what the Lurkers and the humans had combined.

“What do you mean?” San asked, turning to face him, trying to take in more information, perhaps to find something that would ease his guilt, “She looked…she feels…is it because she still likes-

“She never liked me Sannie,” he turned to him with a small smile, “Never like that, otherwise her little flower wouldn’t be grown in your pot.”

“I didn’t mean to-

“I know,” he cut off the feline, who was somewhat ashamed to look at him as if he had taken what belonged to the pup, “I know you didn’t, I never doubted that. When I had met her, she hit me with a stick, right over here.” He pointed at the top of his head, “I was growling at her before that- she was a real menace you know, the eldest of the four siblings, she was supposed to attain the throne after her father…”

“I don’t think she’s getting it now though, they’ve tossed her into this cabin…no one even comes to check up on her- she’s all alone, where is her mother?” he sighed, walking towards the table he sat down on a cushion, picking up a golden apple, Jongho and Yeosang had been trying for a while, to grow the ancient golden apple of health.

“She…passed away, a few days after I stopped visiting her.” He rubbed his palms together, walking over to sit opposite to him, taking an apple of his own, “When I met her, she followed the same story her father had told her, she was a vile child, I actually met them by accident, my paw was stuck in the fence and I first thought she had come to help me out, but she stood there with a stick, pointed at me and,” snorting he split the apple in half, eying how San was listening to him intently, like a curious kitty, “She ‘ordered’ me to become her pet, and I refused by growling, for which she hit me with the stick, it went on for around 20 minutes until her mother popped up out of nowhere. Bless that woman, she saved me…took care of me.”

Nodding at him San looked at his hands before letting out a chuckle, “She’s…different now, very shy…very timid and so scared, it’s like she’s just barely hanging on.” He could never imagine his little sunflower as a child like that, to him, she would always be the gentle-natured angel that found him, at the brink of death.

“When I transformed back she had threatened to report me, even threatened her mother, that was the first time I saw her mother angry, she had really…knocked some sense into her- I even met Azmer once, he used to come to teach her magic, though it was almost similar to the kind Yeosang possess, she could heal, she could grow, she even understood nature- though I used to think that part was a lie, until I plucked out a flower once for her, and she had started crying, full on sobbing about how the flower cried to her about how I hurt it,” he sighed, turning to look up at the Moon out of the window, “honestly, I started liking her the day she said that, she was still a menace no doubt, but her grandfather and mother put in a great amount of effort to mould her for a better queen, my lov-” he paused when his ears picked up the way the other man’s breath hitched, “admiration for her increased when Azmer told us about the prophecy, a child of human and Lurker, would bring peace across the land, tying all three nations together, the child would be offered to a guardian,” he turned to face San again who was staring at him in shock, truly amazed, so the Moon had not blessed him randomly, but this was a prophecy, “That’s why, for a long time- well, until today I thought it would be me.”

“But…I…” he paused for a moment, trying to form a coherent sentence, one that was not too insensitive, “Is not that a child of damnation?” He knew Yunho knew what he was talking about, a similar prophecy surfaced many years ago, “A child of a Lurker and human would cruse the land, bringing chaos among the guardians, wreaking havoc across the three nations.”

“It’s a… double-prophecy, if…as Azmer said, she was to choose the path of the Lurkers or one decided by the humans, such as her father, she would be fulfilling the Yin prophecy, if she were to take her own path, she would be fulfilling the Yang prophecy- for which she was promised a sincere other half, one who would stand by her to no end.” He sighed, standing up as he dusted his hands, eying San who was looking up at him curiously, “Go to her, observe her like Seonghwa has told you, not because we don’t trust her, but so you can see how much her mother and grandfather groomed her, how she is going to fulfil the Yang prophecy and what better partner to have than the great War Chief, the Moon’s blessed soldier, my very best friend and dearest brother…you.”

San sat there silently, letting the gravity of the situation weigh down upon him, slowly her actions and her insecurities began to make sense, and her promise, she had lost Yunho whom she must’ve assumed was her other half, perhaps his arrival had helped her realise it was not Yunho, but him, for whom she was meant to wait be-, his head snapped up at the door, words coming out quicker than he could stop them,

“Why did you leave her?”

Yunho’s hand was on the doorknob when his question had him freezing in spot, a long sigh broke past his lips that settled with a frown, “One of her brothers, Lauster, overheard us one day, and he reported it to the father…the king. The king had exiled the old Lurker, and a few days later news broke that their grandfather had died…supposedly attacked by a group of goblins, the queen was devasted and horrified, she had made me promise to protect her daughter when I’d grow older but also told me not to return until I was strong enough…so I did.” His forehead pressed against the cool mahogany as he closed his eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay, clearing his throat so his voice wouldn’t betray him, only San was no fool, he could tell what was going to come next was horrible, “The next day…the Queen took her life- I…I know that’s not true, that’s why she doesn’t stay at the palace for too long, she hides in that cabin, you think she is banished there but that’s her safe haven. Her mother would tell her how Azmer’s cabin could protect her from those who’d want to harm her, one way or another, perhaps that’s why they cannot get rid of her, though the Lurkers in her mind, the ones leaching off her soul was something even Azmer couldn’t control,” he opened the door before whispering, though he’d know San could hear him with his sharp hearing, “Her other half- well, you already told us you could stop the voices, make sure they never get to her, San.” With that he walked out, gently closing the door behind him.

San slowly got up, walking over to his cupboard, opening the cupboard he reached behind his clothes to take out a small box, from within he took out a red handkerchief, staring at the cloth his thumb stroked the small embroidered sunflower at the corner,

‘Why is it always a sunflower?’

‘Hmm…because they're warm and pretty, Poofy, they are easy to grow, they adapt well and always turn to the light, the darkness can never attract them.’

‘You know, just an; I like sunflowers, would’ve worked too.’

‘You can be real mean sometimes, you know that Poofy.’

So, that’s what she meant, she grew the flowers herself, she wanted to be surrounded by the light, she wanted to be surrounded by the warmth that was promised to her, the warmth and light that would pull her out of the claws of the Lurkers within her, and he was supposed to provide her with that help, yet, he had abandoned her- not anymore.

.

Three days, he had been watching her for three days and all she’d do was sleep, clean, eat and repeat. There were moments of the day when she’d stay in the washroom, in the tub a bit too long so he’d have to go up to the window, and discreetly open the windowsill with his paw, to peak in, only to find her crying in the wooden tub. At night she’d sit in front of the mirror, brushing her hair in silence until the tears would begin to slowly cascade down the apples of her cheeks, dripping onto her silk gown, to say that he had not wanted to jump into the room to pull her into his arms, or into the tub to squeeze out all the pain and agony would be a lie, yet, this time he had decided to obey orders, to obey Seonghwa. Even Hongjoong had told him to stay out of her way, to stay hidden in the shadows so he could observe her, to note any abnormalities, perhaps she had put up an act for so long while he was at her residence, though his notes so far just told him she was a sad little girl being tormented by her thoughts, thoughts that he could push away if the dumb king and his dumber advisor had not instructed him otherwise.

It was not until the seventh night, that he had decided to take matters into his own hands, to make his presence known, at least to some extent. Her nightmares had become too extreme, he had thought of intervening that night, but before he could step into her room through the open window her shrieks had him flinching, waking herself up. What horrified War Chief was how she ran towards the kitchen, slamming open a drawer to take out a knife, taking in a few deep breaths she pulled up her other hand, staring at her wrist, her eyes void of any emotion as she mumbled to herself, "There, there, you're safe now, you're not hurting anymore, you're loved."

But before the edge of the knife could touch her skin something crashed in her room, causing her to flinch, letting the knife go in the process, flinching once more when it clattered against the wooden floor. Sighing to herself she rubbed her eyes with her palms, mumbling a curse she walked back into her room, only to find the window completely open. She turned to her cupboard which was slightly ajar, oh no, was someone inside? Perhaps she should have listened to Poofy when he was lecturing her about the safety measures, she should take to ensure no one breaks in. Grabbing the nearest object, a cane- oh, her grandfather’s cane, perhaps this cabin really was alive, always protecting her, well it better protect her now. She slowly walked towards the cupboard, slamming it open and swinging the cane around like a blind woman, hitting everything she could- only to calm down after a minute and realise she had been yelling and beating nothing but her own clothes- oh. Grumbling to herself she marched over to the window, slamming it shut then locking it, stupid wind, turning around she looked at the bed, only to gasp, before her, on her bed, laid spread out his uniform, Poofy’s uniform, particularly the coat she was working on when he had gone, with the half-embroidered sunflower across the gash on the cloth.

“Poofy?” she called out, looking around before quickly opening the window again and looking out for any signs of him, only to be greeted by her usual sunflowers, nothing unusual- wait, her eyes widened at the realisation, they were not facing the sky where the sun would smile down upon them, no, her flowers were turned to face the forest, right across from her, the entire field of flowers, the sunflower heads were facing the evergreens that separated her cabin from the rest of the world. He was here, he had to be.

That night she had no nightmares, instead she had dreamt of her grandfather and mother, both having tea in this very cabin, sitting on the porch as they stared at the sunflowers under the sun. Perhaps the thoughts inside her head could sense his mighty presence too, perhaps they did fear him after all. She had woken up a bit better that morning, putting in the extra effort of bathing in scented water, picking out her prettiest outfit, and her hair brushed and styled to perfection, ironically, the cathead pin had found its place back in her hair, the bell chiming with every move.

Since that day, she would sit on the porch during the day, somehow making sure all of her time was spent outside, tending to the flowers, cleaning around with the door and windows wide open, not a care to spare, because he would protect her, he was bound to. She’d even sit outside when the sun would ease into the sky, tending to his torn coat and vest, making sure to stitch it up well. At night, before finally retiring inside the cabin, she would place a plate of warm food, looking around the sunflowers, trying to spot two pointy ears or at least a tail, but she never could, yet, every morning she’d come outside to find the plate empty, and beside it a little gift, once it was a small origami heart, the next day it was a flower crown made from her sunflowers, she was please to know how the flower had allowed him to use them, telling her how this mysterious man filled with admiration and what they called love would use nimble fingers to skilfully pluck them out. Another day it was a purple silk ribbon, one she began to wear in her hair each day.

By the next full Moon, his gift for her the next morning had her fall to her knees, a silver pendant with a sapphire heart, placed neatly in the handkerchief she had given to him. She had run across the entire field that day, to look for him, wanting to find him, to confront him, yell at him for abandoning her like that even though he had promised to never leave, yet she could not find him, not a tailor pointy ears in sight. Out of spite, however, that night she had left him no meal, and next morning she had woken up to no gift, much to her disappointment, what was his problem!? Why was it so difficult to communicate with him? And just like that the meals stopped and so did the gifts, the only things that remained were that she would no longer suffer from nightmares and she was still trying to fix his coat, only this time, she no longer did it outdoors, fine, if he wanted to play hard to get, she could give him the silent treatment too.

.

San sighed, sitting on top of the branch usually gave him a good view, of not only the field and cabin but the window inside as well, it was a pleasant view, a view he truly appreciated, making him thank Mother Nature, making him thank the Moon-

“You’re a real perv, aren’t you?” the deep voice had him flinch, quickly standing in battle stance only to scoff at the taller man before shoving him off the branch, watching him land on his feet, following in behind.

“It’s my view, not yours.”

“San, I don’t think watching her bathe is anyone’s view”, Mingi sighed, rubbing his neck, of course, the idiot would be doing this, he was greedy and perverse when it came to attention as well, “So,” he decided to change the topic, “How is it going? Seonghwa and Hongjoong don’t know, but Yeosang sent me to check up on you, is everything okay?”

Sighing the man shook his head, rubbing his face, “She’s giving me the cold shoulder…she knows I’m here and-”

“How?”

He turned to look at Mingi, “Look, before you say I wasn’t allowed to do so, she was…she was about to do something reckless okay and I had to stop her somehow so I made my presence known and I helped her with her nightmares, that led to another thing and…she left me food so I left her gifts, it- it's like an exchange policy you know! It’s a cat thing- I think dogs do it too and then she stopped so obviously I stopped but I guess she’s mad about that?” He finally stopped to look at the librarian who was looking at him with great disgust, “What?”

“San…women…well…I…you’re an idiot.”

“Thank you, I’m sure your books make you very smart.”

“They do, they also teach me to communicate.”

“What?”

“Talk to her, you buffoon,” he sighed, before turning around, “Talk to her before you or she does something else that’s beyond stupid, listening to Seonghwa or Hongjoong for matters of the heart is idiotic, the dragons have been blessed by the love of all, including the Sun and the Moon, they didn’t have to earn it, like us, like you…or like her.” With that the man walked into the forest, disappearing behind the dense trees, a distant howl being the only sign of his departing presence.

.

Sighing to herself, she hung the fixed suit onto the handle of her cupboard, admiring her work, the large sunflower on the shoulder smiling brightly at her, much like the littered, smaller embroidered sunflowers, trailing up into his breast pocket on the left side. She had originally thought of just fixing the gash, but with the time she had, her creativity had gotten the best of her, which led her to give his clothes her little touch. Not that he’d know, since he had almost disappeared once again, her only assurity of his presence was that the nightmares had stopped, so perhaps he was still around, or maybe she had just outgrown the Lurkers within her?

The sound of a loud knock caught her attention, who had come to visit her at this hour? Walking out of her room she walked towards the door, Azmer’s cane in hand as she called out, “Who is it?”

“It’s us, you leach.”

Of course, it was midmonth, the time when her father would send either her brother or brothers or sometimes the royal guards with the food rations, sometimes clothing if needed, often she’d prefer the presence of the last option, at least the guards showed her some respect.

Opening the door, she moved aside, watching them enter like this cabin was theirs to claim. Lauster walked in with all his faux glory, his robes dragging across the floor as he stared around the cabin in disgust, “Really sister, if I were you, I’d get hitched, this filth is no place for someone related to us.” Pulling back a chair he sat down cross-legged, eying the way his sister stood with the cane, “Is our useless sister now a limp?” earning a chuckle from the younger two.

“No, but if you’d like I can turn you into one,” she smiled at him, earning a scowl, then she turned to the other two, “And I’d appreciate it if you’d show some respect, Jinju, don’t you think so, Maghroor?”

The younger two looked at their brother who scoffed, before snapping his fingers, “You really think you’re getting the throne aren’t you?” Maghroor stood up, slowly walking into her room when Lauster continued, “Haven’t you heard the news sister dear, father had come up with a great proposition, you are to be wed to the son of the first king of the Lurkers, I heard Ghalazat is a great guy, all big and strong- heard he breaks girls like you easily-

“Are you out of your mind?” she asked, walking closer to him, only to be stopped by Jinju, standing tall in front of her, “You really think we’re afraid of you sister? Father cast you aside the moment you let that whore of a mother we had and Azmer fool you with their little fairy tale.” The youngest hissed, leaning closer to her, only to bounce back, his hand on his stinging cheek as he sucked in a breath, glaring at her, with blurry eyes.

“Choose your words wisely, weasel,” the androgynous tone of hers caused the second oldest to freeze in spot, to scare her was part of the plan, but this was something they had not prepared for, deep down they were unsure of what she would do if the Lurker within her won. She was their father’s favourite not only because she was the firstborn or because she was smart, but she was the only child of his who was part Lurker, and although he had tried three more times, none of his sons had inherited the gene.

“C-come now sister, we were only joking.” He laughed, pulling back his youngest brother, “No need to get upset, I’m sure Jinju would apologise if you were to ask, he never meant to call Mother a whore.” He smiled, trying to calm down his sister who was frowning at him, glaring at them.

“No, I think he was right.” The third voice intervened, as Maghroor stepped out of her room, smirking at how the colour had drained off her face, her voice switching back to its usual octave, a whisper breaking through, “No…”

“Hmmmm? What was that?” He asked, dangling the coat in the air, “Come on whore, use your words, we know you can.” He smirked before tossing the coat to the eldest of the brothers, watching the way her eyes widened, almost afraid they’d break something, “Do you know what this is, brother?”

“No,” Lauster frowned, grossed out by the embroidery, “Who does this belong to, hmmm? Sister dear?”

“Put that back,” she hissed, moving closer, only to be slapped by the youngest, with greater force than she had used, causing her to stumble against the chair and fall onto the ground, as she stared up at Lauster with blurry eyes, too focused on Poofy’s clothes to care about the pain, that is until Jinju grabbed her by the hair, tugging on her strands, causing her to let out a strangled cry, “He asked you a question, wench.”

“None of your business, I said put it back-”

“Oh…I’ve seen this crest before”, Lauster hummed, turning to Maghroor, “This coquette’s been sleeping with the enemy.” Maghroor let out a faux gasp before turning the vest around in his hold, clucking his tongue at the crest, “You’re right brother, and here we were, giving our angelic sister to a noble prince, do you think he’d want a filthy, used slu-

“That’s not true!” she yelled, struggling against the youngest, finally shoving him off as she ran to her brother, wanting nothing more than to protect her work, to protect her dignity, a part of her wish if Poofy was here, he could come save her, but the fact that his clowns had been here, tormenting her only meant she was wrong, it was never Poofy, perhaps some homeless thief or a goblin fooling with her.

Her thoughts came to a halt when a blunt force knocked the air out of her lungs, causing her to fall to her side, the throbbing pain in her head made her vision blurry, and the ringing in her ears echoed as the blurry figure of her brother crouched down to look at her, brushing away the hair from her face, before gripping her cheeks hard, “Then why do you have this, hmmm? You sneaky little liar.”

“What punishment is given to a liar I wonder?”

“Oh brother, don’t you mean a whore?”

“True, true, Lauster, Maghroor is right, she is a whore that has been lying to the king, what punishment do you think is fit for something as unworthy and useless as,” the youngest paused, only to press his foot against her back, causing her to let out a muffled sob, “our filthy eldest sister.”

“Perhaps we should cleanse her before she is given to Ghazalat, I’m sure he’d be fine with a whore that can’t speak.” Maghroor suggested, tossing the vest onto the floor, as he walked towards the hearth, using the shovel to scoop out a good amount of burnt wood, admiring the simmering amber ashes, “For all the lies she has told her kingdom.”

“Mark her with our crest.” The youngest cheered, pulling out a dagger, before reaching down to rip a portion of her gown, exposing her back, their menacing laughter echoed when she covered herself, ensuring none of her chest was exposed, only for him to press his heel onto her back, pushing her crouching form onto the floor, laughing when she let out a strangled cry, pleading them to stop, “For bringing dishonour to her kingdom.”

“Let’s add one more,” Lauster hissed as he met her glare, her tear-filled eyes boring nothing but hatred, “I’m sure her husband-to-be wouldn’t mind a blind plaything, he shouldn’t have to suffer the same agony we did, that arrogant look she gives us,” he hissed, pulling her up by her hair, knowing her arms were busy covering herself so she couldn’t put up a fight, “This look of arrogance and pride you hold, sister, is it worth it? Is it worth the guardian you whore out for in the night?” he raised his palm, waiting for the youngest to place his dagger on his open palm, waiting for his sister’s response. She had never allowed them to torment her like this, to abuse and belittle her, her arrogance and self-pride had always been far too important for her, not changing her ways even when her father had pleaded with her, standing there in the meeting of the royals, demanding to end the war, embarrassing her king, her kingdom, yet when asked to apologise she only escaped to the cabin, promising the man she’d take over once he was dead- but she couldn’t now could she? No, this plan of his was wonderful, Lauster had been told by a Xikey of the great Prince who was looking for a match, one that would help him fulfil the Yin prophecy, this way, he’d get rid of her and obtain the throne, he thanked every entity out there when his father, the king had agreed.

“Well, sister, is he worth it?” he asked, shaking her head, pulling her back to consciousness when he noticed she had almost slipped into unconsciousness, only to be met by that fierce gaze once more,

“He is…I’d rather die than betray, San.”

“So be it.” He snarled, making sure to teach her a lesson she could never forget, his figure radiating with glee at the sight of her eyes closing in defeat, her mind racing back to him, Poofy no- San.

.

Taglist: @edenesth @yessa-vie @the-kpop-simp @mlysalt @spooo00oky

[yuri-is-online]

You, I, and the Wall (Azul, Jade, and Floyd x Yuu)

You lie on the ground taking deep breaths, searching around you for three objects you can name while you try to force your ears to tune into the noises around you. The three boys surrounding you look concerned, almost like you're crying but you can't really bring yourself to care right now. It's not like they care anyway, you think; an upset person is just inconvenient to deal with.

"It's my fault." You try to reassure them with a shaky breath. "I'm the one who made the mistake of feeling safe."

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, heavy angst, SPOILERS FOR CH. 4, specifically how Jamil's UM might make someone feel (as in not good, forcing someone to do stuff they do not want to is not nice). If you like this please check out my masterlist here (x)

Floyd

"I bet you'd rather be talkin to Crabby right now, huh?" Floyd almost sounds self depreciating, there's a haze of tears clouding your judgment that makes him feel a bit safer in his vulnerability. "Sorry I'm all that's here right now." He makes sure to stay just far enough from you that you don't feel like he's crowding your personal space, but close enough that there's a barrier between you and the door the Scarabia students fled through. If those guppies thought there was any sort of excuse for putting you into this state he would accept, well there wasn't. If they thought he had forgotten their faces they had a gigantic storm coming, but he needed to make sure you were alright first. Hurricane's can't start until the eye is calm.

"I tried calling Ace, he didn't answer." Your voice sounds so unlike you, weak and tired. "Same with Deuce."

"Ha, dunno about Mackey but Crabby's definitely scratching at the walls if you told him you're in trouble." He means it, and he hates how he knows it will calm you down. Floyd doesn't like the sidelines, that's where Jade thrives, not him. Being jealous that Ace is calming you down even though he's not here is petty and kind of pathetic. But he can't help it, the way he moves and looks is scary, but surely if he looks at you long enough you'll realize-

"You ain't gotta believe me now," he mumbles to himself, slowly shuffling closer to you, satisfying his urge to squeeze by pinching your cheek, "already knew I was gonna have to work on that, but I don't ever want to see you like this again." Finally you look at him instead of away; you are confused and tired but finally comfortable enough to let your exhaustion put you to sleep. He used to think he loved every face you could make, and he can't say he never wants to see you scared because of how cute you look spooked, but this, this wasn't fun. You'll just have to let him be the only one to scare you from here on out, he thinks, gently picking you up off the ground to take you somewhere more comfortable.

Jade

To be fair, Jade had expected you to try hitting him a lot sooner than this. He also had to admit it was extremely... lovely of you to have enough control over yourself to stop just before landing the blow.

"No fighting in the lounge, that's the rule right?" Your entire body is tense, even as you retract the fist and retreat into yourself, away from the table, away from him. Azul laughs awkwardly while pushing forward in discussing the Scarabia situation, but Jade keeps his eyes on you.

"Of course for a magicless person like yourself there would be no way to resist being hypnotized. Really someone could have given you whatever orders they wanted to and ordered you not to remember-"

In hindsight maybe, compared to some of the other observations he has voiced out loud, that one was a touch harsh.

"I am quite sorry if I caused offense." He says. Still tense, you take in a deep shuddering breath, winding up for something. His hands fold contentedly, wondering if you will try to hit him again. Given his comments, he doesn't mind letting you.

"Fuck off." You sound so small you want to die but the shock that unwinds on his face is somewhat satisfying. He wonders, as you try to walk away again, just how it would feel to be powerless to say no. To be small and alone in a world you don't belong in, forced to do something by someone against your will and then made fun of by someone strikingly similar for not being able to protect yourself.

It's an ugly thought, but he wonders if anyone has ever made you feel this small before, if he is making you feel that small now.

"I did not say what I did to mock you." Jade is surprised by the strength of his conviction, and how little he thinks to blame you if you choose not to forgive him. "If the thought of that person's magic scares you, please stay close to Floyd. He will be able to keep you safe." To his great relief some tension leaves your shoulders, and he dares to risk a step forward. "I should hope this goes without saying, but what happened to you was not your fault, nor was it acceptable."

"You trying to say Octavinelle has a monopoly on exploiting me?" There's an edge to the question that will take time to dull, but your ire seems less pointed at him now.

"I'm suggesting you simply look at our involvement as a form of revenge." He means it, though he knows you are in no position to tell just yet. That's quite alright, he knows himself. He can wait.

Azul

"Please wait!" Azul is surprised you don't break into a sprint, but then you don't slow down or stop either, stubbornly insistent on moving towards Ramshackle Dorm. You allow him to walk next to you, ignoring the huffs of stress in his breath.

"What do you want Azul?" No no no this is all wrong, you compliment his efforts after seeing him at his worst and now you're icing him out? Sure, he knew entertaining the idea you could be friends, genuine ones, was too good to be true but seeing it go up in foam in front of him was still painful.

"What did you mean feeling safe was a mistake?" He knows Jamil, in theory anyway, they're in a complicated place right now. Or maybe always but that's besides the point. There was a reason behind all of this he is sure you will likely find sympathetic enough to forgive, but if you are in this much pain why should you? Not that he has a say in it, but why should he let you?

"What do you want Azul?" You just repeat yourself, nails digging into the palms of your hand in a way that looks so painful he can't stop himself from reaching to pull them towards him. It keeps you from running the next couple feet to the mirror, both of you forced to look at the bleeding dents in your palms in a mixture of shame and remorse. He's too distressed to express himself, moving to firmly hold both of your hands with one of his while the other searches for his magic pen. 'What do yo-"

"A chance." Magic soothes the pain as Azul works to close the admittedly tiny wounds with the same determined focus he shows his studies. "All I have ever wanted is a chance." He doesn't say at what, you get a feeling he doesn't really know what he is asking for right now himself. But with how he refuses to mention payment as he puts away his magic pen, just continues to hold you in place, you think you could maybe eventually understand.

"I'll give you one." You swallow hoarsely, taking away your hands from his as he tries to pretending he didn't memorize their warmth.

"It's a deal then," he means that as a joke you think, but there's a bit of his normal showmanship and pride you find oddly comforting now "I promise you, one is all I'll need."

[envysnest]

Snakeskin (Sephiroth/Reader) (ch. 13/?)

AO3 / Pillowfort

Rating: Explicit

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13

Tags: First Time, Reader-Insert, Hurt/Comfort, Bittersweet Ending, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Frank Discussions of Past Rape/Abuse, Everyone is Queer, Canon-Compliant (if you squint), Pre-Crisis-Core Seph, Slow Burn, i continue to disappoint my friends and family, sephiroth is a virgin and in this essay i will, Reader is a Cis Woman, fluffy sex, Praise Kink, Gratuitous Biochemistry

Summary:

You are a young biologist, fresh out of graduate school, working in Shinra's R&D Division under Professor Hojo. You had long since given up on finding a partner and starting a family, preferring instead the company of your cell samples and your scientific instruments.

As the conflict in Wutai worsens, you strike up an unexpected friendship with a First Class SOLDIER.

(Sephiroth/Reader Slow Burn)

TW's for this chapter: Dissociation, trauma flashback, body horror/violence (related to the trauma flashbacks). Comfort and soothing comes with all of these events!

—

A door closed. You startled awake. How long had you been lying there? The water was still hot. Condensation dripped from the mirror. You looked down at your hands, where the water had wrinkled your fingertips into little raisins. When you sat up, the wine made your head spin.

Someone was in the apartment with you.

You held your breath, held very very still, and listened.

Did Sephiroth have cleaners or other people over? What if someone saw you? You looked desperately at the open bathroom door, wishing you had closed it behind you. The person (intruder, whoever they were) was humming to themselves and puttering around the main living space. You heard bags hit the floor, zippers and buckles being undone. A ghoulish image filled your head: a Turk, sent to fetch you, waiting to pounce just beyond the door. No touching, they’d say. The ethics board will be notified. 

You drew your knees to your chest; the tub water sloshed violently. 

The intruder called out your name. “Are you in the bathroom?”

Sephiroth. 

Oh. You loosened your grip on your knees. “Yes,” you called back. When would you stop being so paranoid? Sephiroth had trusted you with a key, after all; it wasn’t as if he had people coming and going freely. You had almost forgotten he was due to return home.

“Everything alright in there?”

“Yes,” you called again, for lack of anything else to say.

There was a loaded pause. You could hear his footsteps in the kitchen.

When he finally spoke, his tone was breathless with laughter:“Did you fall in?”

Please kill me. You rubbed your face with your hands. “No, Seph,” you sighed. “Just in the tub.” 

“Good,” he replied; you could still hear the laughter in his voice. “Because if I had to conduct another rescue, I would lose my mind.”

You smiled. When you relaxed your arms, you felt pain seep out of your muscles. You had been tense, holding in fear of— 

What? Sephiroth being angry with you? 

You thought back to your earlier worrying: it was so easy to disregard his feelings when the man himself wasn’t in the next room, unpacking from an arduous mission. You felt a little childish about how you had behaved the past week. He deserved so much better than your petulant attitude. It was his first…Thing. In the next room, Sephiroth began whistling. He should have an agreeable partner who didn’t think awful, mean things about him when he was away. His life was stressful enough.

With a jolt, you realized you had left the stockings in the dryer. So much for surprise: if he did his laundry, he’d see them, soft and wrinkled, in a sad little heap. You looked down at your knees, at your body tucked into a ball. 

A dark shape appeared in the door. You shrunk away from it.

“Don’t get up,” Sephiroth said, one hand outstretched to you. He looked— excited? “I have a gift for you.”

“A…?”

Sephiroth turned and disappeared into the bedroom across the hall. “I was hoping to get your opinion on it,” he called. You heard him rummage in the closet; you craned your neck to try and see him. A few boxes thunked to the floor.“I get a lot of promotional material I don’t need, but this looked interesting. I wanted us to try it together.”

You swallowed past a lump in your throat. The images your mind conjured weren’t exactly welcome. “I’m scared,” you called.

“Don’t be,” he called back. “I think you’ll like it.”

More rustling. You sank into the water to your chin. You wished the water wasn’t clear: even curled into a fetal position, Sephiroth could see all of you. So much for the surprise.

Sephiroth was gone for several minutes, rummaging through his clothes drawers. You stared at the empty wine glass. Did he look at that framed picture in the closet every time he came home? Did he speak to it?

Who was she, exactly?

When he returned, he was dressed in a loose teal shirt and navy sweatpants. The shirt’s vinyl print was faded and cracked: Livin’ on Island Time, it said, the font a cheery purple, next to a glossy margarita.

His hands were cupped around something cylindrical. 

You leaned back, away from him, but he didn’t seem to notice your hesitation. Or, for that matter, that you were naked. There was no snide comment, no leer, no raised eyebrow. You may as well have been meeting on the 64th floor. 

Sephiroth nodded to the book on the side table. “Great choice. I find Becken’s spare prose masterful, especially during the lecture hall scene.”

You had fallen asleep around twenty pages in.  “Oh.” You watched as he carefully set the wine glass, then the book, onto the bathroom’s marble counter. “Totally.”

“Let’s get this table out of the way.” He moved the wooden side table back into its nook. You didn’t understand why until he knelt next to your left arm, right where the table had been. “Here.” 

The cylindrical object was a small amber bottle, nestled in his hands. He offered it to you over the lip of the tub; you picked it up, held it up to the light. The label was from a luxury beauty brand, one you could never afford, had its logo printed across the front. You sat straight up. This bottle held around fifty-thousand gil’s worth of product, and you were naked in a bathtub. The body oil inside gave off a faint aroma through the cap: something woody, floral. 

Sephiroth crossed his arms and leaned them against the lip of the tub. “Apparently this is a warming massage oil,” he said, resting his chin on his crossed arms. “It’s supposed to be good for sore muscles.”

“Seph,” you breathed. You checked the back and scanned the ingredients. “They just…give you this? For free?”

He shrugged. “They usually want a sponsorship out of it,” he replied. “I turned this one down. But,” he said, his tone mischievous, “I don’t have to return what they give me.”

Suddenly, the cardboard boxes piled in the closet made perfect sense. You felt a pang of envy. Every paycheck you received seemed to disappear the second you got it. The tights, though in your price range, had been your “treat” for the week. An endless flow of free luxury products felt unreal, decadent. He had handed this to you as casually as a pair of chopsticks or a glass of wine.

You looked up at him, feeling unmoored. “You’re…giving it to me?”

He nodded. “Yes. It’s your gift.” He leaned his cheek against his forearm, looking up at you. “You want to try it now?”

“Yes,” you said. “Please?”

He scrunched his nose as he smiled. “‘Please,’ she says.” He gestured to you. “Go on.”

You could barely keep your hands still as you removed the cap. You broke the plastic seal and brought the bottle to your nose. A forest, tinged with citrus and juniper, filled your nostrils. It reminded you of a rainforest, somewhere far away, during a downpour: peaceful, as if you were bathing outdoors there, alone. It smelled expensive.

“Wow.” You offered the bottle to Sephiroth. “Smell!”

He took the bottle from you and inhaled. He coughed, turning his head away. 

You grimaced. “That bad?”

“That is a lot,” he wheezed, holding the bottle at arm’s length. He blinked rapidly against the fumes. “We probably don’t need much.” He turned the bottle over and scanned the instructions, rubbing the back of his neck in thought. “It says a palmful. I’m afraid to use more.”

You offered him the cap, and he set it aside on the bathroom counter, right next to the wineglass. It wasn’t until he repositioned himself behind you that you realized what he meant.

You froze, staring at the open door. “Wait. Wait wait wait. Like. Now, now?”

“Oh,” he said behind you. “I wasn’t clear. Did you want me to put it on you?” A pause. “I thought it could be…” He cleared his throat. “A nice activity.”

Those books under his bed. Your stomach sank. You were sure at least one of your therapy books had mentioned massages as a way to introduce intimacy. He must have been pent-up, and anyway, that amount of high-quality takeout wasn’t cheap. This is what you’re here for, you thought. You can’t have forgotten that already.

But you wanted to hope anyway. It was in your nature to. 

Your breath hitched when you tried to speak. “Oh,” you said, then, “Um,” then, “If you want?”

“If I want?” Sephiroth teases, and you dimly recognized that low tone, the one he used when he spoke to you in bed. You were definitely not imagining things. “What do you want?”

Affection and disgust each roiled within you, locked in a tight embrace. Did normal people feel this way when they had sex? Did normal people blow ten thousand gil on lingerie, hoping it would impress their partner into staying? 

“This,” you said. “I want this.”

He chuckled. “The lady always gets her way.”

You looked down at the water, at your body underneath the surface. Sephiroth set the bottle aside and rubbed his hands together. 

“Ready?” he asked. 

“Sure,” you said to the water. It wasn’t as if he needed to ask. Not many people did.

His palms settled on both of your shoulders. The smell of juniper and cedar wafted by your nose. When his thumbs pushed into either side of your spine, you stifled a pleased gasp: Impossible warmth trailed after his touch. He repeated the motion, digging his thumbs in deeper.

“How’s that?” he asked behind you. 

You pressed back against his hands in reply, making a soft little hum as you did.

“You’re all tight up here,” he murmured. “Do you lean down when you work?”

A few months ago, Hammond had slipped you a tiny poster for your cubicle: a shrimp in a suit and tie, hunched over a desk. No shrimping!! it said. “I’m always leaning down,” you say. The hot water, the warming oil, his careful hands digging right where you wanted them: it was all making you drowsy. He steadied his hand on your front and pressed into your shoulder with the heel of his hand, and you felt your muscle shifting for him, like your body was opening itself to his touch. (Traitor, you thought.) “I know HR has these ergonomic meetings, and they’re mandatory, but…I don’t know.”

“Take advantage.” Sephiroth switched to your other shoulder. “There’s always money for desk chairs, believe me.”

“I’m so jealous of your apartment,” you blurted. The second it left your mouth, you regretted it. How rude of you; how snippy; how petty. 

Sephiroth sighed. “It’s a wonderful space. If only I was allowed to use it more often.”

“I’m sorry, Seph,” you said. “I didn’t mean it that way, and— and here I am using your hot water— I didn’t mean—”

“Actually,” he said, and his voice was gentle, “I would argue your presence makes it a home.”

You turned around to look at him. Sephiroth’s answering smile was small. Shy. It was so different from the frozen Late Nite Midgar smile; different from the smirk he wore during fights. 

It was you: he was different around you. Reality tilted in strange ways around him, distorting and stretching into long, languid shapes, like light around a black hole. There was no surviving an event horizon; you would fall, willingly, into this one.

Sephiroth nodded towards the door. “You’re going to have to face forward if you want me to keep going.”

You turned forward. It seemed silly that he would hurt you. Or…did it? Affection and disgust again, dancing that strange tango in your brain: that odd feeling that your skin should crawl where he touched you, that confusion when all it felt like was bliss.

“Did you mind when I called you a tease?”

You started. “Huh?”

Sephiroth’s hands paused at the base of your neck. “Calling you a tease.” He shifted his hand behind you and went still, like he was considering something. After a pause, he made a v with his knuckles and pushed down on either side of your first vertebrae. You sighed into his touch. He asked, “Was that going too far?”

You turned around to face him again. The bath water sloshed around you. “What, like…yesterday?”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes downcast. His ears were pink. “The message I sent.”

You couldn’t imagine the man from your screen getting up, going home, and looking up how to have sex. “I…no. It was nice.”

His face brightened, and heaven help you, you were incredibly fond of him. “You liked it?” he asked.

“You’re still learning all this stuff,” you said as you turned forward. “I should be asking you.”

“I never considered that,” Sephiroth replied, and you could hear his smile. “I only think of pleasing you.”

You smiled at the doorway. “Goes both ways,” you murmured. “Don’t feel pressured. Okay?”

“You’re too kind,” he said. One hand pressed against your sternum. “Lie back. I’ll get your arms.” His hands moved to your left bicep, thumbs pressing in and pushing upwards towards your shoulder. You leaned back against the tub, staring up at the ceiling.

When the silence became too much, you turned your head to look at him. “How was your week?”

Sephiroth growled at your arm.

You smiled. “That bad?”

“That bad.” He focused on your left hand, rubbing tender circles into your palm. 

“Want to complain?”

“Do I ever. Let’s see…” He turned your hand over and began massaging your arm again. “I thought of you during a morning intelligence briefing. Most of it could've been an e-mail. I wanted to message you about it."

“Why didn't you?"

“I couldn't let everyone see me on my phone. You’d be surprised at what affects morale.” He smiled, looking away from the tub entirely. “It was hard to stay away."

You sat up. “Seph," you breathed. His ears flushed that sweet, particular scarlet you adored, the shade of ripe fruit. “That's so sweet of you."

That made him meet your eye again. He smiled at you, scrunched his nose. “You would have made the time pass faster,” he said, and this time, he sounded more confident. 

You look down at where he took your hand in both of his. The oil was a bronze color, so stark against his milky-white palms. “I don't-- know what to say."

“You don't need to say anything. Compliments are free.” 

You opened your fingers and let them linger over Sephiroth's open palm, whispered them over that calloused skin, those veins like purple ink. His breath caught; his eyes met yours. Watching you closely, he stroked the tender underside of your wrist, just the pads of his index and middle fingers against your pulse. You shivered; his head tilted in gentle curiosity. You got that small feeling again, the good one, the one that made you feel like porcelain. You, something priceless; him, the faithful admirer. Remembering last weekend, you thought he might want to feel it the other way around.

You leaned towards him, holding the edge of the tub for balance. “Let me compliment you back, at least.” 

Sephiroth’s face shuttered. He suddenly looked exhausted as he pushed your hand back to you. “Please don’t.”

“What?" You didn’t like that: how quickly he shut down, how his eyes traveled down to rest on the bathmat below. You withdrew your hand from the tub's edge. “What's wrong with that?"

“’Sephiroth, the war hero.’” He did a sarcastic little sparkle with his hands. “’The great and mighty SOLDIER, defender of the free world. Come see what shaving cream he uses.'"

“What about…” You lied back and looked up at the ceiling. “The things that only I would know? Or that your friends would know?”

He wordlessly gestured for your right arm. You turned around to face the glass shower and offered it over the lid of the tub. Sephiroth took your hand, but he still wouldn’t look at you, preferring instead to stare at his thumbs as they worked over your palm. The oil left gentle heat wherever it touched. Silence fell again, and you looked ahead, at the shower. You watched a droplet creep down over the glass wall. It eventually joined with another droplet further down, and the two continued their quest towards the tile as one.

Sephiroth huffed, and you looked to him. “I…” He worried his bottom lip in his teeth. “I’m not really a compliments person.”

You waited for him to follow up on that. He didn’t.

“Can I…at least try?" You held up your free hand in surrender. “Unless you wouldn't want that?"

Sephiroth looked up at you, and for a moment, you thought he might be game, until—

“Tell me about your week, instead,” he said, and his smile was a little absent. “Anything exciting?”

You remembered the baying, jeering crowd at Late Nite Midgar, how Sephiroth had looked lost until someone put Masamune in his hand again. 

“Besides Hojo?” you asked.

Sephiroth rolled his eyes dramatically. There it was, he was back from wherever he had run away to. “You must be excited for your presentation.”

“I think we have good data.” You trailed your fingers over Sephiroth’s arm. Goosebumps raised on his skin. “But speaking in front of that huge conference room? Kinda makes me wanna throw up.”

“Tell me about the data you have. Practice your presentation with me.”

You bristled. “Well, I don’t exactly have it right now.”

He shrugged, but you caught the quirk of his lips when he did. “Just talk to me about it.”

You thought for a moment. “There’s sugar in mako, or something like it, I think. A sugar,” you added, “not, like, sugar for coffee or tea. It…how do I explain this…”

Sephiroth studied your face. To your relief, he looked content, almost peaceful. “Go on.”

“It…binds glucose— sugar receptors on the liver cells. We think, anyway. There’s high blood glucose after dosing, too. Still have some follow-ups in mind, but I don’t even know what the liver does with it. It’s not like mako poisoning causes weight gain. If anything, it’s—”

“The opposite.” Sephiroth wrapped his hand around your bicep. You tried not to think about how easily he could shatter it, and then failed. 

You closed your eyes and turned away, away from where he was coaxing his hand up towards your shoulder. “Right. And mako is an appetite suppressant, isn’t it? Maybe it’s binding GLUT1 competitively. Or it’s messing with insulin output?” You hugged your knees with your free arm. “I don’t know. I’d have to ask Yun’s team if they’ve seen evidence of diabetic shock in test subjects. I’m not sure if the body would be able to pull up glucose from food if there was a polysaccharide in the way.” You hesitated. “Did you…get any of that?”

Sephiroth smiled and nodded. “Mm-hmm. Every word.”

You laughed, and then you remembered Friday afternoon. “Oh!” you exclaimed, trying to sound casual. “Off-topic, but I-- I saw the strangest thing. Maybe you’d know something? Genesis looked like he took a bad hit to the face.”

His hands stilled. Sephiroth gave you an odd look. “You saw Genesis hurt?”

“His nose was broken.” You gestured to your own nose with a cupped hand. “Do you know why?”

“I do.”

“What was it?”

Sephiroth’s answer was swift and casual, as if he was describing the weather:

“It was me.”

There was a high-pitched ringing in your ears. You licked your lips, but they felt painfully dry. “Why?” was all you managed.

He sighed heavily beside you. His hand lingered on your shoulder. You imagined him shoving your head down under the water, how the water would burn your sinuses as it rushed into your waiting lungs. 

Would you fight back? Would you splash water on the tile floor?

“We had a fight,” Sephiroth said carefully, “and he said something…unkind.” His voice was tense: you could hear him tip-toeing around the truth, and this frightened you even more. “I lost my temper. The next thing I remember was seeing him turned away from me.” Sephiroth’s hand left your shoulder. “I regretted it immediately,” he continued. “We haven’t spoken since.” He hesitated. “You say he was still injured?”

You stared straight ahead. “What did he say to you?”

“I’d rather not repeat it.” There was pain in his voice. “Please, when you say he was—”

“It was broken.” Your voice was hoarse. “He had a black eye.”

“I know, but when?”

“It was yesterday—no, sorry, Friday—”

“Still?” 

Still. That word made a bell ring faintly in your mind. Genesis belonged to Hollander’s team, and it was no secret that Hollander and Hojo didn’t get along. Nevertheless, Hollander’s SOLDIERs couldn’t, somehow, be more fragile than Hojo’s. At the very least, Hojo’s SOLDIERs healed quickly. Didn’t they both report to Lazard? And if that was the case…

“When did you fight?” you asked.

“Monday. Sometime in the afternoon.”

Sephiroth hit a First hard enough to bruise for five days straight.

Suddenly, you wanted nothing more than for him to stop touching you. 

Your eyes darted around the bathroom. Sephiroth asked something, but it was muffled, as if coming from far away. You had the odd sensation of floating, face-down, in the tub. He asked something again. You blinked at your knees. You thought of the studio audience laughing, Genesis’s pained glare as he stalked past you on Friday afternoon, the painted skull on the poster Sephiroth’s face. You thought of Angeal crying out in silence on your muted laptop.

When you came to, you were standing. Sephiroth was wrapping something warm and soft around you: a bathrobe, one far too long and baggy for you. Your skin was already dry. You looked back at the bathtub, but it was empty.

“The water was getting cold,” Sephiroth said. He was focused on tying the belt around your waist. From this angle, his long bangs whispered against your shoulders. “I didn’t want you getting sick on my account.”

“Wouldn’t want to waste my PTO,” you said. 

His eyes flicked up to yours. His expression was unreadable. “Come on.” He put a hand on your lower back. “Let’s get you out of this bathroom.”

He ushered you across the hall. You walked with him, or you’re sure you did, because when you blinked again, you were standing in front of the bed. Sephiroth’s arms snuck around your waist and undid the robe’s belt. As the robe slid down, Sephiroth bent forward and kissed the exposed skin of your shoulders: first left, then right. You shivered. He smiled against the crook of your neck. You could only think about how odd his mouth felt on your neck. You thought of the party again, of that boy’s cold and clammy lips on your skin. Sephiroth’s mouth felt the same way. The robe fell to the floor.

“Still with me?” he asked, his voice a low purr next to your left ear.

“Yes,” you lied.

“Good.” Sephiroth loosened your hair, ran his hands gently through it. You were sure it was lying awkwardly against your scalp now, but all you could think about were those large, warm, friendly hands meeting bone and cartilage. 

“Okay,” he said. “Stay still.”

He took your head between both of his palms and gently turned it to one side. You saw your frightened face in the bedroom’s full-length mirror. Your naked body looked pathetic next to his clothed one. Sephiroth wasn’t looking in the mirror, focused as he was on you. You met your own terrified eyes.

An image, clear as day, surfaced in your mind: Sephiroth twisting your neck with a sickening crack, leaving your skull hanging limply to one side—

“No!” you shouted, and your body moved. His hands left you: you weren’t sure if you pushed them away, or if he had taken them off of you.

You felt your own face in your hands, as if to confirm your skull was still there. The image wouldn’t leave your mind, and you wrung your hands, as if to flick it away from you. You stumbled to the bed and leaned over it, panting. 

It was a long time before you were able to stand up straight. You looked behind you, back at Sephiroth.

He blinked down at you. His hands were still in mid-air, his entire body stiff and unmoving. He looked lost. Regret burned in your chest. 

His voice was soft. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no—“ He had done nothing wrong. You sat down on the edge of the bed, crossing your arms over your bare chest. “I just…” You shook your head and hunched over, further hiding your body from his view. 

“Your neck seemed tight,” he offered. “I wanted to help—“

“Sorry,” you said, and you winced at how harsh your voice sounded. You purposely softened it. “I…I didn’t…” 

You trailed off. The impulse seemed stupid, now. Of course he wouldn’t break your neck. Of course he would be tender with you. Hadn’t his hands felt good earlier? He kept trying to initiate, and you wouldn’t let him. The room was spinning; you pressed your hands to your face.

He touched your shoulder. “I won’t touch you like that again,” he said, petting your skin tenderly. You despised it. “Would you prefer to lie down?”

That conjured a worse image. You shrugged off his touch. “No.”

The room was silent.

“I’m confused,” he said. “Would you like me to go into the other room?”

You shook your head. “No, it’ll…it’ll pass. Please, just…” You massaged your temples. “Give me a second?”

“This is about Genesis, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Pain arced through your chest, like lightning burning a tree from the inside-out. You weren’t sure what your outburst was about, other than your body betraying you for the umpteenth time. “I don’t…I’m not sure.”

Something rustled at your feet. Sephiroth’s hands appeared in your vision, offering you the crumpled bathrobe. You took it from him, but you made no move to put it on. Instead, it sat in your lap, all balled up like you had been in the tub. You worried at a loose thread. How much had this cost? Or was this free, too?

“Why don’t I get you a glass of water?” Sephiroth asked.

“Okay,” you said to the robe.

You watched, blankly, as Sephiroth straightened up and walked for the door. You looked down at the robe again.

“It’s stupid,” you said to the floor, to your bare feet on the carpet.

“What is?”

“I thought…” You pressed your thumbs to your eyes until you saw stars. You shouldn’t have said anything. “I thought….s-something…bad was gonna happen.”

“Why?”

You opened your eyes again. Sephiroth was halfway out of the room, lingering in the doorway: just turned to you, as if you had caught him mid-action. He rested his hand on the doorframe.

You sighed. “I saw…” You threw your hands up. “Seph, it really is stupid.”

His expression was tender, expectant. “No it isn’t.” He gestured at you. “Go ahead.”

“Do you…?” You had to get this out; he wasn’t going to let it go. It felt like you were at the front of the classroom, being mocked by the teacher for passing notes. “Okay.” You took a deep breath. “Do you remember…those, um, those…?” You snapped your fingers. “What are they called.”

Sephiroth smiled. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Ugh. Like those…s-stupid promo…videos or whatever.”

He inclined his head. “You’re…” He laughed and shook his head. “Going to have to be more specific.”

“The promo one! Where you and Angeal fought!” you blurted. “From ’96.”

“Which one?”

Which one? How many of these awful videos were there? Sephiroth driving his sword into Angeal, the blood in the grass, ad infinitum, on thousands of blurry screens. “The one where you, like.” You mimed stabbing someone at your feet.

He tapped his finger against the doorframe as he thought. “Ah,” he said finally, face brightening in that way you thought you were fond of. “Yes, that was a good fight.” He turned to face you, jamming his hands in his pant pockets. “Why do you ask?”

Nausea turned your stomach at how calm, even eager, he looked to discuss it. You dug your fingers into the comforter. “I, um…it. It came up in my recommended videos and I…it…”

He inclined his head towards you, silently urging you on.

“Scared me,” you whispered.

He startled. “Scared you? What about it scared you?”

“Like…just—“ You stared at the carpet. “With Genesis, and— and the— videos— I thought what if I make him mad and—“ You covered your face. “And when you held my head I was like he could just—“

You had his full attention now. You waved at him. “Seph, it was…” You sighed and put your face in your hands. “I told you,” you muttered. “Stupid.”

“Did you think I would hurt you?” he said, and his voice was small. Afraid. You never wanted him to sound like that again. You shouldn’t have said anything.

“Yes,” you sighed into your hands. “I’m sorry.”

You felt the bed dip: he had crossed the room to sit next to you. “May I hold you?”

This, you could do. You could always let him hold you.

You wanted him to.

You wordlessly turned and pressed your forehead to his shirt. He folded you into his arms, leaning over you: his warmth, his body, everything that made you feel safe and familiar and loved. Though the angle was awkward (and immediately undid his hard work back in the tub), you felt blessed relief. His hair, soft and familiar, draped over your shoulders, whispered past your cheek.

You felt, rather than heard, his voice: “I will never do that to you.”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” you whispered into his shirt. He rubbed soothing circles into your back.

“No, it—“ He sighed with exasperation. “I thought you had seen those.”

“I’ve only been here for nine months,” you said into his chest. “I just don’t really pay attention to that sort of thing.”

“Oh?” he said. “That must be why you’re so normal.”

“Shinra only hires you if you’re nuts.” You pressed your ear to his shirt, just to hear the steady thmp-thmp of his heartbeat again. “It— it was in my hiring packet, at least.”

“I must have missed that clause. Here.” He released you and gestured to the robe. “You’re going to catch cold. Seriously. Put something on.”

You twisted your mouth. “Thought you wanted me undressed,” you mumbled.

Sephiroth suddenly laughed, full-throated and loud. You jumped. “Maybe later,” he said above you. “But not now. I’m starving.”

The food. “Oh!” you said, looking up at him. “I still owe you. I— I left most of it—” You pinched your index and thumb together. “I tried to eat, like, just a little of everything—”

He bumped shoulders with you before standing. “I told you,” he said, his voice trailing off as he stretched. You heard his joints crack. “A detailed review is payment enough.”

You stood up to dress, but Sephiroth was halfway out the door again. “Come on,” you said to his retreating back. “Let me throw you a couple thousand gil. Please?”

“It was a gift.” He disappeared into the kitchen beyond. “Did you eat yet?” he called.

You shifted from foot to foot. Before you could catch yourself, you looked towards the full-length mirror again, at your reflection. You had to roll up the sleeves of the robe to cross your arms properly. The old temptation to lie caught on your tongue in this place: you could say you were stuffed, really, you were. You could lure him back to bed and let him do what he wanted with you, as if letting him inside of you would make your brain stop screaming for help. At the very least, those cold, clammy kisses on your shoulder had made everything go completely still.

“No,” you said to your reflection. “I’m starving.”

“Then come out here and join me already.”

“In...this robe?”

Sephiroth laughed. The noise carried across the kitchen tile. “Yes, in your robe. There’s no dress code here.” He was rummaging around and fussing already. “We’ve done worse on these counters.”

You felt embarrassed at the memory, but that feeling of safety flared in you again. You looked down at yourself, making sure the robe was secured around your waist. After some hesitation, you pressed the bathrobe to your nose and inhaled deeply. The fluffy, baby-soft terry fabric smelled like him.

You shuffled out into the hall beyond. Sephiroth leaned against his kitchen counter, staring in concern at his phone. He chewed his bottom lip.

“Seph?” you asked.

He looked up at you, and there was something stern, even dire, in his face. You held your breath. What could you have done to anger him? Was something wrong?

“I’ve invoiced you for your share of the bill,�� he said, voice grave. “You had better check your phone.”

“Oh.” You pat the robe’s pockets, but they were empty. “Shit.” You cast around for your phone; it was on the countertop, still plugged into your charger. “Let me—” There was a new notification from the Shinra messaging app sitting at the top of your home screen. “I think I get paid next week—”

“I don’t mind waiting,” Sephiroth said, still entirely serious, and you read the notification:

ShinPay User s1979 has requested 1 gil!

You groaned. Sephiroth threw back his head and laughed.

“Really?” You slumped into one of the bar chairs as he wiped tears from his eyes. “Really? You could have just told me to get you next time.”

He smirked and pushed himself up off the counter. “Ah,” he said, still watching you as he opened the fridge, “but then you’d never listen to me.” 

“Is everyone using ShinPay now?” You dismissed the notification. After a moment, you silenced your phone, too, and you put it face-down on the countertop for good measure. “Am I getting old?”

“Every minute. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” Sephiroth placed each takeout container on the counter. “I feel myself age every time my infantry shows me some new cat video.”

You leaned your cheek against the heel of your hand. “Just cat videos, specifically?”

“Some of them just aren’t funny,” he said to the fridge, and his tone was so petulant you laughed.

“Every time the new semester started at GU, I felt, like, a million years old.” You watched him heap noodles and rice onto clean plates. “It was like a nightmare where I just aged and aged, and everyone just kept getting younger around me.”

“I could use you in my company. Some of this slang is just…” Sephiroth shook his head as he placed a plate in the microwave.

“I know, but do you really want to talk like your cadets?”

Sephiroth gave you a desperate look, nose wrinkling with horror and disgust as he did so, and you giggled. 

He turned back to the microwave. “I’ve got hot pepper somewhere,” he said to it, almost thoughtfully.  “I ought to pile it on your food.”

The microwave chimed, and Sephiroth switched the plates. You crossed your arms against the countertop. “And what if I liked spicy food?”

Sephiroth handed you the plate he had just heated; the ceramic was white-hot under your hands. He gave you that affectionate smirk again. “Then I’ll make sure I’ve got hot pepper available.”

He had given you far too much food, as always: curry sauce dribbled into the fried rice, chicken mingled with shrimp. The food hissed and popped from the microwave. The abundance of it touched you, just as much as the bath, and the massage oil, and the tender hug, and the words of encouragement.

When he sat next to you with his own plate, you nudged his calf with your foot. He raised his eyebrows as he looked down at you.

“Thanks, Seph.” 

He seemed to know you weren’t talking about the food. His eyes softened, and he leaned in to kiss your forehead. This time, his mouth was just as warm and soft as you remembered.

“Don’t mention it,” he said against your skin. “I’m here for you.”

—

You watched from the living room as Sephiroth loaded the dishwasher. When he straightened up and dried his hands off on his sweatpants, you spoke up again. “Come back to bed?”

He looked at you as if he had forgotten you were there. “Are you sure?”

If anything, he looked more unsure than you did. “Just to cuddle,” you said, and you looked down and away. You fiddled with the bathrobe. “I’ll…put on my pajamas and come sit with you.”

“I can do that,” he said softly. “The bed or the couch? We can always watch a movie.”

Your reply was immediate. “Bed.” You added, “It’s so much bigger than mine at home.”

He smiled at you from under his lashes and nodded towards the bedroom. “Plenty of time to enjoy it before you go tomorrow.”

—

Once you were dressed again, you brought the robe back into the bathroom and hung it up. Sephiroth was waiting for you in bed, lying on his side. He had taken his shirt off. You instinctively reared back, until you saw the waistband of his sweatpants, just peeking out from under the comforter. 

He lifted the sheets next to him in invitation. Yes, he was wearing his sweatpants still: he wasn't going to force you. “Come here.”

You crawled into bed next to him, snuggled close under the covers. Sephiroth held you tightly to his chest, letting out a satisfied sigh. He was all warmth and solid muscle and pale skin. You nuzzled gratefully into his collarbone. He bowed his head, pressed his nose to your hair and breathed in deep.

“So…” you started.

“So.”

“What’s with the voices you do?”

Sephiroth’s rumbling voice reverberated against your cheek: “The ones telling you to quit your job and kill your boss?”

You rolled your eyes. “Never mind.”

“No, no.” A gentle hand stroked through your hair. “Enlighten me. What voices?”

“You do these…” You looked down at your nails. Your cuticles, normally dry and cracking, were so much softer. The massage oil had likely softened your skin. “The impression of Hojo, I mean. You did it so well.”

Sephiroth’s hand paused, and he laughed. “What do you mean?” You felt him shift to look down at you. “You only heard the one voice.”

“You can do more?”

He shrugged. “Just about anyone you can think of,” he replied. 

You traced the length of his side with your eyes. “How? How do you do it, I mean.”

He rolled over to lie on his back, one arm still wrapped around your shoulders, as if he was reluctant to let you go. You rested your cheek against his pectoral muscle and looked out the window with him. It was still pouring outside, the rain hitting the window in irregular tap-tap-taps.

Finally, he shook his head. “It just comes out of me. I’m not sure why. The lab assistants…” He laughed, covered his face. “They used to scream at me for it. Said it was unnatural. I think someone tried to get it banned.” 

You looked up at him. “It’s a little uncanny. It sounds like the person’s inside of you, shouting up.” You clutched at your throat and pointed at the ceiling to demonstrate. “Like, out of your mouth.” 

Sephiroth wrinkled his nose as he returned his arm to your shoulders. “Oh, god,” he said. “I certainly hope not.”

“Really?” With a fingertip, you drew aimless shapes on his chest. "You can imitate anyone?”

“Sure. Try me.”

“I’m…scared to ask what I sound like.”

Sephiroth’s face contorted with embarrassment. “Oh,” he said. “I’ve never tried.” He looked out of the window again. “I don’t wish to offend you.”

“That bad?”

“Of course not. But…” He laughed, tilted his head this way and that. “I learned that people aren’t…appreciative of it, let’s say.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Did someone get mad at you for it?”

“Of course.” He scratched the bridge of his nose. “There was a bigger guy named Samuel in my troop fifteen years ago. He used to annoy me. Such a big, brutish kid. Always cruel. We were waiting our turn to run a simulation. He jumped the line and pushed me against the wall.” 

Sephiroth’s voice changed into a brutish, unfamiliar growl: “Watch it, freak.” 

You could picture Samuel perfectly: a shaved head, broad shoulders, a pathetic, wispy mustache highlighting a permanent scowl. “And what did you do?”

Sephiroth let his head fall back against the pillow. “I said it back to him, just like that, and he knocked me out.” He smiled and looked at you out of the corner of his eye. “It was worth it to hear everyone laugh.”

Your eyes widened. You sat up. “You got concussed?”

Sephiroth shrugged. “I was fine. I was a smaller kid, so that hit laid me flat.” He rolled onto his right side, towards you, and propped himself up on his elbow. “I was more disappointed about missing the exercise.”

You rested your head on your pillow. Everything Sephiroth said opened more questions. You wanted, so badly, to ask about his training. You wanted to hear how young he was when Shinra pushed him onto the field. His eyes traveled over your face as you watched each other.

“Can you do Angeal?” you asked.

“Oh, please.” He smirked and took a deep breath. When he spoke again, his voice was replaced by Angeal’s: “I get that we could save an hour by taking a taxi, but I would prefer we walk. It’s a nice day outside, and we could use the exercise. Cabs are so expensive these days.”

You clutched at your hair in exaggerated surprise. “What?! Seph. How?!”

Sephiroth laughed. “Here, you want Genesis?” Another deep breath, and this time, Genesis’s voice left his mouth: “Loveless, Act Fifteen, Verse 3: And should the sun rise again on another morrow.” Sephiroth raised his arm to the ceiling, eyes turning upwards in a perfect impression of fine art. “You will hear me recite this again, from the beginning.” 

You giggled. Sephiroth grinned at you as he lowered his arm. You choked out, “You are so…so mean!”

“Believe me, they hate it.” 

You slapped his chest playfully. “You have to do me. Come on.”

He suddenly withdrew his arm. He rolled over and pulled the comforter up over his body, leaving you partially exposed to the air. “Good night,” he mumbled.

“Don’t ignore me!” You shook his shoulder. “Please? I won’t be mad.”

He yanked the comforter over his head. “I can’t hear you. I’m asleep.”

“Pretty please?” You draped yourself over his body. “Pleeeease?” Hanging upside-down over his head, you tugged the edge of the comforter away from his face; his glowing eyes peered back at you in the dark. “I won’t be mad,” you said to them. “I promise I won’t.”

“Someone’s persistent.” His voice was muffled by the fabric.

“It’s not super mean, is it?”

Sephiroth shifted under you, and you rolled off of him as he sat up again. “For you?” He shook his head as he rearranged the pillows under him and leaned back. “Never.”

You laid back down on top of him. His fingers traced the curve of your cheeks with a painful fondness. You’d never get tired of his unnatural warmth, especially when the rain outside poured so heavily. You thought, again, of your steam heater, of the bloody nose you got on Monday, while you slept. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him; you draped one leg over his. Sephiroth made a little noise at your cool feet pressing against his legs, right where the sweatpant cuffs had ruched up to expose more skin. 

You gave him what you thought was your best hopeful look. He stared at you for a moment, took a deep breath-- 

“Fine,” he sighed. He ran his hand through his hair, then beckoned to you. “Give me something to say.”

You...hadn’t thought that far ahead. You cast around the room; the textbook was still sitting next to the leather armchair. “Maybe my research?” you asked.

“Doesn’t have to be your research.” He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “You could even describe the weather.”

“I feel like…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “My research will give you more material?”

He shrugged. “Whatever you’d like. Try me.” He rested his hand against his belly, so near to your shoulders.

“Let me do…the elevator pitch? How’s that?” Tried-and-true: you could recite your research proposal in your sleep.

Sephiroth smiled and raised his eyebrows at you. When you didn’t speak immediately, he nodded encouragingly: Go on.

“So…” You tried to speak slowly. “My team focuses on mako and its influence on cell growth and repair. Previous studies have isolated the protein MAT-beta in the liver, which manages oxidative—”

Sephiroth’s eyebrows furrowed. “A little slower?”

You smiled back. Just like you to rush, anyway. “Sorry. Okay.” You took in a deep breath and tried to enunciate each word. “My team studies the influence of mako on cell growth and repair. Keep going?”

“My team—” The voice was too high, too clear: a SOLDIER’s command. He cleared his throat. “No. Wait a second.” He tried again, and his next attempt was still strange to your ears: “My team studies the—” He tilted his head and beckoned again. “One more time, please?”

“My team studies the influence of—”

“My team studies the influence of—”

“—mako on cell growth and repair.”

As he repeated each phrase, his voice shifted, croaked, stretched. You heard many different people, none of them you, but each, conceivably, somewhere between your timbre and Sephiroth’s. “My team—” A shift, a minute crack in his voice. “—studies—” Another shift, this one lower. “—the influence—” 

And finally: “My team studies the influence of mako on cell growth and repair.” A perfect mirror, like listening back to an old video of yourself. Uncanny.

Your eyes widened, and you drew back from him. “Oh.”

“Oh,” Sephiroth said back, in your voice. “Is that, like, a good ‘oh’? Or…I’m sorry.” He waved a hand. “Just forget I said anything.”

And despite the uncanniness, you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. It was so him to remember how you spoke. You remembered, again, that he had been thinking of you during his mission.

“Ugh!” you said, playfully wrinkling your nose at him. “I really sound like that?”

He lifted his head from the pillow with wide, disbelieving eyes. “You asked!” he laughed.

“No! It’s amazing! You have a missed calling as an actor, Seph.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it— not when he was still smiling at you like that. “The public outcry to my Sector One Live performance says otherwise.”

Of all the videos you had watched, that one had somehow eluded you. “When were you on Sector One Live?”

“A few months ago.” His hand drifted across the comforter, towards your hands: slow, tentative.“You would have thought I destroyed the set. Reena wouldn’t stop reading reviews to me—” He closed his eyes. “Look at me, assuming you know everything. I meant my publicist, Reena.”

“What did you do about it?”

His hand inched incrementally closer. “Nothing I could do,” Sephiroth replied. He looked up at the ceiling. “So…I never did it again.”

You reached out and took his hand in both of yours. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Seph?”

He didn’t open his eyes. “Yeah?”

You drifted your fingers across the back of his hand. “In some of the interviews I saw, you didn’t…look…very happy.”

The jovial environment between you evaporated. Sephiroth turned his head away from you and stared out of the window again. You could see the two of you reflected there: faint shadows against the driving rain. His mouth twitched.

“Did you want to do them?” you whispered.

Sephiroth’s mouth twitched again. He removed his arm from your shoulders, let go of your hand.

He rose. “Let me close those curtains,” he said. Hesitating on the edge of the bed, he added, “The windows are mirrored, but…you know.” He flashed you a smile over his shoulder, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. “No free shows.”

“No free shows,” you repeated. “Right.”

As Sephiroth crossed the room, you looked away from him, to the half-open closet doors. Hidden inside was that strange photo. You played with the comforter between your fingers. It would be inappropriate to ask about it now, not when Sephiroth seemed to retreat back into some dark, quiet place, hiding from you. The curtains squealed as he pulled them shut.

For a long time, Sephiroth stood there at the window, clutching the curtains hard in both hands. He turned his head, just enough for you to see his quiet expression. He was looking at the ground, at a precarious stack of books near the leather armchair.

“I thought I followed instructions,” he said, as if to himself. “How am I meant to behave when everyone’s looking at me like that?”

“For what it’s worth,” you offered, “You make me laugh.”

A pause.

Sephiroth turned back to you. “Probably time for me to turn in.” He was wearing that absent smile again. “You’re welcome to join me, but if not, I have a reading lamp you can use.”

You glanced towards his alarm clock, and—

“It’s ten already?” you asked. “Shit.”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted.” 

You had forgotten that he had just come straight from work, straight into your arms, straight into a—

A panic attack.

“Oh, Seph.” You backed away from his side of the bed and winced. “You had such a long day. ‘M sorry.” 

The absent smile turned wry. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

You had the urge to hold him close, to cradle his head against your chest, as you had done the week before. You opened your mouth—

“Ah.” He snapped his fingers. “Laundry.” He gave you an exasperated look, touching his forehead briefly. “I almost forgot. I must finally be losing it.”

It all came back in a rush: the tights were still in the dryer. You sat up in bed. “Wait,” you said, “I still—” 

But Sephiroth was already halfway out of the room. You swung your legs over the edge of the mattress. Your voice was a weak, half-hearted bleat: “I have stuff in there—”

“I’ve got it,” he said gently. “I’ll put them in your bag.”

Your feet hadn’t even touched the carpet before he was gone. You heaved a sigh and crawled back under the covers. There was some jealous part of you that hated how Sephiroth got to surprise you first. You hadn’t been able to return the favor. 

The moment the thought hit you, you recoiled with disgust. What were you doing? Why did you think of him this way? What prompted this ugly, impulsive side in you?

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, let the smell of his apartment wash over you. He was safe. He was being kind. You appreciated everything he had done. You would surely pay him back eventually. You could buy some other surprise for him. You repeated the thoughts to yourself, over and over: he’s safe he’s kind you’re safe you can pay him back later he’s safe he’s—

“Oh,” sighed Sephiroth from the kitchen. “What a shame.”

You sat up again. “What? What’s wrong?”

The rustle of fabric. “I think the dryer ate your clothes.”

Dread sunk its claws into your belly. It looked like you would have to buy something else for him. “Oh, no.”

“I’ll show you.” Footsteps, and then Sephiroth appeared in the doorway.

And—

He was holding the tights. They were intact.

Oh, no.

To your mortification, Sephiroth held out the tights for you to inspect. “These seem ripped,” he said sadly. “I’m afraid the dryer isn’t the most—”

“Seph, no,” you blurted. “They came like that.”

He blinked and looked down at the tights. “Oh.”

And then, as you watched, his eyes went wide. A blush started at the tips of his ears and crept down his neck, under the collar of his shirt. He looked up at you. He cleared his throat.

“Oh,” he said.

Whatever reaction you expected, it wasn’t that one. You wrung your hands in your lap. “Yeah, it was…supposed to be a nice surprise.”

Sephiroth bunched the tights against his chest. His mouth had a funny turn to it, and it wasn’t until you saw his deerlike, stricken expression, how he stared just past your left ear instead of meeting your eye, that you realized it wasn’t disgust, or even just embarrassment. 

It was want: boyish, mortified desire, something vulnerable and desperate. Like you were special. 

The urge to hold him close hit you all over again. You couldn’t let anyone else have him. You couldn’t. The Silver Elite would destroy him; they would tear him to pieces, like ravenous animals. Any other man who had touched him hadn’t appreciated this tenderness, else they’d become just like you: a possessive little creature, completely and utterly his.

You smiled gently at him; his eyes fell to the tights. You took a deep breath. “I…take it you like them?”

His voice came out in a breathless rush: “I’m cursing Heidegger’s entire department right now.”

“Sorry you couldn’t see them in action.”

Sephiroth turned his head away from you, hiding his face. He cleared his throat. “You’ll have to wear them next time.” His voice cracked on wear them.

To be continued!

[dollygirl808]

Ch. 4 of A Helping Paw

Obsessive! Werewolf/Weredog 141(+extra) x Chubby! OC Freya

Masterlist

The drive into town didn't take long, and when she parked just a little ways away from the front door, she could spot the dark outline of a dog laying off in a corner, likely chewing on something. He was too far away to really get a good look at him, but she'd get to meet him soon enough.

Soap behaved well enough as she clipped his leash on, getting her things as she stepped out of the car, the brown fluffy dog following after her, nose twitching as he scented the air.

"Is that your friend?" She asked, smiling when his tail started wagging faster, likely smelling someone familiar.

The doorbell jingled as she approached, Nikolai standing just inside his shop and holding the door for her, thick, hairy arms on display as he wore just a dark t-shirt that clung to his form, his soft stomach and pronounced pecs.

"Come in," He ushered, hand low against her back as he guided her past him into the shop, the bell chiming as it closed. She let go of Soap's leash, and he wasted no time racing over to the pretty, black gray and brown dog laying in the corner, barreling into him and making him yelp in surprise.

"Soap, be gentle!" Freya chastised, although it was no use right now.

Gaz, an absolutely stunning black gray and brown dog that sort of resembled a doberman to her, didn't seem to mind the roughhousing much, rolling over onto his feet and popping up on his paws in a play bow, the bone forgotten.

The two hopped back and forth for a second, then Soap enticed a game of play by dashing away, headed directly for her.

"Ah- no!" She yelled when Soap bumped into her leg, then Gaz ran underfoot just a few seconds later. Luckily, Nikolai caught her as they circled around the pair then ran back to the other side of the shop, Gaz tackling the fluffier dog where they then engaged in a fun game of bitey face on the floor, sharp canines on display as they rumbled and huffed at each other playfully.

"Thanks," She said, looking up into Nikolai's eyes as he looked down at her, thick fingers splayed over her waist.

"Of course, detka," He told her smoothly, lifting her back up to stand up straight. How embarrassing! Knocked over by a dog into the Russians thick, strong arms. If she didn't know any better she'd almost think that the dogs did it on purpose. When she realized she was still holding onto his plush bicep, she hastily let go and took a half-step out of his personal space, face feeling heated.

They both stood there for a moment, watching the two dogs play together. They're both very happy to be reunited, even though it's only presumably been a few days.

Soap play growled at the other dog, nipping at his triangular cropped ear, hopping over him from one side to the other, and Gaz opened his muzzle, chasing him with his teeth. Before he can get in a nip, Soap runs away and he gives chase.

The two zip around the open floor space, staying in the front area of the shop. At one point, Soap attempted to barrel into him again, but Gaz darted out of the way and the brown dog ran face-first into a shelf instead, knocking a heavy looking metal pan off, and getting hit in the head with it.

Nikolai clicked his tongue to his teeth and sighed out, shaking his head. "All brawn and no brains, that one," He told her.

Soap let out a small yelp and pinned his ears, nails skittering across the tile floor as he ran away from the shelf and back to her, nearly knocking her over with how he bullied his way between her thighs.

Gaz did a thorough shake off on the other side of the shop before padding his way over to the three just as Nikolai headed to pick the pan pack up.

"D'aww, poor baby, did you get bonked good?" Freya cooed out in a slightly teasing tone, scritching his flank.

In response, Soap whined in a drawn out, complaining 'aarrraruu!' At her backside, long muzzle tilted upwards against her ass. She chuckled, giving his fluffy butt a little dad pat before walking forward so he was no longer between her legs.

"He will live, I'm sure," Nikolai mused, watching from next to the shelf.

Gaz took this time to properly introduce himself, pushing into her space, chest and neck pressed against her thigh as he looked up at her, beautiful hazel brown eyes staring into her soul.

She scritched between his ears, "Why hello handsome, aren't you a pretty boy?"

Suddenly, Soap gave the other dog a not-so friendly growl, body language tense and mouth closed. She retracted her hand, taking a sideways step away from both dogs.

Gaz mimicked the other, posturing with his chest out and tail high, a deeper growl ruminating in his throat. The two had a tense stare down until Nikolai spoke up, accent thick with his annoyance as he called out, "Boys!" That made Soap finally give in, pinning his ears and ducking his head with a low whine, looking down as he flicked his tongue in an appeasing gesture.

Proudly, the beauceron trotted over to her, tail giving big, sweeping happy wags side to side as he pressed close for pets. Apprehensively, she scratched under his chin while throwing sideways glances at the shepherd who just sat off to the side, watching with big, begging puppy eyes.

"Sorry about them. Soap gets jealous easily and forgets that he is under Gaz in the pack, even if only by a little."

Freya nodded, still petting Gaz as she looked up at him. She isn't entirely sure what he meant by the pack, but he knew these dogs for longer than her, so surely he must know what he's talking about.

"If you agree to watch them both, they'll behave better, promise." He said suddenly, walking closer with cash folded between his fingers as he held it out.

"Oh, no- I couldn't," She shook her head, intending to push his offering hand away, but he just pushed it further into her palm.

"John insists. It was payment for the sitter, and they've now bailed, and you're watching Soap already. If you don't want to take Gaz too, you can take half and I will watch him." Gaz whined at that, like he knew he was about to be left behind by the pretty lady that scratched just right against his skin with her nails, and poked her in the stomach with his nose.

"I- " She looked down at the pup licking at her wrist, pretty hazel brown eyes flicking back and forth between her and Nikolai standing over him, "Ok, I'll watch Gaz too. And accept the money, even though I don't need it." She conceded not too long after, taking the cash from his hand and quickly tucking it away in her wallet.

Gaz let out a happy yip, play bowing at her before turning and initiating a much lower energy, friendly play fight with Soap, who happily engaged with the other.

"I will put his food in your trunk, watch them for me, detka?" He told her, even though it was posed as a question as he quickly disappointed behind a doorway, only to quickly re-appear and walk out the door, heavy red cooler held in one hand.

She watched from behind the glass door as he loaded the cooler into her trunk, and the dogs danced around her, actually being careful to not knock her over now, only bumping her with their tails occasionally.

After he came back inside, Freya called the dogs to her and leashed up Soap, then stood up and looked down at Gaz, not sure what to do.

"Well.. I have to go get another set of bowls anyways, so I guess I'll leave one of you in the car while I buy another leash," She told the dogs, mostly just speaking her thoughts out loud.

"Ah, don't be silly kukolka, here," Nikolai walked around the counter and grabbed something from underneath, and held out a nice, brown and gray biothane leash with a gold clasp, "For Gaz," He told her, and she took the leash. He then bent down and picked up two stainless steel bowls, setting them on the counter.

"Those are his as well. Take them for now," he told her, nudging them closer to the edge. She nodded, and hooked Gaz's leash to him before grabbing their bowls.

"Ok, well I guess I'll see you in a few days. By Nikolai!" He held the door for her, and the two dogs walked outside first as she followed, waving bye to him as the bell chimed a second time when it closed.

They both hopped into the passenger seat, Gaz sitting half on top of Soap and half on the seat as the brown dog lay partially in her lap. Gaz seemed really interested in the view outside the window as they drove back to her house, so she rolled it down and let him stick his head out. He really enjoyed it, as evident by his black-spotted tongue lolling out to the side.

By the time they got back, it was 2pm and her car, and her boyfriend by association, were finally back, parked somewhat hastily in the gravel parking space despite not having anything to rush to.

After pulling up to the side of her car farthest from the house, she tied both dogs to the passenger seat headrest so they couldn't escape and possibly maul Jake, then left the car running as she stepped out and locked it.

She forgot to ask how Gaz was with men and strangers.. she'll have to call Nikolai back and ask.

"Hey babe," Freya smiled at the man as he got out of her silver car. He only frowned at her, crossing his arms.

"I've been waiting in the car for the past thirty minutes," Jake told her in a condescending tone, staring down his nose at her despite only being a few inches taller than her.

"Well, if you had been here at 10 like you said, you wouldn't have had to wait," She told him, barely restraining herself from rolling her eyes.

"Well, I overslept!" He huffed, getting unusually defensive.

"Do you expect me to wait for you all day? I had things to do," She told him, motioning to her car where both dogs were staring intently at them, "If you had bothered to check your phone you would have seen that I found a dog and he'll be staying with us until we leave."

The man looked over at the dogs, one of them already mean-mugging him through the windows of both cars, and the other just tilting his head as he watched them curiously.

"That's two dogs," Jake pointed out unhelpfully, narrowing his eyes at her.

"Yes... congratulations you can count," Freya deadpanned, putting her hand on her hip and cocking it to the side.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up as he went to storm off. "Wait! Wait, I'm sorry. I just got annoyed with you for being late. Will you get the cooler in the trunk and put it in the big box freezer for me?" She asked with a sigh, motioning to the car.

"Yeah, sure," He agreed, not particularly happy but still doing it. As he got closer to the red truck, Soap started barking at him, brown paws up on the center console as he growled, making Jake hesitate for more than just a few moments at the truck bed covering before rolling it back and picking up the cooler.

While he was putting that away, she got the two out of her dad's car and let them sniff and smell her boyfriend's scent by her car. Gaz stuck his nose to the gravel driveway, and Soap peed on the front tire.

Just as he was coming back outside, Soap found something interesting and hot pink stuck in the driver's side door and began tugging at it with his front teeth. Gaz became curious and started sniffing at the thin lacy fabric as well.

"What the fuck?" She spat out indignantly, snatching up the fabric from the door, only tearing them a little as she held them up to the sun.

Jake's face went white as he saw what she was holding, a hot pink, lacey pair of crotchless panties that clearly didn't belong to his girlfriend, considering they were way too small to fit over her ass or even on her thighs. "I-I can explain!" He stuttered out quickly, stumbling down the stairs in his rush to get to her.

Freya threw the offending fabric down on the gravel, and before it hit the ground Gaz snapped it up in his maw and gave it an aggressive shake, whipping it back and forth. Soap sank his fangs into the panties as well, snarling as they quickly ripped it into lacy pieces.

"Babe, wait, look- she was flirting with me, like she was a total whore and-"

"And- and- do you ever shut up?" She snapped, mocking him, "And if she was a whore what does that make you, hm? Just get the fuck out of my face. I'm breaking up with you." She sighed, her anger dissipating almost immediately as she realized.. she really wasn't in love with him. And this vacation had really proved to her what kind of person he was.

"Babe please, we can still make this work, yeah? Where- where would I even go?" He asked in a pathetic voice.

"Just- take my car and get a hotel for all I care. Or drive back to our apartment. I don't care, but you can't stay here. Go pack your stuff, Jake."

Thankfully, the man conceded without much more fanfare, solemnly packing up all his clothes and hauling his suitcase to her silver car. The three of them watched as he drove away, the only evidence of his cheating laying in tatters in the gravel.

Freya didn't even cry as she picked up the hot pink scraps, only throwing them away in the trash with a heavy sigh. Soap and Gaz hovered around her the entire time as she absent-mindedly cut up their lunch and served it to them, curling up on the couch with a bowl of cereal when she was done.

(Break)

Gaz approached her slowly, still licking the up juices from his maw as he stepped forward. He stared at her with his pretty hazel eyes as he set his head on the edge of the couch, tail giving full, slow wags side to side.

"Hi pretty boy," She reached out from her spot lying on her side, petting between his ears, "Do you wanna join me on the couch?"

Carefully, he climbed onto the couch next to her and curled up, just barely fitting all of him onto the space left between her torso and the edge of the couch, brown paws tucked between his body and her soft tummy. His gray-tipped black tail thumped calmly against the couch cushion next to them

"Your fur pattern is beautiful," She thought aloud, smoothing her palm over his side, and the pretty mix of black and gray, the short coat like pebbled stone against a black silky void. He had two brown dotted rottweiler eyebrows and the upper half of his top jaw and his wet nose are black, but the lower half of his top jaw, along with his bottom jaw is brown, outlined by black down the side of his neck.

Her fingers brushed over his ear, causing it to flick. The inside is completely brown while the edge and outside is black. There are a couple of gray spots above his left eyebrow, but other than that his forehead is mostly black.

Soap whined, fluffy ears lowered slightly as he begged to be let up on the couch too, with his striking blue eyes.

"Ok, c'mere you big baby," She called, patting the cushion next to her legs.

He hopped up, letting out a happy little vocalization as he did so, turning in tight circles between the back of the couch and her bent calves before settling with his chin resting over her plush hip. The slightly smaller dog let out a long, exasperated sigh from his nose as if the other's presence was a massive inconvenience for him, but settled his head over the armrest nonetheless, like he was settling in for a nap.

Soap huffed, tucking his front paws tighter against the back of her thighs as his eyes closed. Apparently, she was now having dog-mandated group cuddles and nap time.

---

Taglist: @cringeycookies @sleepydang

[theetherealbloom]

THE SILVER LINING - CH. 4

Chapter Four: What It Means To Be Saved

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families needing medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and the bounty hunters. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Empath!FemReader

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths, One Bed Trope, Awkward

Word Count: 16.7k

A/N: This chapter is hella chonky and you'll probably need to sit down and have a glass of water beside you! All the likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3

Song: Glory And Gore by Lorde

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A FEW DAYS LATER…

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

You and Din share an unspoken understanding about the quiet moments you've spent waking up nestled in each other's warmth. His solid form, a reassuring presence, cradles you as his chest rises and falls beneath your head. In these stolen fragments of time, the world outside the Razor Crest seems distant, the chaos silenced by the serenity you've found in each other's company.

By some miracle of the Force – or perhaps Din's own vigilance – you always manage to stir awake before him, despite your suspicion that he might be granting you that courtesy to spare your blushes. The realization dawns on you that it has been quite a while since you've experienced such close human contact, let alone the comforting embrace of a shared cuddle. It's a sensation you hadn't realized you'd missed until it became a cherished part of your routine.

But reality, as it often does, inches its way back into your consciousness. The little haven you've carved out within the Razor Crest's confines can't shield you from the practicalities of life. Supplies are dwindling, and the pressing need for credits looms over your small makeshift family.

The days begin to pass with a sense of urgency, the atmosphere tinged with an unspoken agreement that the days of sanctuary within the ship's walls are numbered. Conversations drift towards the necessities – plotting courses for potential bounties, discussing potential jobs that would replenish your dwindling resources. Once forged in quiet companionship, your bond with Din evolves to encompass a shared goal.

In the dim light of the Razor Crest, the two of you exchange looks that speak volumes. Beyond ordinary friendship, your connection is proof of your shared will and fortitude. As the spacecraft hurtles towards space, the ship's limitations seem a little tighter, but the sense of togetherness grows.

THE ROOST, SPACE STATION, 9ABY – SPACE

The Razor Crest settles with a gentle hum as it lands within the confines of a space station's hangar bay. The resounding silence is broken by Din's voice, a mixture of vulnerability and the weight of his past. His words carry a gravity that hangs in the air, tinged with regret and the specter of mistakes long gone but never forgotten.

"I… My past isn't something to be proud of," he confesses, his tone heavy with the burden of memories he's carried. His gaze, obscured by the visor of his helmet, nonetheless holds an intensity that demands your attention. The confession hangs between you, a shared secret that bridges the gap between your lives.

Leaving the pilot's chair, Din moves purposefully to stand before you. You tilt your head slightly upward, your eyes meeting his visor, searching for the unspoken emotions that swirl within. At this moment, he bares a part of himself that he's kept hidden beneath the armor, his honesty a raw testament to the trust that's grown between you.

His voice steadies as he continues, determination blending with vulnerability, "We just need to do this job, get the credits, and then we'll leave." The gravity of his words carries a twofold promise – one of opportunity and a chance for redemption.

The backdrop of the space station hangar seems to amplify the intensity of the moment. The interplay of light and shadow casts intricate patterns across the Mandalorian's beskar-clad figure, lending an air of mystery to his confession.

Before your own apprehensions can hold you back, you act on an instinct, a desire to bridge the gap between your worlds. With a gentle determination, you reach out and take his gloved hand into yours. The sensation of his gauntleted fingers against your skin is a paradox of softness and strength, a representation of the layers that encompass him.

Words escape your lips, each syllable carrying a weight that matches his own confession. "I… I've done some things in my past that I wasn't proud of too," you admit, your voice a mixture of vulnerability and quiet strength. Your grip on his hand tightens, a silent promise that you're willing to share your own truths.

A pause lingers, a space where understanding blossoms between you. The dim light within the ship's interior paints your forms in subtle shadows and highlights, lending intimacy to the moment. As his visor-clad gaze meets yours, you see a flicker of surprise and gratitude, emotions that can only be glimpsed in the subtle tilt of his helmet.

"But…" The word slips from your lips, gentle yet resolute as if carrying the weight of your understanding. Your voice, steady and filled with empathy, paints a portrait of shared experiences and a bond forged by the paths you've both walked. "I believe you did what you had to do to survive and for the rest of the remaining Mandalorians to survive."

In that brief moment, the space between you becomes a bridge, built upon the foundation of mutual comprehension. Din's nod is a silent acknowledgment, a testament to the connection that has grown between you, despite the vastness of your differences.

A small, rueful smile tugs at the corner of your lips. His quiet nature has never diminished the strength of his words. "So… any final warnings about Ran and his crew?" you inquire, breaking the tension with a touch of humor.

Din's answer arrives with a cadence of sincerity. "They can be… nosy." A soft snort escapes you, an amused reaction to his mild description. You can't help but remark, "That's extremely polite coming from you."

His response is punctuated by a characteristic nod, a gesture that's become familiar between you two. "Ran thinks he’s untouchable, so he’s an asshole," he elaborates, and you find yourself nodding in agreement. "Go figures," you quip, giving the words a deeper layer of meaning.

The hum of the Razor Crest's engine provides a constant backdrop as you and Din navigate the weight of the situation that lies ahead. The air seems heavier, fraught with unspoken thoughts and concerns. It's in this charged atmosphere that your voice cuts through the tension.

"What are we gonna do with the kid?" you inquire, your words soft but bearing the weight of the uncertainties that loom. Your hands grip the rungs of the ladder as you descend, your gaze never leaving Din's form.

He carries the child in his arms, cradling the little being with a tenderness that belies his formidable armor. There's a certain grace in his movements, a silent understanding of the fragility of the life he now holds. He approaches the small hammock bunk, a designated safe haven within the Razor Crest. Carefully, he places the child inside and gently shuts the door, his actions a silent promise of protection.

"For now, he can stay in there," Din's voice is measured, and thoughtful, as he addresses your query. "But I don't think they'd hurt him if they see him."

The weight of his words settles in the air, a bittersweet reassurance in the face of the unknown. You lick your lips, a nervous tic, your eyes fixed on the little hammock bunk that now cradles the child. The responsibility feels heavy, a burden shared between you and Din.

"Okay," you say, your tone a mix of resignation and resolve. It's a term that encapsulates your awareness of the problems that lie ahead, as well as the sacrifices you're both ready to make to protect the safety of the innocent life that has been entwined with your path.

As you stand in the silent nooks of the Razor Crest, the link you have with Din is strengthened by the unseen pledges you've made to protect, lead, and persist in the face of hardship.

Stepping off the Razor Crest, you find yourself walking in tandem with Din, your steps synchronized as you take in the bustling surroundings of the space hub. The air hums with activity and curious gazes follow the two of you as you navigate through the crowd, a sense of purpose guiding your path.

The voice of an old man cuts through the ambient noise, drawing your attention. His grey beard gives him a distinguished air as he addresses Din, his nickname "Mando" echoing in the air. You remain silent, remembering the need for discretion in front of outsiders. Din acknowledges the man's greeting with a nod, "Ran."

There is a lingering sense of familiarity between them, the type that comes from having experienced the same things in a world full of unknowns. Unspoken bonds that go beyond words are formed when they shake hands. However, Ran notices your presence and turns to face you, a look of interest on his face. You catch his eyes and, in an act of politeness, you coolly and detachedly say your initial name. His handshake is stiff and courteous, masking his acute eye for detail.

With a knowing twinkle in his eyes, Din starts to lead the way through the busy space station, and Ran's focus returns to him. Your path is accompanied by the steady clatter of footfall, which blends with the distant hum of equipment.

His comments are infused with a curious familiarity that reflects the web of relationships that ties people together in this uncertain world.

"You know, to be honest, I was a little surprised when you reached out to me. You know, 'cause I... I hear things. Like, maybe things between you and the Guild aren't workin' out," Ran remarks, his voice a mixture of inquiry and understanding. Din's response is succinct, a testament to his resilience, "I'll be fine."

Ran's nonchalant shrug and raised hands speak of a tacit acceptance of the enigmatic Mandalorian way. The undercurrent of trust that exists between them is palpable, encapsulated in a simple phrase: "Okay. Well, you know the policy. No questions." As the trio continues to navigate the space hub, Ran extends his hospitality, a gesture that holds a promise beyond words. "And you, you're welcome back here anytime," he adds, the sentiment echoing in the air like a secret promise of mutual respect.

In the midst of the space hub's bustling activity, Ran's voice cuts through the ambient noise, his words directed at both you and Din. The undertone of urgency and intrigue colors his speech, a blend of desperation and determination. "Yeah, one of our associates ran afoul of some competitors and got himself caught. So, I'm puttin' together a crew to spring him," Ran's words hold a weight that hangs in the air, thick with unspoken implications. His gaze shifts between you and Din, assessing your potential contribution. "It's a six-person job. I got four."

As his smug gaze rests upon you and Din, the corners of his mouth curl with self-satisfied confidence. The challenge is clear in his expression, "All I need is the ride, and you brought it."

Din's response filters through his helmet's modulator, his words tinged with a hardness that echoes his internal conflict, "The ship wasn't part of the deal."

Ran's sneer is unwavering, and he fixes a cold determination in Din's vizor. He responds, "Well, the Crest is the only reason I let you back in here," and the tension between them is evident. Din's head tilts slightly, his silence revealing a boiling intensity beneath the cool exterior. A tempest brews within him, the turmoil and frustration reflected in the vibrant aura swirling around him. Deep maroon intermingles with silver, a dance of emotions that transcends words.

Your gaze shifts between Din and Ran, capturing the clash of energies that defines this moment. Ran's aura shimmers in shades of yellow and black, a discordant mixture that carries the essence of deceit, betrayal, and a lingering hint of cowardice. The tension escalates, your own emotions echoing Din's as you grit your teeth in the face of Ran's audacity.

The conversation continues, with Ran's laughter tinged with mockery as he reads Din's expression: "What's the look? Is that gratitude? Uh-huh. I think it is." As he walks away down the metal bridge, you and Din are left with no choice but to continue along the path of necessity, which is paved with the ethical complexities of a universe that necessitates compromise.

Resigned to the circumstances, Ran orchestrates the introduction, pulling you both deeper into the enigmatic weave of this operation. His words take on a certain gravity, introducing you to a bald human male associated with a sharp, unyielding gaze. "Hey, Mayfeld."

The man, Mayfeld, turns his gaze toward Ran's voice, his features displaying a sense of readiness. "Yeah?" he responds, a note of curiosity tinging his tone. His attention shifts to you and Din as Ran's hand gestures towards you both, drawing you into the center of this web of intrigue. "This is Mando," Ran introduces with a significant pause, a pause heavy with the weight of their shared history. "The guy I was tellin' you about, and his girl. We used to do jobs way back when."

The heat creeps into your cheeks as Ran's words hit the mark, your instincts urging you to clarify the situation. But before you can interject, Din's touch on your wrist reassures you, his grip light yet firm. It's a subtle reminder to keep your emotions in check, to let the past remain shrouded in enigmatic ambiguity. His unspoken guidance encourages silence, a lesson you've learned to read between the lines. You nod and Din releases your wrist gently.

As the three of you stand in the midst of this orchestrated reunion, Mayfeld's entrance into the scene carries an aura of skepticism. His deliberate and measured steps lead him towards you and Din, his gaze sharp and analytical. The hint of doubt lingers in his tone as he questions, "This is the guy?"

Ran, the orchestrator of this nostalgic rendezvous, affirms Mayfeld's query with a nod, a nostalgic grin touching his lips. "Yeah, we were all young, tryin' to make a name for ourselves." A chuckle dances in his voice, the echo of bygone days resonating in the present. The story he spins is one of camaraderie and shared ventures, anchored in a memory-rich past. "Yeah, but runnin' with a Mandalorian, that was… That brought us some reputation."

Mayfeld's curiosity takes a turn, his gaze settling on Din as if assessing the truth behind the legend. A subtle inclination of his chin signals his unvoiced inquiry about Din's stake in this shared history. Ran, ever the raconteur, takes the cue and indulges Mayfeld's curiosity, his laughter weaving through the words. "Oh, yeah? What did he get out of it?"

Ran's gaze shifts towards Din, a glint of amusement lighting his eyes as he recalls a past conversation. The air remains still, Din holding his ground, refusing to be drawn into the narrative. Yet, Ran plays his part with gleeful abandon, delivering Din's retort as if it were a punchline to a cosmic joke. "Target practice. Target practice! We did some crazy stuff, didn't we?" The laughter that follows carries a tinge of nostalgia, a reflection of a past that shaped the present.

In the midst of this conversation, your gaze shifts to Din's helmeted face in a quiet effort to uncover any unsaid feelings hiding under the stern demeanor. The dialogue is punctuated by Din's voice, which is unperturbed and devoid of humor, lending the remembrance a somber tone. His words carry weight, a witness to the passage of time and the change it brings, "That was a long time ago."

In the air heavy with the weight of shared history and unspoken truths, Ran's words hang like a pivotal decision. His gaze shifts between you, Din, and Mayfeld, each word laced with implications of past and present. "Well… Well, I don't go out anymore. You understand?" His tone carries the weight of a life chosen, of paths diverging. The mantle of leadership, however temporary, shifts to Mayfeld as Ran continues, "So, uh, Mayfeld, he's gonna run point on this job. If he says it, it's like it's comin' from me. You good with that?"

Din's response is a hushed symphony of assertiveness. His gaze, unwavering and unyielding, locks onto Mayfeld. The unspoken challenge is palpable as he states, "You tell me." The encounter holds an undertone of energy, a battle of wits that crosses words.

Ran's laughter cuts through the tension, a wistful echo of times long gone. "You haven't changed one bit." The shared history he refers to is as much a testament to continuity as it is to change. Mayfeld's reaction, however, is one of stark contrast. "Yeah, well, things have changed around here."

The spotlight shifts to Mayfeld, his role in this unfolding narrative becoming clearer. Ran's affirmation of his prowess echoes through the space. "Yeah, well, Mayfeld, he's… He's one of the best triggermen I've ever seen." But the sentiment is punctuated with an air of irony, as Din interjects, "That's not saying much." Their talk has a hint of rapport to it, a familiarity formed from past experiences.

However, Mayfeld's response is swift, his tone sharp and defensive. "I wasn't a stormtrooper, wiseass." Din's silence in the face of this retort speaks volumes, while you, raising an eyebrow in response, silently acknowledge the rebuff. Mayfeld's footsteps carry him away, his demeanor a blend of defiance and self-assuredness.

“Don't take long, does it?” Ran says while chuckling, walking towards Mayfeld with you and Din having no choice but to follow. As Mayfeld and the rest of you walk towards the Crest, Mayfeld comments, “Razor Crest? I can't believe that thing can fly. Looks like a Canto Bight slot machine.”

The air becomes thick with unspoken tensions, like an electric charge pulsating just beneath the surface. Your breaths come quicker, shallower, and your throat feels like it's constricting with every beat of your heart. The anger that simmers within you threatens to erupt, a caustic mix of frustration and indignation. Your fingers clench around the fabric of your clothes as if holding onto that tangible thread of restraint is the only thing preventing the floodgates from opening. The darkness gathers at the edges of your consciousness, the urge to react in kind to their dismissive attitude and pointed jabs a fierce battle against your self-control. It's a storm brewing, fierce and furious.

In the midst of this internal tempest, Mayfeld's words resonate like distant echoes, his casual explanations drifting in as if from another world. “The good-lookin' fellow there with the horns, that's Burg.” His gesture towards the red-skinned Devaronian, whose presence seems almost trivial amidst the maelstrom of emotions raging within you, barely registers.

Burg, seemingly unaffected by the tension, sets down a crate and then approaches Din. The casualness of his movements juxtaposes the turmoil that churns within you. Meanwhile, Mayfeld's words carry on, delivered with a nonchalant tone that feels like salt on a wound, “This may surprise you, but he's our muscle.” The nonchalant disclosure of Burg's role feels like a direct challenge, a deliberate attempt to provoke a reaction.

As they carry on, your grip on your clothes remains steadfast, the tension building as if holding a dam against the surge of your emotions. Every fiber of your being yearns to vent, to express the frustration building inside you, but you hold firm, teeth gritted, unwilling to let their provocation break through your defenses. The darkness and the anger roil within, yet you maintain a fragile equilibrium, aware that giving in now would only feed into their perception of you.

Burg's gruff voice rings through the air, a snarl underlining his words as he positions himself squarely in front of Din, his demeanor dripping with mockery, “So, this is a Mandalorian.” His eyes gleam with a taunting challenge as he moves around Din, his voice dripping with condescension, “I thought they'd be bigger.”

The Devaronian's disdainful circling doesn't go unnoticed, and the tension in the air grows palpable, the invisible threads of animosity weaving tighter around the group.

As Mayfeld's gesture draws your attention, your gaze shifts to the approaching Q9-0 droid, its awkward waddle reminiscent of an overgrown insect. “Droid's name is Zero,” Mayfeld announces matter-of-factly, his words carrying a casual tone that contrasts sharply with the mixed emotions swirling within you.

Turning your attention to Din, you catch the subtle shift in his posture, a minute tensing of his shoulders that belies his true feelings. You've come to know him well enough to discern his unease, and the presence of the droid clearly isn't sitting well with him. You silently make a mental note to broach the subject later, knowing that whatever history he has with droids is undoubtedly a complex one.

The atmosphere thickens with an undercurrent of resentment, an indignant fire kindling within you as Burg's mockery and Mayfeld's offhanded comments chip away at your patience. Beneath the calm facade, you're fighting to uphold, a storm brews, a visceral reaction against the selfishness and disrespect you witness. Your internal switch is flipped, your very core recoiling from the sight of someone deliberately attempting to provoke a good and faithful person like Din.

Din's voice cuts through the air with a sharp edge, his skepticism, "I thought you said you had four." His words hang for a moment, and right on cue, a female voice, smooth as silk and laced with a teasing edge, emerges from behind you two, "He does."

Both you and Din pivot around to face the source of the voice, your eyes landing on a charismatic purple-skinned Twi'lek. Her lithe movements exude confidence as she gracefully closes the distance between her and Din, her hips swaying in a rhythm that mirrors the sway of her lekku.

"Hello, Mando," she purrs, her tone oozing with familiarity.

Din’s response is curt, his words void of any semblance of warmth, "Xi’an."

The Twi'lek's demeanor shifts in a flash as she lunges, the knife she had been casually twirling in her fingers finding its place against Din's throat. Despite the sudden threat, Din remains unfazed, his visage a portrait of unyielding calm in the face of danger.

Beside him, you react instinctively, your fingers curling around the hilt of your saber, its reassuring weight grounding you. Dark thoughts whisper in the corners of your mind, urging you to react more aggressively, but you quell them with an effort. Your focus sharpens, your senses heightening as you prepare for any outcome.

With a venomous hiss, Xi'an's words slice through the air, her intent clear and unapologetic, "Tell me why I shouldn't cut you down where you stand?" The air becomes charged with tension, her blade a mere breath away from making contact.

Din's retort drips with dryness, his voice cutting through the laughter that ensues, the sarcasm a protective shield he wears, “Nice to see you, too.” Amidst the collective mirth, you and Din remain the exceptions, your guard firmly in place.

Xi’an's purring words snake through the air, a mix of familiarity and provocation, as her knife traces a path along the beskar armor adorning Din's frame. Her gaze narrows, evaluating him with a mixture of appraisal and something more. “This is shiny,” she remarks, her tone almost admiring. A soft, almost mischievous click of her tongue follows, "You wear it well."

While the others seem to find amusement in the reunion, your eyes roll almost involuntarily. The jealousy that simmers within you is undeniable, but you push it aside, focusing on the situation at hand. A flash of protective instinct courses through your veins as Xi’an's advances intensify.

Unwilling to stand by, you interpose yourself between Din and Xi’an, employing a shove to dislodge her presence. Your voice is firm, cutting through the tension, "Alright, back off."

Xi'an's eyes narrow further, her gaze now entirely fixated on you, as if sizing you up. Her lips curl into a wicked smile, and she utters words designed to sting, each syllable laced with a calculated venom, "Well, well, look at this... Mando's new pet. Guess he got tired of real warriors and settled for a stray." The derisive sneer in her voice is palpable, a cutting reminder of her history with Din, meant to hit you where it hurts the most.

You feel the urge to lunge forward, ready to let loose your own tirade, Din's arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to his solid frame. You could almost feel his warm breath ghost over your ear as he speaks softly, his voice a soothing balm, "Calm down, cyar'ika. She’s not worth it."

Mayfeld's bemused gaze oscillates between the three of you, his voice laced with humor as he suggests, “Do we need to leave the room or something?”

In response, Ran chimes in with a hint of sardonic nostalgia, revealing more about Xi’an's feelings, “Well, Xi'an's been a little heartbroken since Mando left our group.” Mayfeld takes the opportunity to mockingly address her, “Aw. You gonna be okay, sweetheart?”

Xi'an's smile takes on a flirtatious edge, her eyes locking onto Din's with an almost predatory allure. "Oh, I'm all business now," she purrs, her voice dripping with suggestion. "Learned from the best." Her deliberate fluttering of lashes at Din feels like a challenge to your patience.

A low growl rumbles in your throat, a guttural response to the surge of possessive anger and jealousy welling up within you. Your body tenses, ready to spring forward, but Din's arms wrap around your waist with a reassuring yet firm hold, anchoring you to his front. His presence is a calming force, a reminder that your emotions must be tempered, even in the face of such provocation.

Ran's authoritative voice cuts through the charged atmosphere, acting as a mediator between the tension that hung thick in the air. "All right, lovebirds. Break it up till you get on the ship," he commands, herding the rest of the group to move along. As Xi'an saunters away, her lingering wink at Din feels like a final provocation, a reminder of the emotions that had flared so intensely.

Your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, the storm of emotions still swirling within you. Din's voice, calm and even, pierces through the turmoil. "You're usually not this violent," he remarks, his words acting as an anchor that grounds you in the present.

His statement triggers a moment of clarity, snapping you back to yourself. Blinking, you shake off the remnants of your reaction. Din's firm hold on your waist and his touch is a constant reassurance, grounding you further. Your voice wavers as you begin to speak, "Oh, I…"

Din guides you to face him, his hands on your hips inviting you to meet his gaze. Your gaze falls momentarily to his beskar chest plate, your cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. His gloved hands gently lift your chin, compelling you to look up at him through the vizor. Stammering, you try to explain, "I… I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I…"

His response is measured, his words carrying a depth of sincerity. "Don't apologize. I appreciated it," he admits, his admission causing a soft flutter within you. A pause follows Din, searching for the right words amidst the unspoken emotions. "No one has ever… defended me before. It… it felt nice."

The sincerity in your voice strikes a chord within him, and your words resonate in the charged air. Your eyes widen as you fully grasp the impact of your defense. "I didn't like what they were saying to you," you confess, your tone a blend of protectiveness and empathy that echoes through the space between you. "They were being mean, and you didn't—don't deserve that. Ever." Your honesty hangs in the air, tangible and raw, forging an unspoken bond between you that seems to deepen with every uttered word.

Din's helmeted gaze remains steady on you, his silent gratitude is evident. "This is the Way," he responds, a testament to the Mandalorian code governing his actions. You offer him a small smile, your affection and support unwavering. Gently, you cup the side of his helmet, your touch tender and laden with unspoken emotions. Din's gloved hand meets yours on his helmet, his fingers gently brushing against your wrist.

The weight of the upcoming mission and the necessity to keep up with Ran and the rest of the team tug at your consciousness as you slowly start to separate. Even though the moment may have ended, the words said to remain in the air as a tacit pledge of sympathy and support that will get you through the difficulties ahead.

The atmosphere grows tense as Mayfeld's holographic display illuminates the room, depicting the fortified transport ship. His voice is matter-of-fact as he lays out the plan, "So, the package is being moved on a fortified transport ship. We got a limited window to board, find our friend, get him out of there before they make their jump."

Your brows furrow in contemplation, a cascade of thoughts racing through your mind. Beside you, Din vocalizes the concern that had crossed your thoughts, addressing the rest of the group, "That's a New Republic prison ship. Your man wasn't taken by a rival syndicate. He was arrested."

With a smug grin, Mayfeld leans in over the table, his confidence undaunted, "So what?"

Burg's gruff grunt resonates with the sense of practicality that seems to underpin the group's operations. Ran's casual shrug further emphasizes the notion that business often transcends the nature of the task, as he remarks, "A job is a job."

Din's voice, laced with a tangible caution, interjects, "That's a max security transport, and we're not looking for that kind of heat." Yet Ran dismisses his apprehension with a casual wave, as if the potential risks were of no concern, countering, "Well, neither are we. So just don't mess up."

Xi'an's presence nears Din, her calculated steps revealing a self-assuredness that matches her words. Her sharp teeth gleam in the dim light as she inquires, her voice both playful and provoking, "The good news for you is the ship is manned by droids. Still hate the machines, Mando?"

The familiar hum of the Razor Crest's engines fills the hangar bay as the droid Zero returns from his systems check, his mechanical voice projecting a sense of detachment, "Despite recent modifications, the ship is still quite a mess. The power lines are leaking, the navigation is intermittent, and the hyperdrive is only operating at 67.3% efficiency. We have much better ships. Why are we using this one?"

Ran, seemingly unfazed by the droid's assessment, offers a response with a trace of confidence, "'Cause the Razor Crest is off the old Imperial and the New Republic grid. It's a ghost." Mayfeld chimes in, elaborating on the strategic choice, "Yeah, and we need a ship that can get close enough to jam New Republic code."

The hologram shifts under Mayfeld's command, revealing their plan for entry. He gestures towards the projection, explaining, "So, when we drop out of hyperspace here, if we immediately bank into this kind of attitude, we should be right in their blind spot, which will give us just enough time for your ship to scramble our signal."

Din, ever the pragmatist, voices his doubts, "It's not possible. Even for the Crest." Ran nods towards the droid, their solution to the challenge, "That's why he's flyin'."

Mayfeld's laughter resonates through the hangar as he heads inside the ship, leaving the group to prepare. Ran's attention shifts to Din, a knowing look in his eyes as he remarks, "Mando, I know you're a pretty good pilot, but we need you on the trigger. Not on the wheel."

Zero's articulated fingers snap, a gesture that coincides with its proclamation, "Don't worry, Mandalorian. My response time is quicker than organics. And I'm smarter, too."

Ran dismisses the droid with a shooing motion, a wry smile playing on his lips, "All right. I... Yeah. That's good." As Zero boards the Crest, Ran turns his gaze to both you and Din, his tone shifting slightly, "Forgive the programming. He's a little rough around the edges. But he is the best."

Din, ever cautious, questions the droid's reliability, "How can you trust it?"

Ran's response carries a touch of irony, "You know me, Mando. I don't trust anybody." As you and Din embark onto the ship, positioned by the ramp, ready to seal it, Ran's tone lightens, his words tinged with nostalgia, "Just like the good old days, Mando. Huh?"

With a decisive press of a button, Din activates the mechanism, causing the ship's ramp to ascend smoothly. The low hum of the ship's engines blends with a soft hiss as the Razor Crest gracefully disengages from the space station.

THE RAZOR CREST, 9ABY – SPACE

Both you and Din observe Zero, the droid, diligently operating the flight computer, his metallic fingers deftly navigating the hyperspace calculations. "Calculations complete. Jumping to hyperspace now. Feel free to join the others. I will handle it from here," Zero announces, his mechanical voice devoid of any emotion.

With limited options, you leave the flight deck, descending the ladder into the cargo hold, Din following suit. As you hop down, your eyes catch Burg prying open Din's gun cabinet. A glance at Din prompts him to react swiftly, a press of a button on his bracer causing the cabinet doors to snap shut, securing his weaponry.

Burg's displeasure is evident, and he attempts to engage the mechanism leading to the child's safe room. Din's hand clamps around Burg's wrist, a clear message that snooping around his possessions is not tolerated. Burg emits a low growl, his discomfort evident. Mayfeld intervenes, playing the role of a referee, his voice a soothing note amidst the tension. "Hey, hey, hey. Okay. Okay. Okay, I get it. I'm a little particular about my personal space, too. So, let's just do this job. We get in, we get out, and you don't have to see our faces anymore."

Burg's inquiry breaks the silence, “Someone tell me why we even need a Mandalorian,” his skepticism directed at Din's presence. You instinctively move closer to Din's side as Burg's gaze pierces. Mayfeld responds with a mixture of fact and myth, "Well, apparently they're the greatest warriors in the galaxy. So they say."

The snide remark follows, "Then why are they all dead?" Din remains unfazed by the jibe, his silence serving as a retort that speaks volumes. Laughter ensues amongst the group, but beneath your calm exterior, the tempest of your suppressed anger churns like waves against a shore.

Intrigued, Mayfeld presses on, his curiosity directed at Din's abilities, "Well, you flew with him, Xi'an. Is he as good as they say?"

Xi'an's smile is cunning as she balances a knife on her fingertip, her gaze locked onto Din. "Ask him about the job on Alzoc III."

Your attention swivels towards Din, his response anticipated. He keeps it succinct, "I did what I had to."

Xi'an's laughter carries a knowing edge as she playfully points her knife at Din, her eyes narrowing with a calculated intensity. "Oh, but you liked it. See, I know who you really are."

Your brows furrow, doubts creeping in as you ponder whether you truly knew the depths of Din's character. Fault lines tremble underneath your glass house, but you will yourself to push it down, trying your best not to let it show across your face.

"He never takes off the helmet?" Mayfeld questions, his curiosity apparent in his tone. Xi'an, in response, mockingly places a hand over her chest, her fist clenched in a mock salute as she echoes, "This is the Way."

The urge to grind your teeth is nearly overpowering, your jaw clenching as your eyes narrow at Xi'an's display.

"I wonder what you look like under there. Maybe he's a Gungan. Is that why yousa don't wanna show your face?" Mayfeld's taunt cuts through the air, a palpable jeer aimed at Din.

They all guffaw at that and by this point, the crew seems intent on testing your limits. Din remains adept at maintaining a façade of detachment, but for you, their provocations are as clear as day. Their mocking tones, their envy, and the swirl of colors in their auras – the varying shades of yellow, black, and red – are almost perceptible.

Mayfeld's inquiry hangs in the air like a challenge, laced with a touch of mockery. "You ever seen his face?" he questions Xi'an, his tone a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Xi'an's response is teasing and coy, as if she's savoring a well-kept secret. Her lips curl into a knowing smile as she softly gasps before her words come forth, "A lady never tells."

Mayfeld's smugness only grows, his eyes locking onto Din, determined to push his buttons. "Aw. Come on, Mando. We all gotta trust each other here," he goads, leaning into the provocation. "You gotta show us somethin'."

You and Din maintain your stoic stance, your collective resolve unyielding. Yet, Mayfeld remains relentless, his voice dripping with taunting insistence. "Come on. Just lift the helmet up. Come on. Let's all see your eyes."

A simmering fuse inside you, long-held but now ignited, transforms into a tempest of emotions. It's as if crashing waves of pitch black and pale blue swirl within your core, a tumultuous sea that surges and roars. The spark of this intense turmoil travels down the wire of your patience, each second counting down to the impending explosion of pent-up anger. The echo of this emotional turbulence reverberates through your being, akin to a widening equator, traversing a landscape of suppressed frustrations. The crescendo of dissonance builds, orchestrating your emotions into a fevered symphony, each note tuning itself with rapid intensity. In that charged moment, the threads of your self-control fray, and the brewing storm inside inches ever closer to release.

Burg goes up and positions himself in front of Din, saying, "I'll do it," clearly intending to remove Din's helmet.

As though a switch has been flipped, the storm within you roars to life. A torrent of dark thoughts, rage, and frustration surges to the surface. You're caught in a whirlwind of emotion, your surroundings narrowing into a tunnel vision. In this maelstrom, your actions become almost instinctual, driven by an overwhelming tide of intense feeling.

In the blink of an eye, you position yourself protectively in front of Din. Your arm extends in a swift and assertive motion, fingers flexed like the claws of a predator. Burg's imposing figure is abruptly brought down to his knees, a desperate struggle for breath filling the air. Your own breathing is labored, heavy with the rush of power coursing through you. The storm of emotions within has transformed into a tempest of action.

Mayfeld and Xi'an react swiftly, moving to intervene, but your focus remains unyielding. Your other arm extends, palm outstretched, fingers acting as a conduit for the Force. A powerful surge of energy emanates from you, forcefully pushing both Mayfeld and Xi'an back, slamming them against the opposite end of the cargo hold. Your control over the Force is unwavering, fueled by the potent mixture of emotions swirling within you.

However, amid this whirlwind of power and action, a crucial detail slips your notice. In his flailing struggle, Burg accidentally triggers a compartment to open, its contents exposed. Within that compartment lies the Child, vulnerable and exposed, an unintended consequence of the chaotic scene unfolding around you.

A shock of realization courses through you, widening your eyes as the gravity of the situation hits you like a physical blow. In that split second, your grip on Burg relinquishes its hold, and he staggers forward, struggling to regain his breath. Your rapid step back inadvertently leads you to collide with Din's solid beskar-clad chest. The sudden impact jars you, but it's the overwhelming surge of fear from within that renders you momentarily speechless.

The atmosphere in the cargo hold becomes almost suffocatingly dense, each heartbeat seemingly echoing in the quiet aftermath of your impulsive action. Swallowing hard, you wrestle with the knot of anxiety that's taken residence in your throat. From where you stand, you can see Mayfeld and Xi’an pulling themselves up from the floor, their attention now fixed on the exposed compartment.

With a mix of curiosity and disbelief, Mayfeld's voice breaks the silence, "Whoa! What is that? You get lonely up here, buddy? Huh?" His gaze shifts to you and Din, his words taking on a taunting edge, "Wait a minute. Did you two make that? Huh?"

A pointed raise of your eyebrows is your retort, your fury simmering just beneath the surface. Mayfeld's gaze meets yours, and his words drip with a mixture of sarcasm and insinuation, "A Mandalorian and a Jedi, who knew…"

Your nostrils flare as your teeth grind together, a flare of defiance emanating from you. You respond in a tone that holds both irritation and rejection, "I am no Jedi."

Mayfeld doesn't miss a beat, his taunting tone persisting, "What is it, like a pet or somethin'?"

Din's voice, soft but firm, emerges from behind you, "Yeah. Something like that."

Xi’an interjects, her words loaded with provocation, her gaze alternating between you and Din, "Didn't take you for the type. Maybe that code of yours has made you soft."

A mirthless chuckle escapes Mayfeld as he comments, his tone carrying a hint of indifference, "Me, I was never really into pets. Yeah, I didn't have the temperament. Patience, you know? I mean, I tried, but never worked out."

Your jaw remains clenched, your patience wearing thin as Mayfeld's words scrape at your nerves. And then, his words take an unsettling turn, his tone turning almost casual as he lifts the Child in his arms, "But I'm thinkin' maybe I'll try again with this little fella. Huh?"

The sight of him holding the Child triggers an instinctual protectiveness within you. Your voice is a low, warning growl, "Put a single scratch on him and I will make sure you beg for mercy." The intensity in your tone leaves no room for doubt – this is not an idle threat.

"Dropping out of hyperspace now."

The transition from hyperspace to real space is abrupt, the jolt reverberating through the Razor Crest as it emerges above the New Republic prison ship. The ship executes a sharp, evasive maneuver, causing its occupants to stagger; the Child, unfortunately, loses balance and falls, his tiny voice emitting a startled cry.

“Commencing final approach, now. Cloaking signal, now.”

Reacting swiftly, you and Din reach for the Child, his cries driving you into immediate action. With careful hands, Din gathers the child, comforting him as he places him back into his cot.

Through the intercom, Zero's voice resounds, "Engaging coupling now. Coupling confirmed. We are down. And relax. Commence extraction now."

As the ship gently rests on the prison ship's hull, Din's presence seems to work like magic on the Child. His soothing coos become a balm for the little one's nerves, casting a brief moment of serenity amidst the intensity of the operation.

“Useless droid didn't even give us a proper countdown,” Xi’an hisses in annoyance, her frustration palpable in the tense air. Meanwhile, Burg unceremoniously discards the boxes containing their equipment, his actions reflecting his impatience.

“Z, are you sure they can't see us?” Mayfeld queries, holding a comlink in his hand, his tone edged with caution. Zero's mechanical voice responds, “The Razor Crest is scrambling our signature, and I am navigating within the prison system. It's remarkable that this gunship managed to evade Empire capture.”

With a sense of purpose, Mayfeld asserts, “All right, we've got a job to do. Mando, you're up.” In response, Din promptly moves to open a hatch beneath the Razor Crest, creating an entry point into the New Republic prison ship.

A moment of hesitation lingers as the crew stands on the precipice of action. Mayfeld's uncertainty is vocalized as he scans the group, questioning, “It's me?” His inquiry is met with Burg's laconic response, “Always you.”

Mayfeld takes the lead, descending into the shadows of the New Republic prison ship, deftly avoiding the watchful gaze of several R1 Security Droids. With cautious steps, Xi’an and Burg follow suit, as they navigate through the unfamiliar terrain. In the quiet that ensues, you and Din remain on the Razor Crest's threshold, the weight of your shared decision hanging in the air. A subtle shake of your head signals your reluctance, yet you can sense Din's gaze on you, a silent encouragement. His eyes shift from you to the door concealing the Child, and you exhale slowly, striving to regain your composure. Steeling yourself, you follow Din's lead, your footfalls echoing as you make your descent from the ship's ladder, the echoes of your internal turmoil blending with the gravity of the mission at hand.

NEW REPUBLIC CORRECTIONAL TRANSPORT, 9ABY – SPACE

The urgency in the air is palpable as Mayfeld briefs the group, a sense of impending danger hanging over the mission. "All right, we're on the clock. When we engage those droids, they're gonna be all over us," Mayfeld's words hold a weight of caution. Din's response is curt and straightforward, his voice a monotone that resonates with experience, "I know the drill."

Amid the tension, the intercom crackles to life, and Zero's mechanical voice chimes in through Mayfeld's comlink, his words reverberating with calculated precision, "Bio trackers activated. I've got eyes."

Mayfeld's nod is an unspoken acknowledgment of the information as he addresses the team, with a sense of determination in his demeanor. "All right, let's go."

Navigating the ship's brightly lit corridors, blasters are held at the ready by the crew, and your fingers find the familiar grip of your lightsaber hilt. The tense atmosphere is punctuated by the presence of various humanoid and alien prisoners, their watchful eyes trailing the group as they pass. Among them, a few Imperial officers cast lingering glances, their scrutiny prompting a quiet mutter from Din, "I don't like this." The collective unease amplifies the gravity of the mission, each step forward a reminder of the risks involved.

Xi’an's laughter is a brief, sharp sound that cuts through the tense ambiance, her voice dripping with familiarity as she teases, "You always were paranoid."

Mayfeld seizes the opportunity to playfully prod further, his voice laced with a smug undertone as he seeks confirmation, "Is that true, Mando? Were you always paranoid?"

You let out an audible sigh that sounds both frustrated and impatient. You respond to the banter with a noticeable expression of irritation as your eyes roll. The gravity of the circumstance appears to heighten your annoyance as you respond, "Were you born stupid or did you take lessons?”

A sudden growl from an alien prisoner sends a jolt through the group, causing Mayfeld to practically leap in surprise. Xi’an responds with a hiss that sounds almost maniacal, her readiness for confrontation evident. Amidst the tension, Zero's voice breaks through the commotion, guiding the crew: “Approaching control room. Make a left at the next juncture.”

Following the instructions, you round the corner and continue to move with the group. Just as you do, an MSE-6 series repair droid scurries into view. Burg's reaction is almost comically misaligned with the situation as he grunts and coos, “What? It's just a little mousey. Come here, little mousey.”

Mayfeld, seemingly trying to prevent further chaos, calls after Burg, but it's too late – Burg takes a shot, hitting the droid. The clashing reactions within the group only add to the chaotic atmosphere, and you can't help but rub your temple in frustration.

And as if on cue, the unexpected appearance of four N5 sentry droids turns the situation from bad to worse. The droids immediately detect the intrusion, their metallic voices chiming, “Intruder alert. Open fire.” Seeking cover, you all scatter, taking refuge behind the edges of the corridor as blaster fire erupts around you.

“We're too exposed here,” Xi’an warns urgently, her words strained amidst the chaotic onslaught of blaster fire. Mayfeld's response is grimly practical, highlighting the stakes: “If they get a signal out, it's not gonna matter.”

“Mando, let's go! You're supposed to be somethin' special,” Mayfeld shouts, the desperation in his voice evident. With all eyes turning to where Din had been, it's undeniable – he's disappeared. Xi’an's frustration grows into a low, threatening growl while Mayfeld's accusation echoes, “I knew it. I knew it!”

Just as doubt attempts to creep in, a sight catches your eye – a flash of beskar armor and the glint of a helmet in the fray. Relief courses through you as Din re-emerges, his appearance timed perfectly with an ambush. The Mandalorian strikes from behind, moving with calculated efficiency.

The first droid falls as Din deftly slices its foot with a vibro-knife, sending it crashing to the ground. A precise shot takes down another droid, demonstrating his unmatched marksmanship. Amidst the chaos, one of the droids manages to grab Din, hurling him against a cell door. The ensuing brawl is visceral, a testament to Din's unyielding determination. Blow after blow, he fights to break free from the droid's grasp.

In a daring move, the Mandalorian employs his whipcord, toppling yet another droid with its swift precision. Unwavering, he rips off the droid's head, further thinning their opposition. Din's resourcefulness shines as he employs his flamethrower, searing the circuits of one droid before executing a pinpoint shot to the head of the fourth.

However, the conflict is far from ending. You approach the conflict beside Din, a force to be reckoned with, as you intuitively ignite your purple lightsaber, a vibrant arc of energy. Together, you navigate the frantic dance of droid advances and blaster fire. You attack the mechanical foes one by one with careful, calculated blows that dance between light and darkness.

Din steps in at just the right time, his blaster rounds precisely timed to shut off the security droid's targeting sensors as it rushes for you. The threat posed by the robot is removed when it falls. The two of you continue your onslaught as the momentum of the fight shifts in your favor. Your perfect synchronization of fighting skill plows through the remaining foes.

Amidst the chaos of battle, Mayfeld and his companions become mere spectators as the prisoners roar in exultation, their jubilant cries blending into a cacophony of alien languages. The fallen droids bear testament to your combined might, the remnants of the skirmish a testament to your prowess. 

As the adrenaline-laden air gradually subsides, your attention shifts, your gaze drawn like a magnet to Din. The aftermath casts a warm, reddish hue over the scene, and his form is etched in the ambience, beskar-clad and formidable. His chest rises and falls with each deliberate breath, the gentle rhythm of his respiration a contrast to the chaos that surrounded you moments ago. Your heart flutters at the sight, your breath quickening in response.

His figure exudes a primal magnetism, a silent declaration of power and control. The beskar plates that encase him rise and fall with his breathing, sculpting his form in an almost mesmerizing cadence. Through the visor of his helmet, your gaze meets his, an unseen connection forged in that charged moment. The emotions roiling beneath your surface rise to the fore, amplified by the intensity of the battle and the closeness of your partnership.

Within the confines of your heart, a tempestuous fire rages, drawn to his enigmatic energy like a moth to a flame. His presence is a captivating constellation, a map of stars that navigates your thoughts. In his being, you've unearthed a revelation – a revelation that he's as boundless and beguiling as the universe itself, a force that holds you captive in its gravitational pull.

As the echoes of combat fade and the prisoners' cheers meld with the gentle hum of the ship, you remain rooted in the moment. Your feelings swell, words unspoken but deeply felt, an electric current that courses between you and Din. The universe has painted this canvas of fate, intertwining your paths in ways that defy explanation.

Mayfeld's voice breaks the momentary spell, “Make sure you clean up your mess,” pulling you from the intense gaze you had shared with Din. As the group begins to move away, you find yourself still standing amidst the resonances of the fight, the rush of adrenaline leaving your chest heaving with each breath. The aftermath is a lingering unseen tapestry made of energetic and emotional strands.

Din's steps bring him closer, his presence a steadying anchor in the whirlwind of sensations. He draws near, his concern evident in the subtle tension that marks his movements. His gaze meets yours, and you're acutely aware of the dilation of your pupils, a visual echo of the internal tempest that rages within you.

With your pupils dark and dilated, your eyes seem to mirror the vast expanse of space, the depths of your emotions laid bare for him to see. Your mouth is slightly ajar, the remnants of the heightened moment leaving you momentarily suspended, needing to tilt your head slightly upward to fully meet his gaze. In this charged instant, the universe narrows down to the connection between your eyes, a silent exchange that communicates volumes without the need for words.

In that suspended moment, the silence speaks volumes, a symphony of unspoken sentiments. Your heartbeats seem to synchronize, a rhythm that matches the ebb and flow of the tide in your chest. Time dances on the precipice of this interaction, and you find yourself caught within its gravity, unable and unwilling to break free.

The universe has momentarily stilled, a canvas painted with the interplay of gazes and emotions. It's a connection that transcends the physical, forging a link that words could scarcely encompass. As you stand there, the universe around you continues its dance, but within this bubble of time, you and Din share an unspoken language that's uniquely yours.

His touch is electric, a spark that ignites a cascade of sensations within you. As his gloved hand brushes against yours, a shiver courses through your frame, a response as instinctual as the pull of celestial bodies. It's as if the very universe has conspired to send a myriad of shooting stars dancing across your skin, leaving a trail of tingling warmth in their wake.

His touch lingers, a slow and deliberate movement that traces the contours of your arm, following an invisible path etched by fate itself. The weight of his touch is both grounding and intoxicating, a tangible connection that bridges the gap between you. His hand ascends with a tantalizing slowness, ascending from your hand to your forearm, and then to your elbow.

A soft hum resonates from within him, a sound that vibrates through the air and settles within the depths of your being. Its resonance is both soothing and electrifying, a sensation that seems to harmonize with the very pulse of your existence. The world around you blurs, your senses zeroing in on the symphony of his touch and the melody of his voice.

You close your eyes, surrendering to the moment, letting the cascade of emotions and sensations wash over you. The darkness behind your closed eyelids becomes a canvas upon which you paint the memory of his touch, each stroke a testament to the intensity of this connection. It's a stolen moment amidst the chaos, a fragment of time where the universe seems to pause and let you bask in the radiance of his presence.

In this suspended state, you're adrift in a sea of feelings, carried along by the tide of emotions that his touch evokes. It's an experience that transcends the physical, a communion of souls that defies words.

Din hums again, his voice husky as he speaks lowly to you, a timbre that sends vibrations down your spine, “Hm… is there something you wanna tell me, cyar'ika?”

Your eyes flutter open as you peer at him through the veil of your eyelashes, caught in a gaze that holds more unspoken promises than words ever could. “You’re not playing fair, Din,” you murmur, your voice a mixture of exasperation and desire.

He doesn’t offer words in reply, his actions speaking louder. His gloved hand travels down your arm once more, a touch that both ignites and soothes. Then, in a move that sends your heart racing, he intertwines his fingers with yours, the contact a firm yet gentle connection that bridges the gap between you two. His words are a magnetic pull, drawing you from the depths of your thoughts, “Let’s get this over with, and then we can talk more about this later, cyar’ika.”

With a wordless nod, he begins to lead you, his grasp on your hand guiding you through the corridors. Each step feels ethereal, as if you're treading on clouds, suspended between the moment you've shared and the mission that still awaits. As you walk together, hand-in-hand, the world around you seems to blur, your senses attuned solely to the warmth of his hand in yours, the echo of his voice in your mind, and the unspoken promise of what's to come.

The rest of the crew comes into view, their chatter and presence fading into the background as your focus remains firmly on the Mandalorian at your side. The job ahead beckons, a task that demands your attention, but for now, the connection between you and Din is a current that flows with an irresistible intensity, a silent understanding that no words could ever encompass.

“It seems your presence has been detected. Redirecting security alert away from your position,” Zero's voice chimes in once more, its mechanical tone cutting through the tension in the air. Mayfeld's impatience is palpable as he snaps at the droid, “Z, open the door!”

A brief pause follows, the artificial intelligence seemingly hesitant. “But I'm detecting an organic signature,” Zero interjects, its tone conveying its concern over the potential danger.

Mayfeld, driven by the urgency of the situation, dismisses the warning without a second thought, frustration lacing his response, “Yeah, okay. All right. Just open the door!”

A New Republic officer, his uniform a stark blue against the metallic surroundings, appears before your group, blaster raised and hands slightly trembling. His voice wavers as he commands, “Stop! Just stop right there.”

His breaths come quick and uneven, a clear sign of his nervousness and uncertainty. With a palpable tension in the air, he addresses your group, his voice a mix of caution and apprehension, “You put down the blasters right now.” You take a discreet step, instinctively concealing the hilt of your lightsaber, not wanting to inadvertently escalate the situation or draw undue attention to your own abilities as a Force-sensitive individual.

Mayfeld's mocking words pierce the tense air, his demeanor almost nonchalant as he circles the New Republic officer. His dry comment about the officer's shoes and belt creates an odd moment of levity, juxtaposed against the serious circumstances.

Din's voice cuts through, an edge of sternness lacing his words, “There were only supposed to be droids on this ship.” But Mayfeld seems to disregard the Mandalorian's concern, his focus firmly on the controls he's inspecting.

Amidst this backdrop of escalating tension, Mayfeld's voice takes on a hint of urgency as he narrows his attention to a specific cell, “Hang on, hang on. Let's see here. Uh… Cell two-two-one.”

However, his attention quickly shifts, and he assesses the officer with a touch of sarcasm, “All right, now for our well-dressed friend.” The officer's swift reaction, pulling out a tracking beacon, is met with a surge of panic from Mayfeld, his words a rapid stream of protest, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey, hey. Easy. Easy, egghead. Put that down. Put that down. Come on.”

In an effort to regain control and stop the situation from getting out of hand, Din speaks in an authoritative, calm voice, interjecting, "Easy," to both the officer and Mayfeld.

Mayfeld, however, is unrelenting, his anxiety palpable, “Put it down now!” Din steps in again, his voice a steadying presence, “Easy. Nobody has to get hurt here. Just calm down.” The gravity of the moment hangs heavy, the outcome teetering on a knife's edge.

Burg's puzzled voice slices through the charged atmosphere, his uncertainty hanging in the air like a question mark, "What is that thing?"

You, the embodiment of composure, provide a straightforward answer, "It’s a tracking beacon."

Mayfeld's voice leaps in, urgency punctuating his words, “He presses that thing, we're all done. A New Republic attack team will hone in on that signal and blow us all to hell. Put it down!”

Xi’an’s frustration finds voice, her tone laced with incredulity, "Are you serious?" Mayfeld’s response is swift and resolute, "Yes, I'm serious."

Annoyance ripples through Xi’an’s voice, her accusation landing with weight, "You didn't think we needed to know that tiny little detail?"

Mayfeld's voice carries a mixture of frustration and agitation, "I didn't think we'd get to this point." A tinge of disdain colors Xi’an's response, her retort dripping with irony, "Yet here we are."

The tension between them is palpable, the air heavy with unsaid words. Mayfeld's frustration escalates, his voice a crescendo, "Are you questioning my managerial style, Xi'an?" Her response is nothing short of mocking, a low chuckle escaping her lips, "No, sir."

Din’s voice emerges as a soothing beacon, an anchor in the storm, "Hey. Listen to me. Hey, hey, hey. Listen to me, okay? Look." His blaster disappears into its holster, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Following his lead, you lift your hands too, a visual assurance to the officer that harm isn't your intention.

With a determined glance, you address Mayfeld, your tone firm and unyielding, “Hey. Put it down.”

His frown deepens, his voice more intense, “Are you crazy?”

Undeterred, you echo your words, your gaze shifting to the trembling officer clutching the beacon, “Put it down. What's your name?” The question hovers in the air, a sliver of humanity in the middle of the mayhem.

He stutters before replying, “It's Davan.”

You nod, your expression gentle as you offer your own name and introduce yourself. Turning back to him, your tone remains steady and reassuring, “Davan. We're not here for you. We're here for a prisoner. If you let us go about our job, you can walk away with your life.”

“No, he won't,” Mayfeld says, his blaster aimed unwaveringly at Davan. The tense standoff escalates as Din swiftly raises his own blaster, its cold muzzle locked onto Mayfeld, his tone firm, “Hey. You realize what you're gonna bring down on us?”

“You think I care about that?” Mayfeld's voice drips with defiance, his finger tense against the blaster's trigger. But Din remains unyielding, his grip unwavering, “We're not killing anybody. You understand?”

“Get that blaster out of my face, Mando,” Mayfeld's command is laced with an edge of desperation, his eyes narrowing at Din's unwavering stance.

Din’s helmeted head shakes almost imperceptibly, his voice like stone, “I can't do that.”

“Get that blaster out of my face, Mando!” Mayfeld's demand escalates into a furious yell, and Burg, feeling the tension surge, raises his own blaster at Din, the atmosphere crackling with impending violence. But Din anticipates the move, the flamethrower bracer extending with a threatening hiss, a wordless warning to back down.

As tensions teetered on the brink of eruption, Xi'an's blade swiftly put an end to the escalating confrontation, ending Davan's role in a fatal strike. The aftermath of her swift and ruthless action hung in the air like a heavy shroud, a stark reminder of the unforgiving tightrope they tread. Your gaze shifts to Din, his stance unchanged but the tension in the room evidently affecting him, his demeanor slightly unsettled by the abrupt turn of events.

In the middle of the mounting tension, Xi'an's command pierces the charged air and ends the argument she was having with Mayfeld. She takes the knife back from Davan's lifeless body with a nonchalant attitude while Mayfeld tries to defend his actions with the words, "Crazy Twi. I had it under control."

Xi'an's laughter is a subtle ripple of amusement that contrasts with the gravity of the situation, her dry humor punctuating the room, "Yeah. Looked like it."

The rhythmic beeping of the tracking device punctuates the room, its red glow pulsating in time with its urgent signals. Mayfeld's voice strains with panic, his words coming out in a rush, "Was that thing blinking before? Was it?"

A droid's voice resonates from the comlink, breaking through the tension, "Zero to Mayfeld. Zero to Mayfeld."

Mayfeld responds urgently, "What?"

Zero's metallic tone delivers the unsettling news, "I've detected a New Republic distress signal homing in on your location. You have approximately 20 minutes."

“We only need five.” Xi’an says happily before running down the corridor while Mayfeld commands all of you, “Let's go, let's go. Move, move, move!”

On the way, you run into a black hover security droid, but Burg hurls the droid to the floor with brute force, knocking it out. A second hover security droid appears, but Burg hurls the fallen first droid at it, knocking it out. The two droids explode into flames.

As the countdown to the impending threat ticks away, your group arrives at the prison cell. Mayfeld's command to Zero is sharp and impatient, "Z, open it up."

The droid responds crisply, "You have 15 minutes remaining."

Mayfeld's urgency heightens, a hint of desperation edging into his voice, "Come on, come on. Open it up!"

With a mechanical whir, the doors of the cell part, revealing the prisoner held within – a Twi'lek male mercenary named Qin. Din's gaze locks onto Qin's form, recognition flashing across his features. The air is heavy with unspoken history as their eyes meet.

Qin's tone is edged with wry humor, a barb aimed at Din, "Funny, the man who left me behind is now my savior. Mando."

The tension in the room tightens like a coiled spring, and just as you're trying to process the weight of the situation, Burg's aggression erupts. With a savage growl, he lunges at Din, striking him with brutal force and sending him crashing into the cell.

As the tense situation spirals into chaos, a sharp, searing sensation jolts through your body. You gasp, a high-pitched sound escaping your lips as the effects of a drug take hold. Panic surges within you, turning your limbs into leaden weights, and your surroundings seem to blur.

Your cries pierce the air as your body convulses, and in the midst of your agony, you become aware of strong arms wrapping around you. Qin's figure comes into focus, his grip firm as he lifts you effortlessly over his shoulder. The world spins as your pleas for help ring out, your voice a raw symphony of fear, "Mando! Help me!"

In the shadows cast by the unfolding turmoil, Din's form stands frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief and shock. Anguish courses through his veins, a torrent of emotions he struggles to contain. The scene before him is a nightmarish tableau, your distress etched into every fiber of his being. The tendrils of rage snake through his consciousness, coiling tighter and tighter, a tempest of anger like none he has ever felt.

As you're carried away, your voice echoing in his ears, Din's gloved fists clench, his entire body vibrating with an unquenchable fury. It's a wrath that burns brighter than the hottest star, an all-consuming fire that threatens to consume him. Every ounce of his being demands retribution, and at that moment, the Mandalorian's resolve becomes ironclad. He will unleash a storm that no one could have foreseen.

Din's gaze narrows as he peers through the small windows of his cell, his thoughts aligning swiftly with his actions. With a deft and calculated move, he deploys his grappling cable, ensnaring a humanoid New Republic security droid that strides past his confinement. The droid fights against the cable's hold, discharging blaster bolts that splinter the air and illuminate the cell's interior. The sound of metal meeting energy punctuates the struggle, an echo of determination resonating in every ricocheting blast.

Skill and unwavering purpose guide Din's hands as he manages to subdue the droid's counteroffensive, creating a brief respite from the storm of blaster fire. Amidst the lingering wisps of dissipating energy, he retrieves a severed arm from the droid, repurposing it into a tool of liberation. The cell's lock yields under his meticulous manipulation, granting him freedom.

Returning to the control room, Din surveys the array of screens and the intricate console before him. His strategic mind takes hold, weaving plans with precision born from countless battles and encounters. The rhythmic hum of technology intermingles with the rhythmic beat of his heart as he molds his thoughts into a cohesive strategy.

A symphony of calculated keystrokes and deft button presses follows as Din's fingers dance across the control panel. With deliberate intention, he commands the locking mechanism, sealing blast doors that partition the room. This division becomes a strategic maneuver, creating a barrier that cleaves Mayfeld and Qin from Burg and Xi'an, a tactical separation that enhances their chances for success. 

Through the surveillance cameras, the Mandalorian's gaze remains fixed on Xi'an and Burg, their actions playing out like a holographic performance. His mind churns with calculated purpose, the cogs of ingenuity whirring as an idea takes shape. His hand descends to the floor, fingers curling around the tracking beacon. A glint of determination glimmers within his visor, setting his plan into motion.

Time passes in measured increments, each second marked by the thud of his heart. The silence of the control room envelops him, a stark contrast to the tumult that brews outside its confines. Then, like a predator sensing its prey, he perceives the Devaronian's approach. As Burg's form materializes in the entrance, the Mandalorian springs into action, his movements as fluid as the currents of a hidden river.

With a seamless fluidity, the Mandalorian ensnares Burg with his grappling cable, a vice-like grip that tightens around the Devaronian's throat. Gravity becomes his ally as he employs the cable to pull Burg upwards, an ambush executed with unyielding precision. Their confrontation transitions into an intimate dance of hand-to-hand combat, each moves a reflection of their honed skills.

Fire meets resilience as the Mandalorian deploys his flamethrower, its fierce tongues licking at Burg's form. Yet, the Devaronian presses on, seemingly unfazed by the inferno. The control room becomes an arena, an arena where every punch and parry is a symphony of strength and strategy. A console becomes a weapon, hurled by Burg with the ferocity of a beast asserting dominance.

In the distance, Xi'an's sharp ears catch the rumblings of the altercation, a discordant melody that sparks concern. Her steps hasten, her movements propelled by a mixture of curiosity and anxiety.

The steadfast commitment of the Mandalorian is evident in every deed. He extends his purpose by aiming a knife toward the blast door controls. His throw triggers a series of mechanisms, setting up a battle of might vs metal. Blast doors that are dropping vertically seem to be trying to stop him, but he fights back, his muscles aching from the effort.

But as fate's tides change, so does his plan of attack. Burg is basically rendered unconscious and imprisoned within a metal cage when a second set of blast doors that close horizontally swings into operation. The physical conflict ends, but the clash's echoes remain. The fact that the control room is still a battleground is evidence of the Mandalorian's fortitude and unwavering persistence that propels him ahead.

Amidst the ebb and flow of dreams, a sinister undercurrent tugs at the edges of your consciousness. The passage of time eludes you, a disorienting blend of moments that slip through your grasp like elusive shadows. The landscape morphs, nightcrawlers emerging and vanishing, a surreal dance of existence.

Shadows undulate like ethereal specters, their contours contorting with each blink of your mind's eye. A somber darkness descends, ensnaring your senses in its enigmatic grip. The allure of the unknown beckons, a velvety whisper that stirs long-dormant desires within the labyrinth of your thoughts.

In this realm of shifting illusions, the boundaries between reality and fantasy dissolve, and the threads of your fears weave a tapestry of surreal proportions. You tread through landscapes of ambiguity, each step fraught with trepidation. Whispers reverberate in your consciousness, playful and taunting, coaxing you deeper into the uncharted depths.

As you find yourself in this dreamscape, confusion reigns, a haze of uncertainty clouding your mind. The chronology of events eludes you, lost in a landscape of quiet desolation. The world around you is still, a void that seems to stretch to infinity. At its heart lies a serpentine river, its waters flowing inexorably toward a gaping abyss.

Your voice trembles as you call out, a plea for connection in the silent expanse, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

Approaching the river's edge, you seek your reflection, only for it to warp into a visage that reflects your deepest fears. Red eyes glint beneath a dark hood, a malevolent red lightsaber casting an ominous glow. Fear grips your heart, and with a splash, you desperately scatter the reflection, ripples distorting the ominous image.

Abruptly, the river's current shifts, and the unseen ground beneath you gives way. The world dissolves into a vast expanse of water, a towering wave looming over you like an executioner's blade. The sensation of drowning overwhelms you, your struggles to break free becoming a desperate symphony of survival. The threads of time slip and warp, as if reality itself is fraying at the edges.

Beneath the shimmering moonlight filtering through the water's surface, you fight to ascend, each stroke a battle against the suffocating weight of the wave. Yet, in the depths of your subconscious, the allure of surrender tempts you, the pull of the abyss becoming strangely tempting, a surrender to the consuming waters that promise oblivion.

You shut your eyes tightly, swimming and kicking, one hand outstretched just to feel the break of the surface and then you do, opening your eyes you are gasping and gulping for air. Before you know it you see an island nearby and you swim towards it. You crawl onto shore, coughing and wheezing before laying on the sand and on your back. Smoke puffs are white and piling. Silently detonating emotions as you feel your chest rise and fall rapidly, huffing.

You feel like you’re dying in the dark, and it's written there in the stars. You're understood by so little and loved only from afar. Always going when the going gets too tough. You briefly close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat, letting yourself embrace the silence.

A gentle tap on your forehead rouses you from the depths of your dreams, a sensation akin to the soft prod of a wooden stick. Slowly, your eyes flutter open, and to your astonishment, Master Yoda stands before you. Disbelief mingles with surprise in your expression as you gaze up at the wise old Jedi.

Yoda's ancient features bear a quizzical expression as he regards you. His head tilts slightly to the right, a gesture that has always held a mixture of curiosity and assessment. With his characteristic syntax, he speaks, his voice a blend of wisdom and whimsy, “Hrm… curious are you.”

Startled, you jerk up from the sandy ground, your senses slowly reconciling with the unexpected presence of the legendary Jedi Master. As you rise, your eyes meet Yoda's gaze, an amused glint in his eyes that speaks of an understanding beyond mere words. Words spill out of your mouth in a rush, a mixture of astonishment and uncertainty, “Am I… Am I dead?”

A chuckle, soft and reminiscent of ages past, escapes Yoda's lips. He shakes his head, his ears twitching as he replies, “No, not you are. Yes, hrrrm.”

The confusion lingers, and you're compelled to seek clarity amidst the surreal encounter. Your voice trembles with uncertainty, seeking answers from the source of wisdom before you, “Then… what…?”

Yoda's gaze remains steady, his eyes penetrating to your core as he speaks with the weight of his insight, “Become powerful you have, the dark side in you I sense.”

The realization dawns upon you like the breaking of a new day, the truth you've long wrestled with now laid bare before the venerable Master. Your response is a simple and contemplative, “Oh.”

With a beckoning gesture of his hand, Yoda invites you to accompany him. “Come, a walk with me take,” he says in his enigmatic manner, and without hesitation, you comply. Following in the footsteps of the Jedi sage, you walk along the shoreline of the mysterious island, the whispers of the sea and the wisdom of a centuries-old being intertwining in a dance of insight and revelation.

In a swift and fluid motion, Xi'an pivots, her lithe form a dance of danger as she flicks a knife towards Din. The blade streaks through the air, a glint of deadly intent, and strikes true. With an unexpected clang, Din's blaster clatters to the ground, disarmed by the precision of her throw. The Twi'lek's hiss echoes in the charged air, a prelude to the battle that ensues.

Xi'an becomes a whirlwind of motion, her movements a symphony of lethal grace. Knives fly from her grasp in rapid succession, a storm of shimmering steel. Yet, Din is no stranger to combat, and his beskar bracers become his shield against the oncoming storm. The blades deflect with metallic resonance, each clang a testament to his prowess and preparedness.

Their clash is a dance of contrasts, Xi'an's agility matched by Din's stoic determination. Knives seek their mark, the air humming with tension as they narrowly miss their target. Din counters, each parry a testament to his unyielding focus. The choreography is a testament to their honed skills, the blades a dangerous dialogue in the silence of their struggle.

Din's commitment is unwavering despite the ferocious attack from Xi'an. He seizes the opportunity when it arises as it is a small window of opportunity. He closes the distance between them with measured movements that are accompanied by a controlled energy burst. He quickly and precisely grabs her wrists in a vice-like hold that renders her motionless.

As the clash of blades subsides, Xi'an's knife finds itself seized by Din's unyielding grip, its cold edge pressing against her throat. Her defiance is met with the unrelenting strength of the Mandalorian, his beskar-clad form an immovable force. The dance of conflict transforms into a tableau frozen in time, their positions a silent testament to the power struggle that has transpired.

In the dimly lit corridor, Mayfeld's wary footsteps echo, his senses heightened by the uncertainty that surrounds them. The lights flicker, casting an eerie dance of shadows on the walls, the alternating hues of red and white adding to the disorienting atmosphere. As he approaches a blast door, his gaze narrows, catching a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision.

A small mouse droid skitters past, its mechanical chatter echoing in the silence. It's an unexpected presence in this tense environment, and it's enough to startle even the steadiest of hearts. Mayfeld's muscles tense, his fingers gripping his blaster as he warily scans his surroundings.

Amidst the dissonance of flickering lights and the droid's scuttling, a presence emerges behind him. The Mandalorian, a silent predator, moves with the grace of a shadow. His beskar-clad form blends seamlessly with the darkened backdrop, his steps nearly soundless against the metallic floor.

Before Mayfeld can react, a hand clamps over his mouth, stifling any potential outcry. His blaster is deftly plucked from his grasp, leaving him unarmed and vulnerable. In this heartbeat, the Mandalorian's strategy unfolds with precision. The surprise ambush leaves Mayfeld incapacitated, his options dwindling in the face of an opponent who has mastered the art of stealth.

The corridor's interplay of light and shadow mirrors the tension between the two figures — one caught off-guard, the other poised to strike. As the Mandalorian's grip tightens, the echo of Mayfeld's startled gasp remains unheard, a secret shared only by those immersed in this clandestine struggle.

The enigmatic island shoreline stretches ahead, the waves rhythmically kissing the sand as you walk alongside the wise presence of Master Yoda. The air is heavy with the scent of salt and the mysteries that hang in the atmosphere. It's a tranquil scene, the serenity of the surroundings belying the inner turmoil that has led you to this point.

Amidst this picturesque backdrop, Yoda's words cut through the silence like a whisper carried by the wind. His voice, both ancient and gentle, resonates with a depth of perception that goes beyond the visible world. His ears twitch slightly, attuned to the emotions that ripple through the Force.

"Great fear in you I sense," Yoda utters, his ancient voice carrying the weight of his centuries of wisdom. His eyes, though small, seem to pierce through the façade you've put up, delving deep into the recesses of your soul.

With the wise sage's words, your steps seem to falter, the very ground beneath you shifting slightly. It's as if Yoda's insight has illuminated the corners of your mind that you've been keeping in shadows. Vulnerability washes over you, like a curtain being drawn back to reveal the raw emotions you've been grappling with.

Time slows as you halt, the world around you a blur while Yoda's presence remains vivid and unwavering. His gaze feels like a spotlight, exposing the layers of your being that you've been reluctant to confront. You collect your thoughts, your voice trembling slightly as you attempt to put words to the tumultuous thoughts swirling within.

“I don’t want to end up alone again,” you admit, the confession hanging in the air like a fragile thread. The weight of your uncertainties and self-doubt colors your words, making them more potent and raw. 

“The destiny on the road you take to avoid it, one often meets,” Yoda's reply comes like a gentle breeze, laden with the wisdom of countless experiences and lifetimes. His speech, though cryptic in its ways, carries a profound message that resonates with the core of your being.

"Rejection and failure is one of the greatest lessons," he imparts, his tone measured and deliberate. “In the end, you become whoever would have saved you at that moment when no one did,”   

His words hang in the air, each syllable carrying a depth of meaning that you find yourself unraveling, piece by piece. In the presence of this venerable Jedi, amidst the backdrop of the serene shoreline, you begin to grasp that your fears and struggles are not unique to you alone. Yoda's guidance offers a glimmer of understanding and the promise of growth, even in the face of your deepest fears.

“Qin,” Din's voice is a low growl, his tone laced with a blend of caution and tension. Recognition stirs in his gaze as he fixes his eyes on the male Twi’lek who carries you over his shoulders. His arms remain at his sides, beskar armor gleaming in the ambient light, but the muscles beneath it are tense, poised for action.

The ladder that leads back to the Razor Crest looms before them, a path that could take Qin away with you. The sight of your limp form draped over his shoulders tugs at Din's heartstrings like a merciless tug of war. His gloved hands clench, the anger he feels simmering beneath his calm exterior.

Din's emotions are a tornado in the midst of this stressful scene, a swirling combination of worry and rage. He is caught between his responsibility to get you back to safety and his burning desire to hold Qin accountable for daring to touch you. He is torn between the competing flames of his Mandalorian creed and his own deeply entrenched feeling of duty to ensure your safety.

“You killed the others,” Qin's accusation hangs in the air like a sinister melody, a reminder of the violence that has unfolded. Din's response comes in a calm yet unyielding tone, his voice etched with the weight of his convictions, “They got what they deserved.”

The tension crackles between them, a palpable energy that threatens to erupt into another confrontation. Qin's lips curl back in a snarl, the corners of his mouth twitching as his fingers curl around the grip of his blaster. In an instant, Din's blaster is in his hand, the weapon raised with the precision and swiftness that only a skilled gunslinger possesses.

The stand-off continues, each participant locked in a dangerous dance of determination. Qin's calculating gaze meets Din's unyielding stare, their intentions clashing in the narrow space between them. But as the seconds tick by, Qin's resolve seems to waver, a flicker of uncertainty dancing in his eyes.

With a resigned sigh, Qin lowers his blaster, a defeated acceptance settling over him. The tension in his muscles ebbs away as he carefully lays you down along with his weapon, his gaze flicking between you and the Mandalorian. The change in his approach is almost a plea, a final attempt to appeal to Din's sense of reason.

“Come on, Mando,” Qin's voice carries a touch of exasperation, tinged with desperation, “Be reasonable, huh? You were hired to do a job, right? So do it. Isn't that your code? Aren't you a man of honor?”

Din's internal struggle is a hurricane of emotions that rages within him as his glance travels from Qin to you. His gaze lingers on your sleeping figure, contrasting your fragility with an underlying resolve. His feeling of obligation, his developing attachment to you, and the hope for a safer future all came together at that very time.

Din gives a firm nod as his determination grows. The choice is obvious. He muses about the way ahead as his blaster gently lowers. It is immediately apparent that he is not simply a lone gunman. He is a guardian and a protector who will stop at nothing to defend the people who are important to him.

Yoda's ancient eyes hold a profound understanding, their luminous gaze fixed on you. "Abandoned, you feel, hmm? Much pain, this carries."

Your voice wavers, carrying the weight of years of unspoken sorrow, "Yes, Master Yoda. The memory is still vivid, the moment my master chose another, left me behind like I was nothing."

Yoda's ears twitch slightly as he listens, his voice soft yet firm, "Chose another, your master did, but abandon you, he did not. Understand his choice, you must."

Tears threaten to well up, your pain rekindled by the memory. "Understand? How can I? It felt like my worth was measured by his rejection, that I was cast aside like a broken tool."

Yoda's craggy face remains impassive, his wisdom a steady anchor amidst the tempest of your emotions. "Broken tool, you are not. The Force's will, sometimes difficult to perceive, hmm."

The weight of his words resonates within you, an echo of a truth you've struggled to accept. "And what of the darkness I feel within? The whispers that entice me toward paths I dare not tread?"

Yoda's eyes hold an unspoken recognition, a knowing that transcends the bounds of time and space. "Darkness, a part of all beings it is. Temptation, it brings, but choice, yours always is."

"But what if I can't resist it? What if it consumes me?" Your voice trembles, the abyss of your fears yawning before you.

Yoda's response is steady, his voice a gentle guide through the storm, "In you, the power to overcome resides. Learn from darkness, as Jedi have for centuries. Fear, it is that often leads to the dark path."

The weight of his words settles upon you, mingling with the tendrils of hope that have begun to weave their way through your thoughts. "But how? How can I navigate this treacherous path?"

Yoda's gaze is unwavering, his words a beacon in the shadows, "Learn, you must. Seek guidance, from within and from those who have walked before. A Jedi's strength, in perseverance, it lies."

A mixture of resolve and uncertainty churns within you, the turmoil of your thoughts mirrored in the currents of the Force. "And if I stumble, if I fall?"

Yoda's voice carries a sense of reassurance, "Fall, you may, but rise again, you must. The journey of a Jedi, marked by trials, but also by redemption."

Your breath steadies, a fragile calm settling over your turbulent thoughts. "Redemption... Do you truly believe I can find it?"

Yoda's gaze softens, his ageless eyes a wellspring of compassion, "Believe, I do. The Force's currents, they guide us, hmm. Trust in yourself, in the Force, you must."

As the conversation unfolds, Yoda's wisdom offers a lifeline in the darkness of your doubts. The exchange becomes a journey of self-discovery, a fragile yet profound step toward embracing the strength that resides within.

The Razor Crest glides smoothly through the darkness of space, its engines humming with a sense of purpose. Qin's presence on board, though subdued, casts a lingering shadow within the ship's confined quarters. Din's gaze is focused yet inscrutable, his thoughts a whirlwind of calculations and decisions.

Upon landing at Ran's space station, the hangar's metallic echoes resound with a blend of anticipation and tension. The ramp of the Razor Crest descends, and Din emerges, Qin following suit. The atmosphere is heavy with an unspoken acknowledgment of the unknown fate that awaits.

Ran's figure looms in the hangar, an enigmatic presence whose calculating eyes sweep over the scene. Qin's embrace is tinged with a mixture of familiarity and uncertainty, a testament to the complexities of their shared history.

"Where are the others?" Ran's question lingers in the air, a reminder of the unpredictable nature of their line of work. Din's response is curt, accompanied by a nonchalant shrug that underscores the ethos of their profession. "No questions asked. That's the policy, right?"

A begrudging agreement escapes Ran's lips, the unspoken agreement of a clandestine world. "Yeah. That is the policy."

The exchange is a prelude to the transaction that follows, a seamless handover of payment that echoes with a sense of finality. "I did the job," Din states, his words weighted with the weight of his actions.

"Yeah, you did," Ran acknowledges, the pouch of credits symbolizing a chapter closed and a debt paid.

"Just like the good old days," Din's voice holds a hint of nostalgia, a reflection on the countless jobs that have brought him to this point.

"Yeah, just like the good old days," Ran echoes, watching as Din embarks on the Razor Crest, the ship's departure marked by the ascending roar of engines.

As the ship rockets into the expanse of space, the tense air of the space station is replaced by the ship's familiar comfort. The child's presence is a quiet reminder of the bond they share, a bond that transcends the chaos of their surroundings.

Ran activates a lift that brings up a gunship and tasks Qin with killing him. However, Qin finds that the Mandalorian has left the tracking beacon on him, allowing the New Republic to track them down. Three New Republic X-wing starfighters exit hyperspace, narrowly avoiding the Razor Crest. 

In the co-pilot seat, the child's innocent curiosity contrasts with the gravity of their recent endeavors. A ball from one of the levers becomes a focal point of fascination, small hands exploring its texture. Din's gaze softens, a fleeting smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I told you that was a bad idea," he murmurs, the words a lighthearted testament to the newfound balance he's found in his unexpected role as guardian.

THE RAZOR CREST, 9ABY – HYPERSPACE

Your eyelids fluttered open like a hesitant butterfly emerging from its cocoon. The room's darkness held an unfamiliar weight, its silence a shroud that clung to your senses. Your heart raced as your consciousness gradually waded through the fog of sleep, memories of the past hours only a blurry mosaic.

Slowly, the contours of the room took shape, and the sensation of a blanket draped over your form brought a semblance of comfort. As the door hissed, your gaze snapped towards the sound's source, revealing the figure standing there – Din, the Mandalorian.

His voice, a gentle murmur in the darkness, cut through the silence. "You're awake."

You were dragged back from the edge of bewilderment by the words, which served as a lifeline. You were unable to speak due to a dry and scratchy throat and could only nod in agreement.

Din moved closer and reached out to offer you a drink of water. As you sipped, relief flooded your body from the soothing effect of the cool beverage on your dry throat. As you put the glass aside and locked eyes with him, a quiet bond grew between you two in the darkness of the space.

"I thought you... left," your words trembled, vulnerability threading through them.

His head dipped in a small nod, the glow of his visor casting a soft luminescence over his features. "I won't leave you."

Emotion swelled within you, finding its outlet in the shimmer of your eyes. A trembling smile graced your lips, gratitude and relief mingling in a silent chorus.

"Thank you," your voice was a fragile whisper, weighted with the depth of what you couldn't fully express.

His gloved hand felt warm against your skin as you reached out, an anchor in the sea of emotions that threatened to engulf you. Your gaze met his, seeking understanding and reassurance. "This isn't your fault," you said firmly, your voice a whisper that carried the weight of conviction.

He settled onto the edge of the cot, his presence a steady comfort in the midst of your turmoil. "I should have listened to you," regret colored his words.

Your hand found his, a gentle touch that conveyed more than words ever could. Looking up at him through the reflection of his visor, you spoke from the heart. "I'm just glad we all got out of this mess okay and in one piece."

Curiosity mingled with concern, the need to understand what had happened in the gaps of your memory pushing through. "What happened after they... drugged me?"

Din's pause was palpable, his gaze distant as he navigated the memories of those tense moments. He exhaled softly, the weight of his words measured. "They took you away from me. So, I went after them."

Your brows furrowed, the puzzle pieces slowly slotting together. "Did you..."

"No," his response was swift, carrying a conviction that resonated with the core of his being. "I wanted to, but... no, I didn't. They're locked in a prison cell aboard the New Republic prison ship."

A sense of relief washed over you, a tangible exhalation of tension. "Is the child okay?" you asked, concerned for the innocent life that had been unwittingly thrust into this chaos.

"He's fine. He's asleep," Din's words held a measure of reassurance, a testament to his commitment to safeguarding the child's well-being.

The air seemed to hold its breath as your voice broke the stillness, the weight of your confession hanging between you and Din like a delicate thread. Your cheeks, warmed by the rosy hue of embarrassment, seemed to mirror the intensity of your emotions.

Din's gaze remained steady, his visor concealing the thoughts that swirled beneath. In the suspended quiet, uncertainty wrestled with hope, and you found yourself compelled to fill the space with your unfiltered feelings.

"About earlier on the prison ship..." you began, your voice quivering slightly, "I... I really like you, Din."

Silence stretched between you, a moment of suspended time that seemed to hold the universe in a breathless pause. The seconds seemed to hang on a precipice, each heartbeat reverberating in the chamber of your chest. As the seconds passed, the weight of your confession bore down on you, and the vulnerability of your words laid bare.

Just as your nerves threatened to overrun your thoughts, Din's voice cut through the tension, a calm amidst the storm of emotions. "I know," he said, the simplicity of those two words holding a world of understanding.

Your eyes locked with his visor, an unspoken connection forming between you. His silence had spoken volumes, and now it was your turn to fill the quiet with the unadulterated truth of your heart.

"I've been trying to find the right words, the right time," you confessed, your voice steadier now, "But I can't hold it in anymore. Din, I care about you... more than I've ever cared about anyone."

The air seemed to crackle with anticipation, the universe itself attuned to this moment of shared vulnerability. In the luminous haze of his visor, you could sense the intensity of his emotions, his unspoken response to your heartfelt words.

"And," you continued, your voice a soft tremor that resonated with sincerity, "I don't want to pretend anymore that I don't feel this way. The way you make me feel... it's something I've never felt before."

As the confession hung in the air, a suspended promise of what could be, a subtle shift in the atmosphere indicated Din's movement. His gloved hand reached towards you, his fingers finding your cheek with a tenderness that bespoke volumes.

"I don’t want to pretend either," his voice, a low rumble beneath the surface, conveyed an emotion that mirrored your own. "Being with you, it's different. It's real."

Tears threatened at the corners of your eyes, your heart overflowing with emotion at his words. His visor hid his gaze, but you felt his fingers brush against your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

"Din," your voice was a mere whisper, the space between you a sacred bridge that had been crossed.

He says your name as his response, a breathless echo, a name that held within it the promise of a new beginning. With a gesture both gentle and meaningful, you tilted your forehead, allowing it to make contact with the cool, solid surface of his beskar helmet. The touch felt almost electric, a connection that transcended the physical plane. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, a silent affirmation of the bond that had been formed through shared experiences and the unspoken language of the heart.

Amidst the quiet, a hushed stillness settled in the room, the outside world seemingly fading into insignificance. In this private sanctuary, the air seemed to hold its breath, as if the universe itself was pausing to witness the depth of the connection between two souls.

The tender exchange between you, as gazes held and fingers intertwined, seemed to bridge the gap between past and present, drawing you closer together in the present moment. It was a moment of vulnerability, forged in the crucible of challenges and uncertainty, and now solidified by the authenticity of your feelings.

In the heart of the chaos that defined the galaxy, your connection shone like a beacon of light, illuminating the path ahead. The fires of adversity had not consumed you; instead, they had forged a bond that was unbreakable, a bond that now found its expression in the unspoken language of shared gazes and the gentle touch of fingertips.

END NOTES:

LOWKEY, this chapter got out of hand… initially I had a whole fight scene planned out but I figured that it wasn’t the time… yet…

CONFESSIONS! YAY! I think after 40k words… a confession seems appropriate. I wanna write fluff and smut with these two already >u< (as well as some GOOD OLE ANGST HEHEH)

It took me a while to write this chapter… cuz obviously… 16k words… uh… yeah… ANYWAYS! We’re nearing the end of season 1! Omg… o-o 

See you in the next chapter!

TAGLIST:

@wastingspaces @avengersheart @lunatic1012 @keepingupwiththeskywalkers @mxltifxnd0m @syviiss @luckyzipperscissorsbat @avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil @n7cje @scoliobean @ofmusesandsecrets

[dumfanting]

Going Back, ch 4

Chapter 3

AO3 Link

Rating: M, mature

Warnings: hallucinations, starvation, dehydration, needles, nondescript nudity | second person pov, g/n reader, present tense

I’ve been working on this one for over a month and decided to just go ahead and post the damn thing instead of stressing over it being the ‘right length’.

2214 words

G/N reader/ Crosshair

He’s almost impressed by how vivid this particular hallucination is, then he passes out.

————

After the shouting match Hunter had gotten into with you, it takes him a long time to calm back down. So long, in fact, that when he returns to the rooftop, he can tell by the sun that it’s late in the afternoon. The door screeches open as he steps out, and his brothers heads whip in his direction. He walks over and finds Omega curled up into Wrecker’s side and staring vacantly into space. Nobody says anything, until Omega breaks the silence with a hiccup. 

“I’m sorry Hunter. This is all my fault,” she says, tears spilling over, and Hunter flinches like he’d been slapped. 

“What makes ya think that?” Wrecker asks, surprisingly quiet. 

“When I was talking with them last night, I- I asked why they didn’t just go back to Kamino alone, and they said they wanted to, bu- but they couldn’t because they didn’t know how to mask the ship’s signal,” Omega says, hiccuping again. 

“I was telling them how to do it over the comm until you caught me. They never would h-have left if I didn’t, and now they’re stuck in hyperspace and can’t get out and it’s all m-my fault!” she says, her tone growing frantic as she continues before bursting into tears. 

Hunter softly says her name and hunkers down across from her; she throws herself into his chest, nearly knocking him over as she sobs out "I'm sorry” over and over. 

“That is true,” Tech says. The others shoot him a dirty look and he raises his hands before continuing. 

“They couldn’t have left without that information from you, yes, but this is not your fault Omega,” he says, and she turns to look at him, confused. 

“B-but you just said-,” she says, sniffling. 

“You simply gave them information. You bear no responsibility for what they do with it. They could have stopped and turned back, but chose not to. That decision, and its consequences, are entirely upon their shoulders, not yours. None of this is your fault,” he says. Omega sits back and rubs at her eyes. 

“I still shouldn’t have told them,” she says, though her cries are tapering down to an occasional hiccup. 

“There’s no point in dwelling on that now,” Echo says. “We can’t change what’s already happened. But we can change what happens next.”

“Well, I guess we can try,” Omega says, calming down. She turns and looks to Hunter, as do the others. “But how?” she asks him. 

“There’s not a lot we can do from here,” Hunter admits. “But if they open the comm channels, we can at least tell them what’s wrong,” he says. 

“And how to fix it?” Omega asks, sounding hopeful as she looks back at Tech. 

“There are one or two things that we can try, depending upon the damage to the drive. There is no guarantee it will work, but there’s no guarantee it will fail either,” he says. 

“We just hafta keep calling ‘em,” Wrecker says, his comm unit back in his hand. 

—

Meanwhile, in hyperspace aboard the Marauder, you’re in the cargo bay. You’ve spent the last hour trying desperately to find anything edible. You finally spot a small box of ration bars tucked away into a corner, seemingly forgotten, and snatch it up. The box feels nearly empty, and when you open it up there are only three bars left inside. You take them out, and you notice that they’ve been expired for several weeks. You drop-kick the box across the space and curse at yourself forgetting such a basic and important thing. 

You then pause for a moment and take a deep breath. You’ll both be able to eat when you return to Ord Mantell, and you aren’t concerned with yourself anyway. You just hope that Crosshair can survive for another day or so on these bars. Expired is better than nothing, you think, and tuck them into a pocket before moving back to the bridge. 

Once there, a quick check of the navigational system tells you that you’re less than three hours away from Kamino. You nod to yourself and head into the bunks. You set the ration bars aside, then crawl into your bunk, hoping for some rest. Over an hour passes, and all you’ve done is stare up at the bottom of Tech’s bunk, your hands trembling and your heart racing. You try to distract yourself from your growing anxiety by getting up and looking around for anything you’ll need, not if, but when Crosshair comes back with you. 

You have all the medical necessities; being prepared for anything is the one thing you never budge on, and there’s a decently sized tank of drinking water with them in the cargo hold. You again realize that he’s going to be filthy, and after you check, you find the water reservoir is full enough for one shower, maybe two. On the heels of this, it occurs to you that he’s going to need something clean to wear, so you return to the bunks, searching everyone’s compartments. You dig up a set of leggings from Tech’s clutter of stuff, but the only other thing you can find is one of Wrecker’s shirts. That would be huge on its own, but it’ll be even more so with the dramatic weight loss you’re expecting. You again start thinking about what state Crosshair will be in when you get there, and you pray to the Maker that he’s alive. 

The navigation system chirps at you, and you return to the pilot's seat, shaking badly. You flip a few switches, preparing to leave hyperspace, and when you shut the hyperdrive off, the ship lurches forward with a loud screech as it slows back down. The lurch is normal, but that sound definitely is not. Before you can worry about it, Kamino comes into view, and you immediately focus on your mission. 

—

It started raining only hours after Crosshair watched everyone he’s ever cared about fly off without him. About three rotations after that, the rain was seemingly replaced by needles, with each drop that fell on his skin feeling like a sharp sting. The wind roars around him as he’s curled tightly into himself on the center of the platform. Aside from the constant noise of wind, rain, and his own chattering teeth, Crosshair can still faintly hear the steady, low beeping of his tracking beacon. 

Someone has to know he’s here, or at least have noticed that he’s been missing for so long. A small voice in his head laughs at him and says “You’re just another clone. They destroyed this place with you in it. The Empire doesn’t care about you,” and he forces the thought away, having lost count of how many times he’s already done so. He does matter, he has to. They’d given him command, that can’t have been for nothing. 

A bright flash of light catches his eye. He never really noticed that lightning can look like searchlights until he got stuck here. Having been tricked by his mind before, he ignores it. The wind picks up and imitates the sound of an engine, just like it had all the days and nights before. Although he thinks this sound is familiar, he still doesn’t look for it. No point in falling for another hallucination. 

The platform shakes as something large touches down on it, and the engine-like noise of the wind stutters to a halt. He knows it’s not the wind now; He’d recognize the sound of the Marauder anywhere. He feels the platform vibrate underneath him as a single set of footsteps rush towards him, and just before they come to a stop, he shivers so hard that he falls to one side and just lies there, too weak to even sit back up. 

Now there’s a voice, and it sounds exactly like yours, but he knows better. A pair of warm arms wrap around him, so he gives in and looks at who they're attached to. It’s you, holding him close as tears and rain mix on your cheeks. He’s almost impressed by how vivid this particular hallucination is, then he passes out. 

—

Crosshair, who had been floating in the hypnagogic state between awareness and unconsciousness, suddenly feels his entire body lurch forward. This, in combination with a shrill screeching sound, is enough to wake him completely. He sits up, and it takes so much effort that once he’s upright, he’s panting for breath. Breath that has no humid or salty taste. Confused, he turns his head and finds himself in a bunk, under a pile of blankets, sheets, and even a few tarps. 

He bends an arm and hisses loudly at a sharp stabbing sensation in the crook of his elbow. Someone’s placed an intravenous line into him. His eyes follow the line up to a saline bag, hanging from his rifle as a clearly improvised drip stand. The bag is already halfway emptied, and the drip is fast. He takes a breath, intending to raise his voice and demand to know where he is, but instead falls into a sudden coughing fit. 

He hears hurried footsteps and looks toward the sound to find that it’s you. He tries to speak, but can’t. You hold up a finger in the universal ‘hang on a second’ gesture and dash out of the room before coming back with a small flimsi cup of water. He tries to lift his arm and take it from you, but the IV jabs him and he hisses again as he drops his arm back down. 

You wedge yourself into the bunk next to him and hold the back of his head while you bring the cup to his chapped lips. The indignity he feels evaporates the moment the liquid passes down his throat. He relaxes into your touch, allowing you to gently tilt his head back as he sips at the water. Once the cup is emptied you crush it and carelessly toss it aside, then use your free hand to softly hold the side of his face and maneuver him to look at you. 

“Wh- where-?” Crosshair says, his voice barely audible. 

“You’re in my bunk, on the ship. You’re safe now, I’ve got you,” you say, keeping your voice soft but speaking clearly. Tears sparkle in your eyes. You shift a hand down to his bare chest and hold your warm palm against his heart, and this is when he realizes that he’s completely undressed. When he says your name, his voice is slightly clearer. 

“Why am I naked?” he says, confused, and you can’t help a soft laugh as you shake your head. 

“You’re hypothermic, your blacks were soaked through,” you say, then gently guide him onto his back again as you stand. You swiftly replace the emptied saline bag with a new, full one and slow the drip. Once you’re satisfied with that, you strip yourself completely, and Crosshair makes an odd noise, somewhere between a chuckle and a cough. 

“Not wasting any time, huh?” he says with a faint smirk. You roll your eyes but smile at him. 

“You’ll take in body heat faster if it’s skin on skin,” you say and he makes a ‘yeah right’ sound at you. 

Minding his IV, you have him sit up enough for you to settle in behind him. He leans back into you and gasps before instinctively curling himself around you as tightly as he can. You allow this and, ignoring how cold he is, entwine your legs with his while also wrapping your arms tightly around his upper back and shoulders, keeping his chest pressed close to yours. You reach over and adjust the pile of covers to surround him, taking care to tuck it all in closely. He rests his head in the hollow of your shoulder and takes a long, deep breath before yawning. You plant a soft kiss to his temple and you feel his breath across your throat as he quietly says “You’re so warm…” before quickly falling asleep again.

Drowsiness threatens to overtake you too after about ten minutes, but you keep yourself awake by periodically checking his pulse and monitoring the IV drip. The second saline bag is nearly empty already. Without waking him, you manage to wiggle out from behind Crosshair and get to your feet. You redress yourself and quickly switch out saline bags, slowing the drip for a third time. You expected dehydration, but not to this degree, and worry about how much you have left. You tell yourself that it’s fine since you’ll both be planetside soon. 

You adjust the pile of covers over Crosshair again, taking another look at the scarred side of his head, and something important suddenly occurs to you. You slip out of the bunks and start searching around Tech’s workbench. You find what you're looking for tucked away behind a box in a nearby compartment, and breathe a tentative sigh of relief when the chip reader powers up. You return to Crosshair's side and gingerly move his head just enough to scan it. The device beeps and the screen lights up almost immediately. 

You look at the readout and have no idea how to feel; His chip is still there. 

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[nellyofthevalley]

truths, ch.1

astarion x fem!tav rating: explicit

content: piv sex, fingering, biting/blood drinking, emotionally repressed losers who can't communicate, angst I guess

summary: this fic is mostly an excuse to write a bunch of dialogue bouncing around in my head. astarion is a sad little idiot who turns his fears into a self-fulfilling prophecy because he never learned how to love. it may or may not turn into a tragedy

“As I told you—you broke my cold, dead heart. Of course it was cruel,” Astarion says, melodramatic, hamming it up for her. He wants her to feel guilty for it; he wants her to stop being so tiring and play right into his hand. Make it easy for him.“I don’t believe you,” Tav says. “Everything you say sounds like a pretty lie, and you all but told me that’s what it is. Pretty lies. I’m not interested.”

chapters: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | ch.6 | ch.7 | ch.8

read it on ao3 or below the cut

Camping in the Underdark is unsettling, to say the least. The party hears noises in the distance, reminiscent of the howl of wolves or the songs of birds on the surface, but here, the sounds are warped and unrecognizable, and when they travel, they never meet the creatures that match the sound. Their party travels lighter with fewer bodies, having stricter lookout shifts with more on nighttime patrol. Tonight is Lae’zel and Shadowheart on shift, and Tav can imagine that’s going well. After all, it was only a few days ago they’d been at each others throats. 

At least they are speaking to one another—Astarion hasn’t talked to her for days. Not since she turned him down at the tieflings’ celebration at camp, back by the grove. It would be fine, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s so obvious and awkward; he is clearly avoiding her, and she doesn’t know how to handle it. Avoid him? Act normal? What is normal anymore, anyway? 

She hadn’t meant to let him down so callously; how smug and fake he sounded finally got on her nerves. She didn’t expect him to seem so wounded by it. He was so good at putting on a fake face and fake words, so why was he surprised that she’d rejected him? What did he expect?

‘I’ve gotten on my back ten thousand times or more and forgotten half of them,’ he’d said after. ‘But you... you I’ll remember.’

The words linger in her mind like a parasite, fighting for space with her tadpole. It bothers her that she can’t let this go. Were they just more pretty words he spouted to get her in bed again, or something else? For a moment, it almost seemed like his facade had cracked when he said it. For all she knows, that could've been a performance as well. 

This evening, Tav finds herself in Halsin’s company while she works at her braids, discussing the road ahead. It won’t be long before they’re met with the shadow-cursed lands, and out of them all, Halsin knows the most. He recounts his studies on the curse and tadpole, eager to head off to their next destination despite the danger. Halsin clearly feels a certain responsibility to the cursed lands, though he’s also struggling with leaving the grove behind. 

“They’ll be fine without you—they’re tough,” Tav offers, doing her best to provide some kind of comfort. “You’ll be missed, I’m sure. I’m glad you’re with us, we’re lucky to have you.”

“I remain optimistic that Francesca will strive in my old position. Still, it is difficult to leave my home behind,” he says. “I’m afraid the city will be an even harder adjustment for me. The busy streets and crowds are a far cry from the comforts of nature.”

“There, there, Halsin,” Gale chimes in, joining the group by the campfire. “You might be pleasantly surprised. I admit, the city park has nothing on your lovely grove, but, well. You share the pursuit of knowledge, I assume? Baldur’s Gate is home to many wonderful things—the best of which being an extraordinary bookstore known as Sorcerous Sundries.”

Gale likes to hear Gale talk, so Tav backs off and lets him engage with Halsin in her stead. Her attention turns toward the campfire on this particularly cold night, stretching her arms and hands out in front of her, taking in the warmth it provides. Her own tent is dull and cold, so she can find sleep only once the boys have talked all they can talk and finally leave, allowing her the silence needed to rest.

Tav glances over at Astarion’s tent, and unsurprisingly, he’s nowhere to be found. Likely off hunting, she thinks. Ever since the party and their strange little silent treatment pact started, he’s been getting his fill elsewhere. She used to provide for him—to help him be ‘stronger, fight better,’ as he’d argued. Now, things were too tense to invite him back. 

She finds herself wondering if he’s chasing animals or people. It’s none of her business who he feeds from, but she can’t deny the slight twinge of jealousy eating at her, at the thought of him having his needs met from another ‘thinking’ creature. 

‘Truth be told, you were my first,’ he’d said. Tav felt shame as her cheeks flushed. His first. Something about that sounded so… personal.

Her attention snaps back to the present, settling into the bed roll by the fire, watching the flames frolic. As her eyes start to drift away, the need for sleep washing over her, the sounds of the wilderness become duller, drowned out. She didn’t realize how tired she was, how exhausting this day had been. Her muscles relax, sight fades, and thoughts morph into concepts as she drifts away to the warm comfort of sleep. 

Tav wakes in a sweat. Her skin feels like it’s melting, like she’s being boiled alive; her hands rush to her face, and when she touches herself, the skin oozes off her bones, flowing down her fingers and arms. She tries to scream, and nothing comes out, her mouth a gooey mess dripping onto the ground beneath her.

She tries to stand and flee, but her ankles are already turning into liquid fire. Her body lowers, slowly liquifying into the ground below. She’s helpless, a lost cause; an existence destined to fade away and be lost forever. A voice—her voice—tells her so, tells her ‘give up’.

Tav wakes again, this time with an audible scream. She instinctively jumps out of bed, rising to her knees; hands rush to touch her face again, relief and surprise coursing through her body as she realizes she’s still there. All of her, in one piece; not melting away as her dreams try to convince her. 

She sits upright and tears flow from her eyes, frustrated—these dreams keep happening to her, and she doesn’t understand it. The campfire is all except gone, hardly any flame or heat remains. 

“Tav!” Shadowheart calls to her, running and kneeling beside her. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine, I think,” she gets out, looking over her fingers and feet again, as if she has to remind herself they’re still there, still real. “Just… having nightmares.”

“Chk. If a dream bothers you that much, I question your sanity,” Lae’zel comments in her typical, apathetic tone, approaching the duo. “Soon you may develop a fever, grow tentacles, become ghaik at last—the moment you do, I’ll be ready to strike.”

Tav rolls her eyes, prodding at the campfire, hoping to reignite the tiny flame. Despite her dream, the air is cold, and her bedroll isn’t enough. Shadowheart and Lae’zel head off in separate directions to resume their patrol, and Tav catches Shadowheart glancing back at her on their way out. She seems genuinely concerned for Tav, and it’s nice to know someone does. The others are either sleeping peacefully in their tents or pretending to. Tav wishes it’s the former, hating to make a scene. 

The campfire crackles again, a little flame rising from the wood. It’s a much needed comfort, though not enough to relax and find sleep again. Tav lays on her bedroll, looking up at nothing besides a dark abyss and the faint glow of mushrooms growing far above. 

“Well, didn’t you cause quite the scare?” says a familiar voice—Astarion.

Tav jumps in surprise, leaning up onto her elbows to see him walking over from his tent. The last person she expected to see tonight. 

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” she replies, a bit more haughty than intended. 

Knowing sleep will escape her for some time, she concedes and rises from the bedroll to sit on the log bench by the fire. It’s a silent invitation, how she leaves room for Astarion to join, and he accepts. The atmosphere is quiet, save for a few indescribable sounds in the distance, the very same type they’d learned to accept in the Underdark. 

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Tav says, willing to make the first move. 

“Darling, I’d say you’ve been avoiding me,” he answers, and it prompts Tav to realize he might be right; maybe it was all in her head and she played a one-sided game. “Tell me about your dreams.”

“What? Why?”

“Can’t I simply wonder what troubles you at night? Our ‘fearless leader’, who shows no weaknesses—yet you wake with a scream, and you weep because of it,” he says, revealing he’s been listening to it all. “Call me worried if it makes you feel better about it.”

“Are you worried about me?” Tav asks, staring daggers at him, challenging him to take off his mask. 

“Possibly,” Astarion answers with a dramatic shrug. “Or maybe I’m curious and you owe me. I told you plenty of my past, of my nightmares, and then you kept your secrets and so cruelly denied me your company. I think you can spare me a sentence or two, dear.”

She can’t tell how much of this is an act and how much isn’t. He’s putting on his usual theatrics, his dramatic tone and way of storytelling, but it’s hard to see beyond it this time. She’s certain he wants to know; she’s not certain if it’s because he’s worried. Or if he is serious about perceiving her rejection as cruel. 

“There’s not much to tell,” Tav offers, now looking away, down to her fingers and the soil beneath her feet. “Tonight, I dreamt my skin was melting off—that’s it. Sometimes, I dream that I’m drowning. Stupid, right? It’s different from other dreams I’ve had. Feels more… real. I feel the pain as my skin turns into lava, I feel my lungs fill with water. Harder to acclimate to reality when I wake.”

She pauses to let him comment, and he says nothing. He’s not even looking at her anymore. He’s staring at the ground too, like they’re looking at the same thing. There’s nothing there besides the dirt and weeds. 

“Did you really think I was cruel?”

“As I told you—you broke my cold, dead heart. Of course it was cruel,” Astarion says, melodramatic, hamming it up for her. He wants her to feel guilty for it; he wants her to stop being so tiring and play right into his hand. Make it easy for him. 

“I don’t believe you,” Tav says. “Everything you say sounds like a pretty lie, and you all but told me that’s what it is. Pretty lies. I’m not interested.”

“It’s not all pretty lies,” he rebukes, almost sounding like he’s taking offense to her skepticism. It’s frustration that he has to work so much harder with her.  “Some of them are ugly, others are pretty truths.”

“Oh? Enlighten me, what truths have you told?”

“That I miss petty vanity,” Astarion answers, keeping it simple; refusing to give more, what she wants him to give. “How it’s hard not to have fun with you.” That one is merely a consolation prize. 

“Is that all?” Tav asks, wondering if ‘fun’ he means that he enjoys himself with her, or if it’s how he so evidently enjoys messing with her. Toying with her emotions.

“For tonight, yes. That’s all you get. You can continue guessing at the rest.”

Astarion meets her gaze now, giving her those sad, red eyes. It might be an act, it might not be—he doesn’t even know himself. It reminds her of the look he wore when she turned him down, and she questions whether that was an act as she’d initially thought. He finds himself entranced by how the orange light from the flames bounce off her pale lavender skin.

He leans into her, watching to see if she recoils or pushes him away. Instead, she keeps staring at him, wide-eyed, and he senses her heart pace a little faster. She smells faintly like blueberries. He can’t resist moving in closer, nose nearly touching her neck and taking in her scent, thinking of how he’ll never get to taste them again; he’ll have to settle for the aroma.

Tav is convinced he’s going to bite her, and she knows she should stop him, but she doesn’t. She braces, waiting for it, and it doesn’t come. Astarion pulls away, and before he can decide where to go from here, she’s taking the initiative and pressing her lips to his. 

His hand instinctively raises to cup her face, deepening the kiss, pushing his mouth to hers like he wants to bruise her. It’s not him, he thinks; it’s something else, something he can’t control.  His tongue seeks entry and she doesn’t deny it, parting her lips with a little sound that he swears makes his stopped heart start again, for only a second. 

When he turns to unbutton her night shirt, movements methodical and practiced, she stops him and pulls away. 

“You don’t want this?” he asks. 

“I do,” she says, that defeated look in her eyes that he can’t tolerate. “Not like this.”

It unnerves him that he knows exactly what she means. How she saw right through him, how she could so easily read his hand movements, experienced and suave; understood another way. How he can’t even bring himself to deny it. She really isn’t like his other conquests. She is special.

She is difficult. 

Astarion moves to leave, to go think about this, or at least think about how to avoid thinking about it, but she grabs his wrist to stop him. He looks back at her, astonished by her audacity, her ability to bother him so.

‘Stay?’ her face asks, and he doesn’t know how to say no or yes. He just sits right back where he was, mind swimming; though not a single one of the swimmers composes a coherent, tangible thought. 

“Darling, you’re freezing,” he observes, picking up on the goose flesh spreading across her arms, and shakes so small, Tav hasn’t even noticed them. The campfire burns away; somehow it’s still not enough to warm her.

“I suppose I am,” she says. “I’d better get used to it. I find it difficult to believe that our journey will be getting much more comfortable anytime soon.”

Astarion sheds his coat, placing it around her shoulders, wondering what he’s fucking doing the entire time.

“It’s always cold for me,” he offers, like he has to justify himself, “and you wear it better.”

[ganggangscenarios]

No Such Thing | Ch 4

01 | 02| 03| 04| 05| 06 |07| 08| 09

Drabbles:

I can & I will

Disconnect

Neighbours know my name

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: After a messy breakup and an even messier night out , you find an unlikely friend in your coworker’s ex boyfriend. A messy beginning and an even messier middle, who knows about the end.

Genre: Romance, comedy, smut, angst

Warnings: This chapter heavily features the topic of pregnancy.

Writers note: I understand that it is a sensitive topic. Especially now with the devastating turn out of Roe V Wade. My heart goes out to all those effected.

----------------------

The journey home was short but excruciating. You couldn’t stop crying. Your phone kept buzzing. You knew it was him. You’d just ignore it. Not even bothering to decline the call. It kept buzzing at the bottom of your bag when you got out. All the way to your apartment. 

With a deep breath, you take the phone out of your bag and look at the screen. 

2 messages and 15 missed calls. 

You didn’t want to hear whatever excuse he was going to give. Angrily, you pressed the message notification. 

You see the three words you had thought about hearing from him for the past 2 months. But you couldn’t believe a word from his lying, cheating mouth. 

You turn off all notifications off and head into the bathroom. You needed to shower, get him off your body, brush your teeth, get his taste out of your mouth. 

With small sobs escaping your mouth, you strip and get into the warm shower. Your tears and the water from the shower head mixed together perfectly. You would’ve forgotten you were crying, if not the taste if the salty tears on your tongue. 

How could you be so stupid to sleep with him again? Both times without contraception. You knew he was talking to Hyejin again, they were probably intimate with each other. You were a home wrecker. You shudder at the thought of Hyejin sitting at the breakfast bar. Her bag resting on where your partially naked body sat, where her boyfriend entered you. You scrub your skin until it felt clean enough, until you could no longer feel the kisses on your skin. Until you could no longer feel his hands on your waist. 

——

You got on with your life as much as you could. It had been a month since you had seen Jungkook, since you had talked to him. He called for weeks, until he just came to terms with the fact that you weren’t going answer him. He thought about going to your place, but he was scared about how you’d treat him. Like you hate him. Or even worse, like a stranger. He knew you needed space, but all he wanted to do was to explain. He couldn’t bare with the fact you thought he was a liar or untrustworthy. When he closed his eyes, he saw your face very clearly, the heartbreak in your eyes before you left his apartment. 

___ 

You had been feeling dizzy all morning, at first you thought it was because you skipped breakfast. You were running late so you thought you could grab something on the way. But the bus came late and you had to run into your 9o’clock meeting straight away. Usually you didn’t feel too bad if you didn’t have time for breakfast, but as you sat in the meeting, your vision became blurry. Focusing in and out. When the meeting ended, you went back to your desk. You felt a little better when you closed your eyes, but you had so much to do. 

It was when you were walking to the copier your colleague stopped you to ask you a question. His voice sounded like you were underwater, the room started spinning and then the room faded to black. 

The next thing you knew, you were in an empty office with an EMT by your side. An oxygen mask strapped tightly to your face.

“Hello miss, how are you feeling?” She asks, gently removing the oxygen mask. 

The room becomes clearer and you try to sit up, but she stops you. 

“Your blood sugar was severely low, so you fainted. How long have you been feeling dizzy?” She asks you. 

All because you skipped breakfast this morning? You knew it was the most important meal of the day but not that important. 

“Since this morning.” You tell her, taking a sip of water from the bottle that was placed beside you. 

“Did you eat anything?” 

You shake your head. 

She conducts a few tests, making sure that you’re okay. She doesn’t leave until she watches you eat a whole sandwich. You thank her before she leaves. 

Your manager tells you to go home and rest. She clears you to work at home for the rest of the week. 

Then, the following day, the dizziness is replaced by nausea the next day. You could hardly walk two steps without feeling like you were going to throw up. Luckily, Sarah was also working home from work. She bought some soup for lunch and made sure that you ate. She told you that you were feeling so unwell because you were heartbroken. That could’ve been a possibility but you knew something wasn’t right. 

The next day, you’re awoken by a splitting migraine. All lights were too bright, including your phone screen. Thats why you answered that call by mistake. You weren’t thinking and you couldn’t stand to look at the screen. 

You groan into the phone. 

“Hello.” 

Then you heard his voice. Jungkook. 

“Finally. I-“ 

You hang up and fling your phone to the other side of your bed. 

You spend the whole day in bed. Only snacking on crackers. Anything with a strong smell or taste would bring back the nausea.

Over the weekend you felt slightly better, still not able to eat anything, but better. 

Sarah convinced you to visit the doctors office first thing on Monday morning. You stared at the posters on the wall, anxiously waiting to be called. You see a poster that makes you stop breathing. A mother cuddling her newborn baby. It got you thinking, you haven’t had a period in a while. The thought crossed your mind a month prior, but it was a flickering thought. You must’ve put down to stress at work or something. But the nausea? Hell, even the mood swings. Your mind was starting to put all the pieces together. But you didn’t know for sure that you were… you couldn’t even say the word. You refused to say it. 

The doctor calls you into her office. 

You sit down, wringing your hands as you do. You were feeling very anxious. The doctor asks you about your symptoms. You answer to the best of your ability, trying to stabilise your trembling voice. And you sit nervously, as she types furiously on her keyboard. She stops briefly to continue questioning you.

“How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?” She offers you a small smile, taking in your nervous posture. 

“Just this past week. The dizziness started at the beginning of last week. Its gotten better but I still feel nauseated.”

The doctor makes noises of acknowledgement as she starts typing again. 

“Are you sexually active?” 

The question always made you blush no matter how old you got. You mumble out a small ‘yes’.

“When was your last sexual experience?” She probes you further. 

You knew what she was implying. Any idiot would. 

You thought back, it must’ve been over month ago, with Jungkook. Unprotected. 

As you thought, you put your face in your hands and lean forward. As if you were hiding.

“Over a month ago.” You say through your fingers. 

“Are you any birth control?” She asks.

You sit up and focus on her fast moving fingers.

You quietly mutter a ‘no’.

The situation was becoming more daunting with every question.

“When was your last period?” The last question.

You tell her you didn’t know, everything after that was a blur. Next thing you knew, she was handing you a pregnancy test. You were  directed to the bathroom by a nurse. You sat on the toilet and peed on the stick. Shaking, you put it into the zip lock bag they had given you. Balancing the test on the tissue dispenser, you clean yourself and pull your trousers up. Flushing the toilet, you grab the test, wash your hands and hand the test to the nurse who was waiting outside, greeting you with a warm smile. 

You wait the allocated time.

“You are pregnant.” It sounded warped, like you were underwater. 

She tells you all the options, how far along you were. 

Still on autopilot, you thank her for her work and head home. You cry yourself to sleep. For days you build up the courage to call your mother and tell her the news. She tells you that she supports your decision whatever it may be. She asks if you know who the father is. You tell her you do but it’s complicated. 

You had accepted your fate and started to plan your life around having a baby. You tried your best to handle it alone. You pretty much kept it a secret as long as you could. Sarah had invited you to her place for a sip and paint. You refused the alcohol and when she asked why you tried to lie but she caught on. Sarah was a stickler for body language. As you tired to lie, you subconsciously place your hands on stomach. Her eyes narrowed. Placing her hand on your stomach. A bump had already started to form. She asked who the father was, you told her. As your best friend, she threatened to drive to Jungkook’s place and beat him up for you.

You laughed and told her that he wasn’t a bad guy, he just wasn’t good for you. He wasn’t the fuckboy that you wanted him to be. That would make it easier to ignore him. Every time your phone rung you wanted to pick it up. But you couldn’t trust him.

————

You hid your pregnancy from everyone at work as long as you could. You were doing a good job, even though your stomach had begun to swell, your clothes still hid your stomach. Until one day they didn’t. 

It was an average Thursday morning. You woke up, did your morning routine and started to get ready for work. Your usually over sized sweater was stretched tightly over your swollen belly. You frantically pulled out another item of clothing, the same thing happened. Again and again. Had your stomach ballooned overnight?

You sigh, feeling all flustered, you lay back on your bed. 

You weren’t ready to tell anyone yet, yet alone, turning up to work pregnant. Well, obviously pregnant. 

You call your manager and tell her that you were going to be working from home for the foreseeable future. She doesn’t really question you, just grumbles ‘we have a meeting at 1:30’ before hanging up. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, you get back into your pjs and set up your work station on the couch.

—— 

Pregnancy made you ravenous. You always seemed to have an insatiable appetite. 

You order some tacos for lunch. 

You decide take a break from work and watch some Netflix. 

—

Your binge watching session is interrupted by your doorbell, followed by some knocking. Usually the delivery person just rang the doorbell and left the food on your doorstep. Slightly confused, you pause the movie and get up, groaning as you do. You move quickly to the kitchen counter to pick up your card. 

“I’m coming!” You holler, grabbing the card and opening the door. 

It wasn’t the Mexican food you had been thinking about for the past couple of hours. It was Jungkook. Your heart drops and you hide behind the door, only cracking it open so your voice could be heard. 

“What are you doing here?” You say, shaking. 

Jungkook hadn’t heard from you in over a month. You had dodged his phone calls and ignored all his texts. He thought you needed some space, then a week went by. Then two, then three. Three weeks turned into two months with no sign from you. Out of desperation, he even asked Hyejin about you. She informed him that she hadn’t seen you at work, and that you opted to work form home the majority of the week. That’s when he got worried. Did he hurt your feelings that badly? He knew seeing Hyejin would’ve confused you and break your heart. But he hadn’t seen you in over two months? 

Sarah had found Jungkook’s Instagram and dogged him for making you cry. He explained everything to her but she didn’t have much sympathy. She told him you had been busy and had no time for him. He knew she was doing her job as your best friend. Jungkook didn’t know how many sleepless nights he had thinking about you. And the lack of response after reading his proclamation of love for you. Maybe you just didn’t feel the same and you didn’t know how to reject him, so you had just been avoiding him. Or maybe you did feel the same, but he fucked up so royally and you didn’t want to know him anymore. 

“I just came here to check on you. I get that you’re upset with me, and you need space… But I haven’t seen you in a while. I just wanted to see you in person. Make sure you’re alive.”

You take a deep breath.

“I’m fine. I just need some alone time.” You say from behind the door, letting go, it begins to close slowly. 

He starts speaking again, you stop the door.

“I’m sorry for what happened. But you didn’t give me a chance to explain. I wasn’t with-.”

You didn’t want to hear it. Another lie from another man you decided to trust. 

“You don’t need to explain anything to me. I understand, you just wanted to have some fun, to see what the single life would be like. It’s my fault for thinking it was more than what is was.” You’ve said these words to yourself over and over for the past few months, it hurt a little less every time you thought about it. 

He sighs, he was so upset with himself for letting you feel like this. He should’ve come earlier, squashed all your negative thoughts. He should’ve gone after you when you left his apartment that day. Told you how he felt and that he wanted to be with you, not Hyejin.

“That’s not true at all. Just let me come in. Let me look you in the eye and you will know I’m not lying to you.”

You hear a second voice from the hall. It was your elderly neighbour. She stops in her tracks and stares at Jungkook talking to you through a small gap in your door.

“Love, do you need me to call the police?” She asks, clutching her bag, moving closer to her door.

You poke you head out, coming face to face with Jungkook for the first time. His deep brown eyes meet yours and you melt.

“N-No, its okay Mrs Choi, you don’t need to call the police. We’re just talking.” You tell her, ripping your gaze from Jungkook.

She makes sounds of acknowledgement before entering her own apartment, shielding her  keypad from view.

Well now you had no choice but to let him in. 

You open your door wider and he walks in. The sound of the door slamming was followed by a gasp. You were in full view. You were dressed in a matching pj set, a crop top and a pair of shorts. 

Jungkook’s jaw drops. His eyes land on your rounded belly, a very visible small bump. 

It was as if you forgot you were pregnant, the way you opened the door.

Feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, you grab your sweater from the couch and throw it on. It did nothing to hide your body, the fabric stretching tightly over your stomach.

Slowly kicking off his shoes, he begins to walk towards you. You nervously keep eye contact with him.

“A-are you?” He couldn’t even finish his sentence. 

His large hands reach out towards your rounded stomach. He stops and looks up at your for approval. You silently nod. He carefully places his hands on your stomach. You begin to tear up. 

“Before you ask, it's yours. I haven’t been with anyone else. And don’t worry I w-.”

Jungkook took no time and pulled you into a tight embrace. You were having his baby. He never thought that anything like this would happen. Even though he should’ve, when you two slept together, you made no attempt to use any contraceptives. Just pure love and passion.

Pulling away from the hug, you wipe your tears. You notice that he has got tears in his eyes, seemingly happy tears.

“You don’t need to worry about anything. I don’t expect for you to be involved or anything. You could walk away now and Hyejin doesn’t have to know anything.” Even though, it was painful to say, you genuinely meant it. You didn’t want him to feel pressured to help you. 

Jungkook’s mouth hangs open in disbelief at your words. 

“I know this won’t help the current situation, but Hyejin and I are not together. We haven’t been for months. I asked her over to end it for real. That’s what you saw. But that doesn’t matter I am going to be the best father to our baby. If that’s what you want, unless…” He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I want to keep the baby.”

He breaths a sigh of relief.

“Have you been to the doctor? Do we need to book an appointment?” The fact that he included himself made your heart swell. Was it silly of you to believe him? Because you wanted to. But you needed to protect yourself. A baby was now involved.

“I went to the doctor as soon as I felt sick, I thought I had the flu. She asked some questions and ran some tests. And here I am.” You gesture to your stomach.

“Why didn’t you call me?” He whispers.

You didn’t want to bother him. You were also in a state of shock for the longest time. You wanted the baby, but it didn’t feel real. Until you couldn’t, you still tried to fit into your normal clothes. 

“I didn’t know how. I thought you were with Hyejin, and I didn’t want to ruin anything for you.” You confess, choosing to stare at your floor, instead of him.

Jungkook gestures to the couch and encourages you to sit down. 

He fluffs a pillow and places it behind you. He sits beside you, grabbing your hand.

“I know its completely inappropriate, but I’m going to say it, because I’ve been dying to. I love you, I am in love with you. I know that this isn’t the way we thought this was gonna go. I didn’t expect to fall for you like this” 

He truly didn’t, when he started hanging out with you, he was stoked to have a new friend. You were patient, smart, funny and beautiful. He saw you were attractive when he first met you. In the colourful light of the bowling alley. You were stuck to Mark, only detaching to give Jungkook a quick hug hello. 

Then he saved you that fateful Friday night, and his life changed. He felt bad at first when he developed a crush on you, as he had just ended his relationship with Hyejin, he thought he was just transferring his feelings from Hyejin on to you. But months went by and his feelings got stronger. He knew what he felt was real and then you had sex. It was rushed but passionate. The way you looked at him, touched him.  He wanted to be with you.

If this situation had happened with anyone else, he would be beyond terrified. Even if this happened with Hyejin, he would be beside himself. 

But it was with you and he was happy. He was ready to tackle anything, with you and for you.

“Lets focus on one thing at time.” You say, removing your hand from his.

“We need to make sure that our scan is booked and I need to buy more clothes. I am the size of a small island.” You joke, trying to lighten the mood.

Your lack of reciprocation does not go unnoticed, but it was not the time to talk about it now. You clearly didn’t want to.

You look beautiful. “ He always thought so, but your beauty multiplied now that you were carrying his child.

“Of course you’d say that. You’re in love with me.” You snicker.

It wasn’t that you did feel strongly about him. You did, but being in love with him was at the bottom of your list. Hell, you didn’t even have a list, your mind was like a wall decorated with a bunch of random post it notes. 

It stings slightly to hear you brush of his confession. But he was glad to be with you, for now.

[oddinary4bts]

Can jungkook and oc acknowledge their feelings for each other already. The fic is so good btw

Oof they are idiots haha it’s going to take them a while🫣😂 thank you so much for reading✨

[peninkwrites]

Hear no evil. See no evil. Speak no evil. Ch 5 of ?

Tommy cannot communicate and hurt someone, so he has to choose. Tubbo doesn't know a lot of things with mixed results. Ranboo has trouble reading.

[CW: c!Dream, impending blindness, maybe injuries? ask to tag if there's anything else!]

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 4

Ch 6

~

Executing Technoblade was a bust, as Tubbo surely knew it would be.  Quackity had been so insistent and Tubbo won’t cast all the blame on him, Tubbo had agreed, he’d gone along with it, and he’d been afraid of Technoblade too.  Technoblade disappeared, and Quackity seemed to run off after him, but Tubbo knows that’s a lost cause.

He’s tired of this.  He’s tired of the politics and the isolation and the fact that most of the time he feels utterly useless.  He’s also tired of being scared to see his best friend.  Tommy might hate him, he has every right to, but Tubbo is going out there and try.  He didn’t get to celebrate his birthday with his best friend, but surely it isn’t too late.  Maybe he’ll apologize for all this too, explain that he’s been trying to find a way to get Tommy home, even if it’s just something temporary like a visitor’s pass or something.

Tubbo is excited to have someone who can sign around him.  Unless Tommy has forgotten.  No, that’s stupid.  Tommy wouldn’t have forgotten everything in the last month or so.  Tubbo knows where Tommy’s little camp is, he’s known even if he hasn’t dared go there.

Tubbo can’t help but start to get excited once he reaches the portal.  It’s been so hard on his own, Ranboo helps, but Ranboo isn’t Tommy.

The world bends around him, and then the hot air of the Nether is replaced by a cold, salty breeze coming off the sea.  He steps onto the path and freezes, staring at a crater spread out before him.

“W-What– What happened?!” Tubbo stammers to the empty quiet.  “It’s– It’s all blown up, why is it– Why is it blown up?”  Tubbo walks closer, staring into the crater like some answer will make itself known.

That is, until his eyes are drawn to the pillar cutting up into the sky, a pillar with no way down.  Tubbo is dizzied by thoughts of Wilbur’s end.  “No– No.  Surely– Surely not.  Surely not–”

Tubbo looks around frantically for any sign, for anything.  “Tommy!” He screams at the wilderness.  “Tommy!  Where are you?!”  Tubbo gasps for breath.  What if he’s hurt?  What if he’s calling for you to help him but you can’t hear him?

Tubbo turns back to the tower, and feels as if a knife is twisting in his chest.  He knows Tommy isn’t calling for him.

~

New L’Manberg is quiet, and Ranboo has no idea what to do with himself.  Tubbo came back from Logstedshire and told the cabinet what he had found.  Not much else has happened since.  Tubbo seems far away, he stares off into space, he doesn’t talk much, and when Ranboo tries to get him to engage, it’s always halfhearted and never all the way there.

Ranboo has done his best not to think about Tommy, about Tommy killing himself all alone.  Before, Ranboo had tried writing letters, but Tommy stopped replying.  He’d also stopped going out there ages ago, largely because Tommy had told him to.

Ranboo has an awful, nagging feeling in the back of his mind.  He gets out his memory book.  He hasn’t written anything on Tommy’s death, because he doesn’t want to remember.  Maybe that’s not fair, but it’s hard enough to have grief hanging over the crater like a funeral shroud without forcing himself to remember it too.  He doesn’t think he’ll forget this, not Tommy dying, not who Tommy was to him.  Some things are important enough.  He has forgotten something, though, something important, he thinks.  He thinks it’s in here too.  He flips through the pages quickly, until he finds it.

Ghostbur is nice 

techno is interesting but in an okay way 

Tommy says that he never wants me to show my face around there ever again but do it anyway because he is your friend

Technos house is located in the certain snow biome to the left of the village as you approach it :)

Right.

Tommy says that he never wants me to show my face around there ever again but do it anyway because he is your friend

“S-Shoot–” Ranboo winces as his eyes begin to blur, the page no longer visible and it’s not like he could focus anyway around the fierce burn now welling in his eyes as tears start to form.  “N-No– Stop.  Stop stop stop– come on, j-just keep it together–”  He takes a shaky breath, trying to blink away tears, but that merely makes the burning spread.

Ranboo can’t see.  It hurts, and he can’t see a thing right now.  He knows it’s just from the tears, and for the most part, once he stops crying, it will clear.

You won’t cry when your friend dies.  You won’t cry when you realize you abandoned him out there.  Do you even feel at all?

“I do, I do, I do it just– It just hurts–” Ranboo doesn’t know why he’s pleading with the cruel voice in the back of his head, but he doesn’t know what else to do.  He tries to brush the tears from his cheeks and his fingertips burn instead.  His hands shake as he takes a corner of his white button down and dabs away the water.

Grief is supposed to hurt.

“Not like this!” Ranboo snaps.  He takes a deep breath, he forces his eyes to stay open, praying the tears will clear.  It’s all he can do.  He cannot think about his feelings or pain or what it will mean if his eyes don’t clear, so he doesn’t move.  He breathes, and he stares at the ceiling of his little house, and he waits for the lanterns above to come into a bit more focus.

Ranboo could’ve wept with relief––but he won’t–– when the tears finally clear a bit.  The light of the lanterns are still broad streaks across his vision, but he’s used to that.  He takes a few more deep breaths.  He looks down at his memory book.  He can keep it together now.

Ranboo feels icy cold panic deepen in his veins.  He can’t read the page.

“No…” he murmurs.  “No, no no no that’s not– that can’t–” Ranboo holds the book up closer, hands shaking as he does so, and the letters make themselves known.

Ghostbur is nice

Technoblade is interesting but in an okay way

“Oh my god, oh– thank god, it’s– it’s okay.  It’s okay,” Ranboo buries his face in his hands, shoulders sagging as he lets the book fall off his lap.  “You could read it… you could read it,” he says it a few more times, just to make himself feel it.  “It’s… it’s harder, but… you could read it.”

Tubbo, curse his good eye sight, notices right away when they next see each other.  “Oh my god, Ranboo, what– Your face, it’s–”

“W-What?” Ranboo almost recoils, nervous at the thought of Tubbo currently staring at his eyes.

“The… the scars are like, bright red, bossman,” Tubbo guesses he asked for an explanation.  “Your eyes are red too like… like you’ve been crying,” his shock fades as he understands.  “Oh.”

Ranboo blinks quickly, flicking to the back of the book where he keeps his messages to Tubbo.

I’m okay.  Just hit me all at once, you know?  Tommy.

Tubbo reads it and he looks so much older than he should.  Maybe his face is still that of a boy, but from the way he carries himself, the weight there, Ranboo thinks he looks older. “Right… Tommy…”

How are you doing?

“Um, I’m alright,” Tubbo says, voice pushed into that higher, mild-mannered affect that he forced when he was upset and trying not to be.

If you need to talk about it, you can come to me.

“Thank you, Rambo,” Tubbo turns more genuine, nonetheless weighted.  “Are you… are you sure you’re alright?  Do you… do you need a health pot for that or something?” Tubbo asks.

No it’s ok!

“Okay.  Are you…” Tubbo sighs.  “Are you feeling up to taking minutes for me?  I wanted to…” Tubbo stops, a tremor in his voice.  “I wanted to have a meeting.  To… to talk about the funeral.”

Ranboo nods quickly, stopping to take his own shaking breath, as he’s once more struck by that awful fear.  It clearly shows on his face.

“Ranboo?” Tubbo’s puzzled worry is immediately pressing for answers.  “Something else going on?”

Ranboo starts to shake his head.

“Come on, don’t fuck about, just tell me.”

Ranboo hesitates.  He needs to tell someone.  Just in case it gets so bad he really needs help.  Tubbo steps up beside him, looking over his arm as he writes.

I can’t read as well.  My vision got worse from me crying.  And I know eventually it’s going to get even worse and I don’t what I’m going to do.  I write down things to remember them and if I don’t have that

I don’t know.

“Shit,” Tubbo sighs heavily.  “What if…” Tubbo pauses, lost in thought.  “What if you… have you tried recording stuff, bossman?”

Ranboo shakes his head.

“Like, tape recorder type deal or something.  You could even start reading aloud your books and stuff, so you’ll have them in case… you know, the worst happens,” Tubbo offers.

“Oh,” Ranboo says softly.  “I…” He comes back to himself, and grabs the book.

I hadn’t thought of that.

“Yeah!” Tubbo sounds proud.  “I could totally get you a tape recorder.  And like, do you want one of those stick things?”

Stick things?

“Like… the red tipped… tapping where you… where you walk type deal?” Tubbo fumbles to explain.

Ranboo laughs.  I don’t think I’m there just yet.  But thank you.

“Alright, no worries, bossman.  Do you still want to try glasses?”

I think I might be beyond glasses

“Well, you could just try it, yeah?”

Ranboo concedes to that.

Tommy is dead.  Ranboo picks out glasses.

The glasses actually help a bit.  Not with the fog, but with some of the blurriness they help, and Tommy is dead.

They get a tape recorder, they wear Christmas sweaters, they spend time together.  Tommy is still dead.

Until he isn’t.

Instead, he stands beside Technoblade, with a wailing Connor in tow.

“Tommy?” Tubbo croaks out.  “You’re– You’re alive?”

Tubbo takes a step forward.  Tommy takes a step back.

“Tommy, you’re– why are you with..?” Tubbo trails off, evidently staring at Technoblade.

Tommy doesn’t answer.  Ranboo sees him reach out and tug on Technoblade’s sleeve.  Technoblade takes the hint and gets things moving, he takes his weapons off Ranboo in exchange for Connor, and then they start to leave.

“Tommy!  Wait!  Wait, are you– are you alright?!  Can you at least tell me if you’re okay?!” Tubbo calls after him and Ranboo isn’t sure why, but he reaches out and puts a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder to stop him from running after them.  Ranboo thinks he sees Tommy look back over his shoulder, but he’s at an absolute loss to guess what his expression is.  Whatever it is, it stops Tubbo from trying to pull away from him.

~

Techno and Tommy head back toward the Nether portal at a quick pace, Techno half expecting all the L’Manbergians to come at him with axes again, but no one follows.

Tommy whines, distressed and panicked, pacing from foot to foot like he has half a mind to turn back.

“The guy exiled you, Tommy.  Maybe don’t go runnin’ back to him the second he looks a little sad, alright?” Techno says gruffly.

Tommy nods, evidently more determined, picking up his pace to keep up with Techno’s large stride.  Then he stops, eyes wide, the color drained from his cheeks, and Techno turns back to the portal.

“Oh, uh.  Hey, Dream.  How’s it going?” Techno says casually.  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Tommy step behind him.  Tommy doesn’t have his shield because it makes it so hard to sign, cowering behind a towering pig does the job just as well.  Techno also hears glass break and glances back to see Tommy splashing regen potions on them both, shoving a few gapples his way as well, but his eyes stay locked on Dream.

“If I remember correctly, Tommy, you aren’t supposed to be here,” Dream says coolly.

Tommy just stares, wired like a spring, waiting for Dream to step toward him.  Technoblade leans over.  “Tommy, don’t be scared,” he says in a false whisper.  “He doesn’t have no house.”

Tommy does that quiet closed-mouthed laugh where he exhales a little shakily, which has replaced his old cackle.  He keeps staring at Dream.  Dream is surely staring back from behind that mask, evidently waiting for something.  “Tommy, I got one of your discs back.”

Tommy inhales sharply, he takes one step forward, hands balled into fists at his sides, before stepping back in the relative safety of Technoblade’s shadow.

Dream laughs.  “What, you’re not gonna argue with me?  Demand it back, or whatever?” Dream waits for a reply.

Interesting.  From the way Tommy was such a wreck, Techno had assumed Dream had forced Tommy not to talk, from that ominous word HURTS to the dark bruise wrapping around Tommy’s wrist to the way Tommy flinches whenever Techno moves too fast all on top of Tommy remaining adamantly silent, and yet here Dream is, expecting answers.  The pause extends.

“Uhhh.  So, are we just gonna wait around for somethin’ to happen?  Or d’you got some more monologuing to do, Dream?” Techno finally cuts in.

Dream takes half a step forward, and from what Techno can tell around a mask, Dream seems excited.  “Wait, you’re… you’re not talking.”  He definitely sounds excited.  “You’re… really?” Sharp delight.  “I didn’t think– I didn’t think it would stick,” Dream laughs.  “Oh, that’s great.”   Dream waits once more, giving Tommy the chance to disagree, and of course, he doesn’t.  “Techno.”

“Uh, yeah, Dream?” Techno is startled to be dragged into whatever staredown the two of them have going on.

“What d’you think of the new Tommy?”

“The new Tommy?” Techno scoffs.  “I dunno what you mean, Dream, he’s probably even dirtier and scruffier than he was in Pogtopia.  That’s not exactly new.”

“No,” Dream says sharply, before continuing with an eerie, softer sort of pride.  “He’s quiet now, isn’t he?”

Something more than a little sinister in the way he said that.

“Oh, is he?” Techno continues sarcastically.  “I didn’t notice.  I thought maybe I was goin’ deaf like the President back there.”

“No, but, seriously,” Dream seems annoyed that Technoblade hasn’t responded with, what, praise?  “He doesn’t talk, like, at all?” He looks to Techno for confirmation.

Techno continues on with determined dry wit.  “Oh, I just thought I’d gotten really good at tuning him out or something.”

“Techno, I did that,” Dream finally gets to the point, irritated as well as smug.  “I finally got him to shut up!”

Tommy shifts from foot to foot restlessly, sword in hand, but he still makes no move against Dream.  Technoblade hasn’t either, but he keeps his crossbow leveled with the man’s chest.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool, Dream.  Real tough-guy move there, huh?  Scaring a teenager?” Techno says dryly.

Dream ignores Technoblade now, approaching Tommy.  “Look, Tommy.  You know you’re not supposed to be here, you… you’ve caused problems, just like you always do.  And now, you are going to come with me, or I’m going to burn your disc.”

Another sharp inhale from Tommy, still holding his sword in shaking hands, and Techno can see the desperate cogs turning as this kid tries to figure out how he has any hope of getting out of this one.  

“Well, that’s gonna be a bit of a problem, Dream.”  Technoblade steps forward, putting himself between Dream and Tommy.  “‘Cause this guy’s with me.”

Dream tilts his head, clearly calculating something.  “Hm.  Are you sure, Techno?”

“I am sure,” Techno replies coolly.  He glances back at Tommy behind him, amused to see the kid is now grinning like he won the lottery.  “This is a… this is a business partner,” is how he describes the terrified teenager that had been clinging to him for the past days.  “And we’re workin’ for our own mutual benefit right now.”  He turns back to Dream.  “So I can’t really have you takin’ him away before I complete my objectives.  Before I get my revenge.”

~

Tommy is on the fuckin’ moon right now he’s so smug.  Ha!  Sure, he can’t say a single fucking word, and Tubbo screwed him over, but he’s got the Blade stepping up to fight for him!

“Unless, of course.  You wanna call in that favor.”

Tommy’s heart drops to his stomach.  He wants to protest, he wants to ask Techno what the fuck he’s talking about, but with Dream there, words have never felt further away.  He paces anxiously, walking around Techno, getting back in his line of sight, hoping that would count as pleading enough for answers.

“Hm,” Dream mulls this over, but Tommy’s focus remains on Technoblade.

Again, he tugs on Technoblade’s sleeve, as has been his go-to means of getting Techno’s attention, but Techno doesn’t spare him a glance, merely shakes him off, even as he still holds the crossbow up to Dream’s chest, and that hurts.  “Not now, Tommy.  The adults are talking,” Techno says coolly.  That hurts too.  Tommy can’t fucking argue.  He wants to argue.  There’s a weight pressing down on his chest that says he can’t.

Tommy doesn’t fucking understand, Technoblade was supposed to be on his side, how can he, how could he–

“No, I have something else in mind for that,” Dream continues, equally content to ignore Tommy like he’s nothing more than a pesky bug.  “I’ll… I’ll keep it.  If you’re sure.”  Dream backs away.  “I guess you live another day, Tommy.”

A horrifying statement, but more importantly, Dream is walking away.  If Tommy is going to say something, some biting insult, a daring jab, it would be now.  Tommy steps forward, and Dream stares at him, clearly unimpressed.  Tommy feels that weight on his chest again, bearing down on him, his body desperately struggling to prevent HURT, and Tommy is helpless, choking on his own words.

He refuses to not try.  Tommy flicks Dream off; it’s all he can manage.  Dream scoffs and starts to walk away, so in one last shred of courage, he spits at Dream, not quite hitting him, but enough to make him pause and recoil from it crossing his path.

Tommy is almost breathless with delight.  He can’t speak, but he can annoy Dream.

“Yeah!  Get out of here, you don’t have no house!” Techno joins in jeeringly.

“I have a house–” Dream starts to say irritably.

Tommy feels that giddy rage rising up once more uncontrollable, and he swings, his sword bouncing off of Dream’s netherite armor, hardly enough to even bruise, but Tommy still basks in it.  He hit Dream.

“Whoa, Tommy,” Techno says, appraising and maybe a tad concerned, but Dream doesn’t retaliate, he keeps walking away.

So Tommy returns to the nether portal, trembling not just from the adrenaline, but with feverish joy too. 

“I–” Tommy signs, before flicking off the portal behind them, the closest approximation he can get to I told him to go fuck himself!

“Yeah!  Yeah, you told him, Tommy,” Technoblade crows.

“Time ago I never do that!” Tommy signs with jittery, excitable fingers, not yet fluent enough to properly articulate a week ago I never could’ve done that! but he gets the message across.  “Technoblade,” he signs an approximation of his name, the same sign for sword, or Blade, rather.  “Thank you.”

“No problem, Tommy.”

~

Tommy finds out about a festival, but this time he cannot take the lead, he cannot justify letting his anger run loose and hurt Fundy without a cause, because he cannot run an interrogation when he can’t talk, but Technoblade does enough.

Ranboo discovers something too.

“Tommy?  Why… why aren’t you saying anything?  Why didn’t you say anything the other day?  Are you… I know this might not be the time, but are you… refusing to talk to me?” Ranboo asks.

He can recognize that Tommy is shaking his head.  Then he glances down and sees Tommy’s hands are moving.

“Oh, Tommy, I can’t… I can’t see signs very well,” he says softly.

Tommy wavers, seeming unsure, before he startles Ranboo by grabbing his hand.  Ranboo doesn’t pull away, though, and after a moment, he realizes Tommy is tracing letters onto his palm.

“Can you start over?”

C

A

N

T

“Can’t?”

A nod.

T

A

L

K

“You… you can’t talk?”

Tommy nods.

“Why?  Did you… did you lose your voice?”

Tommy hesitates, then slowly, he nods.

“Oh.  I guess… I guess I’m sorry to hear that,” Ranboo doesn’t know what to do with this information.  “And… do you think you’ll… get it back?”

Tommy shakes his head again.

“It’s… it’s not coming back.”

Another head shake.

“Oh,” Ranboo processes this.

“Tommy!  Tommy, I got somethin’ for ya.  Fundy has something to say,” Technoblade calls Tommy back over, and Tommy leaves Ranboo before he can ask any more questions.

Ranboo doesn’t tell Tubbo that he spoke with Tommy.  He doesn’t know how to.  Maybe he’ll regret that later.  For now, he’ll record this, remind himself that Tommy has changed.  In more ways than one.

~

While Tommy is invisible, he cannot communicate with Technoblade.  So when he follows the crowd out to the blown up community house, he has no idea if Techno will follow him.  All he knows is that Dream is blaming him, and Tommy has no way of defending himself.  He can’t sign, instead, he can only watch on in horror as Dream tries to tear him away from his loved ones one more time.

Dream is arguing with Tubbo, projecting his words to the entire server, which to be fair, the majority of them have circled around the community house to see what’s happened.

<Dream> how can I enforce his exile if I don’t have the disc?

“You– You have one of them, do you not?” Tubbo stammers.

<Dream> I need both

“You need… both?” Tubbo stares at the ruins of the community house, uncomprehending.  “I actually just can’t believe he would do this.”

Everyone is talking over each other, but Tubbo can easily ignore it, cogs turning as he thinks.

<Dream> if you don’t want to associate with tommy hand over the disc

Tommy has no way of stopping this.  He’s still fucking invisible so he can’t talk to Tubbo.  He scrambles to put on his armor, and before he can stop himself, he steps between Tubbo and Dream.

“What– Who’s this?” Tubbo takes one step back, staring at his best friend and unable to recognize him.

Tommy has no fucking clue what to do now.  The entire server is staring at him, and this is where he’s meant to defend himself, but can’t if he’s fucking invisible.

Technoblade joins him.

“It’s Tommy.  And I’m here, obviously.  Ah, wait, you can’t hear me, uh.  Someone wanna… translate for the President or something?” Technoblade drawls.

“Tommy?” Tubbo stares at his best friend, knowing him not on sight, but maybe only on hope.

Tommy nods.  Tubbo can at least see that with his helmet.

Tommy needs to tell him he didn’t do this, he needs to talk to his best friend.  What he really needs is some fucking milk.

Tubbo doesn’t care, nor does he bother asking someone to explain what the fuck is happening, he just looks at Tommy, wishing he could understand him, in more ways than one.

<Dream> Tubbo give me the disc

Tubbo opens his Enderchest, he doesn’t even know what he’s actually planning on doing at this point, but it doesn’t matter, because Tommy shoves him away.  Tommy literally cannot use words right now, the only thing he can possibly do is physically stop Tubbo from giving up the disc.  Tubbo stumbles but keeps his footing, staring in shock at the figure that must be Tommy.  A tense moment, the two of them staring at each other, and Tubbo unable to read his friend’s face.

He scrambles for his Enderchest.  It opens once more, and as Tommy tries to shove him away again, he’s not sure if Tubbo managed to grab it or not.  Not that it matters, because right now, Tubbo isn’t holding a disc.  He’s holding his axe.

“Tommy, are you really going to– to fight me on this?!  After everything– After you proving time and time again that I– I cannot trust you?!” Tubbo sounds so wounded, and Tommy wants to scream at him, to tear into him with all of his losses, but he cannot speak, nor could Tubbo hear him, and for now, Tommy cannot fucking sign.

That leaves one language left.

When Tommy swings at Tubbo, he tries to scream, voice ragged and hoarse from disuse, it merely causes him pain, just like the jarring feeling shuddering up his arm from his axe colliding with Tubbo’s chestplate.

Tubbo gasps, not really hurt, merely shocked that Tommy would swing a weapon at him.  The shock doesn’t last.  Tubbo takes a shaky breath, tightening his grip on his own axe, he swings back.

Tommy hoists up his shield to block it, it wrenching on his arm and leaving the shield all but useless.  He knows Techno is saying something to him, warning him of how outnumbered they are, but he couldn’t care less.  Tommy shoves Tubbo back with his shield and swings again.

“A-After everything–” Tubbo blocks it with his own shield, both of them forced to take a step back as they recover.  “After everything…” Tubbo tries again.  “You… you still found one more way to try and hurt our nation.  Why the hell would you do this?!” He nods to the ruins and Tommy is furious.

How the fuck is he meant to tell Tubbo he didn’t do this?  How the fuck is he meant to stop him from giving up the disc, save this?   Save hurting his best friend?  So, of course unable to reply, he merely swings again, trying to wrench around his shield, to reach his chestplate, but Tubbo jolts back quickly, dodging him before swinging back, nailing Tommy in the ribs, only enough to bruise through Netherrite but it still knocks the wind out of him all the same.

“You won’t try to talk to me, but you will hit me, is that it?!” Tubbo snaps.

Tommy can only respond by swinging back harder.  He can’t fucking sign if Tubbo can’t see him!  It’s not fucking fair that Tubbo gets to make his case and hit him and Tommy can only hit back, otherwise defenseless.  Rage sharpens like a knife within his chest and Tommy’s arms burn as he does everything he can to break through Tubbo’s shield, bashing against it with his axe, over and over, until Tubbo is sent stumbling back and he hits the water, and Tommy realizes he can see his own arms, still raising the axe, waiting to strike Tubbo down again.

Tubbo claws back onto the platform, drenched but not dissuaded.  He raises his axe, bitterly willing to keep going, until he sees Tommy, and he sees his hands moving.

“I didn’t do this,” he signs rapidly, fingers stumbling and frantic, relieved when Tubbo lowers the axe to watch.  “Please don’t give him the disc.”

“What…” Tubbo stares at his hands, eyebrows furrowed together.  “You didn’t do this.”

Tommy shakes his head furiously.

“Then… why the hell did you attack me?”

“The disc.  The disc!  Couldn’t talk to you let you do that.”

“I… I don’t know how you expect me to trust you, Tommy,” Tubbo seems to be struggling to hold his resolve.

Tommy is so panicked he has half a mind to keep fighting, but he has to choose, either a return to violence, or he can talk to him.  He cannot do both.

Even without violence, the pain bleeds through.

“You hurt me.  You let me go.  You let me go,” Tommy doesn’t know how to sign betray, but he hopes emphasizing those words, you let me go, suffice.  They hurt him enough.

“That’s not true.  That’s not fair, Tommy!  I tried to keep you here!  I tried to bargain and you were the one who ruined– who ruined everything!” Tubbo is still holding his axe.

“You don’t know what he did to me!” Tommy points at Dream vehemently, even as the man had stepped back, along with all the rest, to allow the two of them to tear each other to pieces.  “Out away, where I was, he hurt me.  You don’t know, you don’t know.”

“I thought you died!” Tubbo sounds like he’s pleading, his voice breaks, and he takes one step closer.  Tommy steps back sharply, because Tubbo is still holding his axe.  Tubbo puts it away.  “I thought you were– I thought you were dead.”

“You never came.  You never saw me.  You know nothing.  You hurt me.”  Tommy’s hands are unsteady, he pauses, forcing them to calm, trying to at least.  “You made me die not being there.”

"I– What?"

Tommy tries to work around his limited vocabulary.  "You went away.  Made me start to die.  You left me to die." Tommy finally manages it, signing for the direction left, but he's hoping Tubbo can figure it out.

“I didn’t– I didn’t– When I exiled you–” Tubbo stammers, torn between anger and pain.  “What was I supposed to do, Tommy?!  I was stuck in an impossible position because you decided to disregard our nation, to– to risk everything and for what?!  For the discs?!”

Those watching, save Technoblade, are all plagued by the same thought, only hearing half of the conversation.  Why isn’t Tommy talking?

It’s a strange sort of dread.  Tommy being quiet feels like a warning, a sign that something is seriously wrong with him.  Tommy is never quiet.  Not that Tubbo notices this, his attention remains on Tommy’s hands, and the words spun from them.

Tommy cannot be impulsive with his words.  There is always a delay in a language he hasn’t quite adjusted to.  So he never says it.  He cannot figure out a way to sign “the discs were worth more than you ever were,” or if he can, he doesn’t, because the thought of them alone hit him in the chest like an explosion.

“Give him the disc.”

“What?” Tubbo sputters.

“I won’t lose you over this.  Give him the disc,” Tommy signs this slow and careful, the weight of what he’s doing makes him almost dizzy.  He just wanted to have one thing, or two, rather.  Two precious objects that represent everything he holds dear.  Tubbo is what he holds dear, and he won’t lose him over a disc that he can’t even hear anymore.

What follows is simple as it is painful.  Dream gets Mellohi.  Tommy chooses Tubbo, as he always does, as he always will, in every universe.  And Technoblade is hurt.  Dream does not wave Ranboo’s memory book like an accusation, because by then, Ranboo had started recording his memories in a tape recorder.  It is far worse for everyone to hear Ranboo’s confession played aloud, but even worse for Ranboo to look at Tubbo, and know he cannot hear a word of it.

That simplifies things, in a sense.

Doomsday could have been avoided, but not for this, and not easily.  Technoblade doesn’t bother with words when Tommy never pleads with him to stop.  The words had always been insignificant on a day like this, better surely to skip right to the violence.  That was what they were really here for.  Tommy cannot shout at Technoblade, plead for reason, for understanding, and he cannot call out Tubbo’s name to find him, so they stay together.  There isn’t much to be said as their world falls to ash, so Tommy holds Tubbo’s hand through the end.

On Doomsday, Ranboo only sees a blur of white lines and bursts of orange.  He had gone to his panic room after the community house, not because he had been outed as a traitor, but rather because he still didn’t know how to do this.  Everyone needing to choose sides and always fighting and–

He must have cried.  He doesn’t remember it now, but nonetheless, he must have.  Because when he woke up, still in the panic room, he couldn’t read the signs on the walls.  He stumbled his way back to L’Manberg, his peripheral all he has left, and he gets his pets out.  Then he watches, watches as best he can at least.  The explosions are almost beautiful, and in the dark, Ranboo cannot see the obsidian grid they emanate from so for them the bombs might as well be from the sky itself.

Phil tells him to get out of there while he still can, he’s offered a place in the arctic, but staring at the darkness, the streaks of hot, painful white, Ranboo thinks of blinding white snow, and he shudders.

Tubbo has his tape recorder, stolen by Dream somehow, but he cannot listen to it himself.  Ranboo hates the way that makes him feel relieved.

[lgwilt]

WIP tag game

Rules: reveal the titles of the documents in your WIP folder and tag as many people as there are documents (or as many people as you want). Let others ask questions about the ones that interest them and post snippets or explain the contents as you see fit!

I'm a little late getting to this, but here we go - some Lokius WIPs 💚🤎

Thanks to @insert-witty-user-name-here @dewdropreader @loki-is-my-kink-awakening @mirilyawrites and @blackbirdofasgard for the tags - I'm genuinely so inspired by all your amazing fics/fics-in-progress!! 💕💕

Currently hopping around between a few different S2 fics, all loosely connected, which I’m planning to group into a series (umbrella title = “the end is where we start from”):

Holding On, Letting Go (post-finale)

Breathing Space (set during ep 1)

Warp and Weft (set during ep 3)

Under the Skin

Lokius fics started before S2:

Variation Ch11 eeeppp (…this is progressing better than the title implies, just more slowly than I’d like 😅)

Time after time post-S2 revision

Kiss prompts - as an apology, for luck, in joy

Untitled - possessed

Life drawing AU

And many, many WIPs for other fandoms. Singling out The Man Who Wasn't There Chs 4-6, my sadly-neglected-but-not-forgotten Life on Mars/Doctor Who crossover (and the thrilling sequel, Ties That Bind, which may or may not ever see the light of day - but I remain hopeful!)

I don’t want to repeat tag, but open invitation to anyone who’d like to participate - I’m always fascinated to hear what other people are working on 💖

[arigatonamuse]

another week, another A3! re-read notes post

this time it's

Act 2 - A SUMMER of Overcomings! (pt1)

(warning: there's some Tenma salt, i'm sorry, it took him a while to grow on me and this re-read reminded me why)

Chapter 1

i am once again thinking about the A3! Timeline (someone stop me please)

Sakuya’s toast makes me so emotional

eheheheh Sakyo’s survey 

Tsuzuru: “who did you scout?” Izumi, knowing full well that Tsuzuru’s annoyed by Kazunari: “teehee it’s a surprise!”

ksdjbvhdfvf i would love to see Tetsuro on stage

also smh Tsuzuru there are characters who don’t talk in stage, not everyone has to have lines (for example: Kattrin in Brecht’s Mother Courage and Her Children)

Chapter 2

heheh Kazu and Yuki time

ah Kazu beloved… you can afford to be a lil less shallow with Mankai, i promise honestly i do think that his reason for joining is okay? like yeah you can join into / try new things just because, but Mankai wasn’t in a position to afford that back then

fdgfchgvjhbk Kazu come on I do love how he didn’t lose his energy with the info that Yuki’s a dude 

oh Yuki my dear Friendly McExtrovert won’t even be your biggest problem regarding troupemates in this arc

MUKU IS HERE

Tsuzuru vouching for Kazu despite everything

but also guys please don’t ignore my baby boy

baby boy

good, Muku, speak out for yourself!

It’s so weird to hear Muku and Yuki call each other by their last name now

Muku bby you haven’t auditioned yet, please don’t talk like that

Tenten!

Chapter 3

Tenma wtf’s up with that attitude you literally just went inside

Honestly i admire Izumi’s patience with him, i would’ve gone “look do you wanna be here or not?”

sdkhvbdfhv Yuki’s me

pot, meet kettle

istg if you don’t wanna be there you can just leave

Kazu you’re just calling him a nepobaby

i’m glad Yuki keeps calling him out, and even gladder when he did it after Muku felt like he had to apologise bc of his sigh

Muku bby no one said that

thank you, Yuki and Izumi

hm i’m puzzled about this line bc i did hear it change? I wonder what Izumi said in japanese

Chapter 4

kdbvhsdbvkd Yuki at least Izumi held an audition this time around

no one’s forcing you to be there! shut up!

mmmmm i don’t like this line

also idk if Tenma’s problem is not knowing how to read the room or just… knowing how to read it and not caring

ITARU AND CITRON FUDANSHI REAL?

haha hello fourth wall leaning Also Tsuzuru, you’re literally an RPF writer, you have no room to talk

the impulse to call Tenma a culicagado

thank you, Izumi

something something Sakuya’s acting having inspired THE Tenma Sumeragi

“halfway decent” those weren’t your words in Ep 1 Ch 35

why are you like this

Sakuya you’re too cute ;w;

Chapter 5

I do love how Kazu mentions Tsuzuru as a reason to stay at the dorms something something longing for a genuine connection something something Tsuzuru being important to him already

I’m glad Izumi double checked with the parents even when the kids tell her they have permission

i’d forgotten just how endearing Muku’s dad was 

it would’ve been interesting to see Kazu and Yuki as roommates

“Savage, but valid!” is actually one of my fave reactions to things

but also something something Kazu being a people pleaser something something letting people walk over him and be “savages” to him because he’d rather take it and say it’s “valid” than to upset someone or rock the boat in any way

Chapter 6

SUMI TIME

ROOM 202 MY BELOVEDS

Chapter 7

i can’t contain my smile i love Sumi so much

i love Muku so much too

Kazu being friendly despite not knowing if Sumi’s a ghost or not will always make me feel warm

also i wanna highlight the fact that these people are barging into his space and screaming their lungs out and Sumi’s reaction is to offer them triangles you can’t get more kind hearted than that

I have the softest smile on my face just watching Misumi’s sprite slide around the screen

when a rando breaks into your dorm do you a) call the cops b) ask him to join your theatre troupe

i’m glad Izumi made the choice she made but it’s still so funny to me

ngl tho i do wonder if her choice has anything to do with the fact that Sumi just admitted that he has nowhere else to go

kinda wanna write a piece on the dehumanisation of Misumi now

Kazu and Muku the sweetest boys ever

Citron and Misumi being friendly to one another makes me feel so warm inside

Chapter 8

honestly i think that, for his first time, Yuki did pretty okay

(Muku was too anxious but still i do appreciate the effort very much)

MISUMI ACTING! 

i will forever love the change between normal Misumi and acting Misumi

Misumi’s voice in his first etude w Tenma is so hot 

Chapter 9

i love how Kazu treats Sumi so much, even when he asks something that seems airheaded like the “what’s Summer Troupe” question, Kazu takes his time to explain everything to him ;w;

okay i’d forgotten how cute their relationship was, they got me smiling like a fool now

i love Yuki’s comments and comebacks at Tenma so much this one’s one of my faves

this is an interesting line and i’m so curious about what it says on japanese i know he’s talking about manga, but tbh when you say “comic book hero” i think like Superman (or maybe it’s the MAWS brainrot) and i kinda doubt that’s what Muku meant here?

Chapter 10

is it me or are there… “mkyk could be victims of homophobia” implications here?

NO MUKKUN THAT’S NOT WHAT YUKI MEANT (he’s thinking the other way around)

it IS very cute that they all arrived together 

honestly? yes, Muku, you should call an ambulance unless someone at Mankai has training to deal with it, you should call an ambulance (i am doing my best so i don’t go on a rant about what to do in emergencies based on my first responder training)

Sumi, no don’t feed an unconscious person, please don’t put anything in their mouths

Izumi i love you but that’s not how it works (says the person who faints and gets up a couple minutes later)

See, even if he’s just sleeping, the fall could’ve caused some damage to his body, so he does need to get checked

sorry Izumi but i’m with Matsukawa this time around, the generational gap IS something to be dramatic about

i LOVE how Kazu has got the solution for this, we love a nerd 

Chapter 11

maaaaan i’m so emo at Muku’s general perception of himself his teammates were nice to him and seemingly just wanted to see him more often? but Muku still thinks he disappointed them and says that him possibly being a track star is silly and *cries*

also i don’t wanna be a nag but i think Muku should’ve told Izumi about his injury when he first joined, the practice could’ve maybe made it worse and i would HATE to see that happening (trainer brain: on)

Muku’s such a team player and someone who cares so much about others i love him

yEAH THEY STILL CARE ABOUT MUKU and i’m so upset about Muku not seeing it

Muku my boy, those kids seem to genuinely care about you, i don’t think they’d laugh at you

yes, thank you Izumi

YES IZUMI! i love how she hypes him up in this way

sobs in Floral Prince

he’s such a cutie

Chapter 12

oh man i’d forgotten how stiff Yuki and Muku’s acting was at the start

i feel so bad for Muku his anxiety is so bad ;-;

hm i do know that Muku’s always been timid and anxious but now i’m wondering if maybe his anxiety got worse after he had to quit track

i’m not gonna lose my temper i’m not gonna lose my temper i’m not gonna lose my temper i’m not gonna lose my temper i’m not gonna lose my temper i’m not gonna lose my temper HE’S SUCH AN ASSHOLE TO MUKU I CAN’T

everyone coming together to comfort Muku, thank you

THE START OF MISUMI GIVING TRIANGLES FOR COMFORT

Chapter 13

y’know i don’t get why “amateur” is a bad thing

i DO appreciate Tenma’s respect for Sakuya and trusting him with this 

have you never heard of synergy?

what kinda directors has he had ‘til now to think like this????

lol i love Izumi’s reaction to his proposal

he’s so proud of it too lmao 

Chapter 14

this kinda nitpicking i can stand i’m finally starting to relax lol

oughhhhh this line says so much about how Kazu performs in social environments too and aaaaaaaaaah Something something Kazu understands and sticks to his role of paripi but he stays on the surface and never tried to go deeper with / make something more significant out of any of the relationships he has

hey how much do y’all wanna bet that Kazu knows the right answer to this but acted like he didn’t?

Sumi giving Muku triangles makes everything right in my life

Muku is such a good boy he works so much and cares so much and and and ;w;

Chapter 15

oh i will need some mental strength to make it through this chapter

spoilt brat. 

oh An’s gonna have a field day with this line lmao 

fucking spoilt brat.

thanks, Yuki

i’m clenching my jaw so hard just to get through these scenes

ah this line

i know that it’s true, i know that Kazu knows it’s true but holy fuck this line always stings so bad

AND KAZU’S REACTIONS MAKE IT WORSE! HIM NOT KNOWING WHAT TO SAY AND TRYING TO BRUSH IT OFF STING SO BAD

my chest is actually in pain rn

Kazu having no way to defend himself against that comment because it’s true, and he knows it’s true, and any reaction he could have, be it going along with it or getting angry and defending himself, would prove that Tenma’s right and it would make Kazu’s mask slip completely 

Chapter 16

Izumi is so much better at being a caring adult than i am

she’s also way kinder to Tenma than i would be ngl

which i guess was needed because we’re finally at the point where he starts getting better, thanks to her kindness and understanding

something something people grow and thrive better in a caring and understanding environment

okay i’m finally calm with this whole situation

Chapter 17

seeing Tenma try is so nice, actually, i’m relieved

YEY MUKU FOR MAKING IT 

for once i do feel like Izumi, i can’t stop smiling either

Chapter 18

heheh fireworks (let’s ignore the fact that i don’t like fireworks because i do like this part very much)

sdkvhbhdfbv Kazu and Yuki being little shits is so fun

okay yeah Tenma’s very cute in this scene, him being both naive AND showing that he cares about the rest in his fear? good shit

Kazu is so right about Tenma missing out on school activities being a sad thing him being the one to point it out makes me wonder if he’s either speaking from experience (having focused so hard in his studies that he didn’t get to enjoy the social parts of middle school) or maybe just projecting? either way, i think this is a nice line to read with the knowledge we now have about Kazu, it kinda foreshadows the reveal that’s gonna come soon

oh i am SO fighting Kusumi for this one

LIKE LITERALLY WHAT WAS THE REASON WHY WOULD YOU NOT LET YOUR SON GO ON THOSE TRIPS? I DON’T SEE ANY REASON FOR THAT OTHER THAN PURPOSEFULLY BEING SHITTY IT’S NOT LIKE HE CARES ABOUT MISUMI BEING AROUND ANYWAY

Sumi sounds so happy when he brings up being nc with his family but then you look at how he feels about Madoka and… yeah ;-;

yes, thank you Kazu

i was gonna say Tenma was being tsun when he said they weren’t friends (yet) but he IS right, they’re not friends at this point, they just started being friendly

this scene (and CG) made me laugh a lil from joy

Chapter 19

oh Kazu… this… hm… (this is where i insert my “Kazu flirts to keep people at a distance” hc)

Yuki’s disdain for all things romance my beloved

for once we agree

i do appreciate that the messages all the boys send are vague enough to be interpreted as not flirty

except what Kazu wrote for Yuki, that one’s just annoying

Good intuition Izumi

hm do you guys think Kazu’s “making up for lost time” line applied to himself too? because him being the one to initiate the gossip session makes me feel like it does

Yuki’s disdain for all things romance my beloved (2)

ngl i always found the wording here a bit weird like he’s specifying about who he does like when he’s trying to clarify something about who he doesn’t like? my only guess is that it’s like this for the audience’s / fandom’s sake

everyone validating Yuki’s masculinity is so important to me, actually

wording here is also weird but it feels more in character 

Sumi you’re too cute, never change please

n e ways this feels too yume-bait for me so i’ll stop commenting

Chapter 20

heh Sumi recognising Yuzo is so cute to me do y’all think Yuzo ever babysat him? i think that’d be cute

it’s very interesting to me that Yuzo’s criticism of Muku is not that he was bad or wrong in any way? but that he was gonna get overshadowed

hell yeah Yuki deserves all the praise for his work

Kazu too! He’s so talented

i love the designer duo, even if Yuki said no to teaming up and being a designer duo

[no-where-new-hero]

Fire and Hemlock Readalong: Day 23 (Part 4, Ch. 4)

...in which Polly makes a spell.

The epigraphs, from here in, really start becoming spot-on as the plot elides more explicitly with the final events of the ballad. In this chapter, we return to 15-year-old Polly and the events following the Middleton Fair. Here, Polly's gift for "knowing things" comes around to bite her in the face: she knows "by instinct" exactly what elements are right to complete her spell. In effect, she recreates the Fire and Hemlock picture in such a way that will create a kind of Nowhere space in which she can demand the truth from Tom.

When her spell works, she finds Tom with Laurel. To me, on my first few readings, I always wondered if here is where DWJ most overtly suggests sex, considering the two of them were on a sofa, Laurel is asleep, and Polly notices how "heartrendingly beautiful" she is. Tom protests he doesn't often "get together" with Laurel, but there is the clear suggestion that he can still be compelled by her, perhaps physically as well as in the other areas of his life. Now, we get the confirmation that Laurel does "own him, or something like that," and that Polly has forgotten the instincts of her own heroism. She could have put the pieces together based on the books he sent her, and Mr. Leroy's warnings and threats, and every other dangerous that's happened to them, but she has refused to listen to the evidence of her own imagination and sees things on the level that she had been feeling insecure about: emotional betrayal or abandonment.

DWJ, in her "Heroic Ideal" essay, cites this as Polly behaving like Ivy: intrusive, untrusting, jealous. But I see it as also an ill-formed attempt of Polly's to regain some of the footing in her relationship with Tom that she clearly knows she has lost but doesn't understand why. A bit like the way she pretended to be mature and knowing about Carla's living situation two parts earlier, Polly is making assumptions that merely leave her out of her depth. And, of course, she's caught in her spying, and Laurel immediately exacts revenge.

She achieves this through stifling politeness and shame, a parallel to the situation in Bristol with Joanna and Reg. Polly cannot break free from the social farce into truth because of the way that she's caught between childhood and adulthood. She immediately discards her belief that it was all wrapped up in "something supernatural' because she's eating and drinking in Hunsdon House--so Laurel and Mr. Leroy have her under their power at last--but also because it's "stupid and babyish." Polly, in her determination to be mature and put herself on Tom's level, has regressed further from where she ever started. And so she succumbs to the pressure of embarrassment and agrees to forget Tom--of her own accord, which she later bemoans. Because she realizes at 19, with the knowledge of her returned memories, that she really did it to herself: by succumbing, by forgetting the bravery of Hero, and letting herself get in the way.

It's interesting to think about what's going on in Tom's head throughout this whole chapter. We know later that the reason for him trying to distance himself from Polly during the Australia tour was to protect her, but now he clearly knows the game is up. He comes to say goodbye to her, and Seb--who is clearly her dragon guardian from this point forward--lets him, in another moment of sympathy. Tom ends up kissing her--awkwardly but still meaningfully--a kind of parting gift or benediction or perhaps just the proof of his affection that she was (very poorly) asking for. Typically, of course, DWJ doesn't linger on this moment (that'll come later) but it's an important indication nevertheless.

The rest of the chapter lies in Polly reconstructing the terms of Tom's curse through the help of "East of the Sun, West of the Moon" and the ballad of Tam Lin, DWJ's most explicit meta-narrative moment. It's almost *too* explicit for me, though it does give Polly confirmation that her time is nearly out: Halloween is tomorrow.

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

A Year Without (1/10)

Summary: After the curse returns Killian to the Enchanted Forest, he struggles to acclimate to his old life and his old ways. When a bird with a letter and memory potion arrives on his ship, he accepts the challenge to find Emma and help her save her family. Getting to Emma won't be easy and will cost him dearly, but what choice does he have when he cannot go a day without memories of her haunting him?

A03 | CH  1  |   2  |   3  |  4  |  5  |  6  |  7  |  8  |  9  |  10  | CUTS

Day 05

Golden strands of sunlight break through the forest canopy as the horse trekked on and carried him further from the Enchanted Forest for which this land was named and toward the first port on his search for his misplaced ship. Watching the golden strands dance pulled him back to Neverland.

Soft, golden strands of hair filling the space between his fingers. Warm lips pressed firmly, desperately on his own. His own surprise and quick surrender to her sudden invasion. The shift he felt in the depths of his soul when they connected for the second kiss. The words "just a one time thing" thrown at him, nonchalantly, as she raised the walls back in place to protect herself from the very real truth that kiss revealed to both of their broken hearts - broken hearts can be put back together, to be broken, again, in new ways.

Killian let out a shaky breath and pulled himself into the present. The forest was thinning, the trees less suffocating than the days before. A breeze stirred the leaves and carried a briny scent, stirring up a bit of anticipation.

Pirates, for that is all he was, belonged on ships. Fierce pirate captains, feared in the seas, belonged to their ships. And somewhere out there, the Jolly was out there, waiting for her captain to be back at her helm. Without him, she was lost, directionless, rotting at sea. Despite a lack of consciousness, she was more aware of his absence than Swan would be.

With the crocodile gone, his future lied with his ship. Wherever she was and he needed to find her to figure out just what that would entail.

Day 13

Another shabby sea town, another rumour of his ship sighted followed directly into a dead-end, another pub with cheap pints of watery ale, and another day he kept his promise to Swan.

Even, now, while drowning in the tenth? ninth? pint of the warm ale that small smile she gifted him before turning away and leaving them, leaving him, to the curse lingered in his mind. Perhaps, he'd cursed himself when he'd spoken those last words to her. Words she'd forgotten as easily as she'd forgotten him.

A loud eruption of laughter drew his attention to how crowded the pub had gotten. Killian scowled at the lot of messy sailors yelling for women, booze, and rooms. Throwing some coin on his table, he stumbled from his table toward the door. His escape was blocked by a burly in a bright red hat.

“Captain?” squeaked out a familiar voice.

Killian smiled, more of a grimace that didn’t reach his eyes, “If it isn’t my favourite, flea-ridden, bilge rat scampering about on two legs again, are we?”

“We’ve been looking for you since the curse dropped us back here. We can’t wait to join you, we’ve been keeping an eye out for the Jolly Roger, but I knew you’d find her!” Smee spoke without pause for a breathe, then he called over his shoulder to a table behind him, “boys, captain’s back, we’re going home, tonight!”

Killian groaned and stepped into the persona he’d worn so comfortably over the last few hundred years.

Hook turned, spread his arms wide, and greeted his former crew with a wicked smile. “Men, tonight we celebrate for tomorrow we will begin a new adventure. One on land. Relieving many a carriage of their burdens.”

Day 27

A few of his faithful crew left that night, muttering about how the captain had either gone soft or lost his senses. The few who'd stayed with him had profited handsomely. They'd gotten rich as highway bandits as they travelled between ports searching for the Jolly.

While they enjoyed pints in a pub indiscernible from those visited the evening prior, Killian's wondered if he'd left enough with the carriage to ensure the safety of the couple he'd robbed. They'd had knights escorting them, so that spoke of some wealth and standing. He'd assuaged his guilt with another pint and stood to toast his crew.

"To the most clever, dastardly band of pirates to ever set sail-," he shared a laugh at his slip up with Smee before continuing, "stride, on the open road!"

"To Captain Hook!" Smee responded, clinking his drink with Hook's. They took a sip in a companionable moment of quiet. As Hook turned, Smee stopped him, "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. The boys and I chipped in and got you something."

Hook followed Smee's fingers toward a brunette woman walking toward him, seductive smile at her lips. He forced a smile as he escorted her out, planning on how on to buy off her silence and where he'd spend the rest of the night. It was too early to go to the room he'd let - quiet nights welcomed thoughts veering dangerously close to heartbreaking - but he couldn't return to the pub once he'd dismiss this mistress.

Once she'd left, pleased with her heavier purse, Killian planned to walk the docks. Maybe the Jolly had made an appearance after all. A sharp pain burst on the back of his head and he was on the ground with a knife at his throat. One of his victims must have recognised him an planned to exact his revenge.

"Move and I'll slit your throat!" The command was issued by a feminine voice.