#this alone has me like yeah okay. i SHOULD buckle down on the next chapter. Fine

[crimeronan]

i just went digging thru some tags to see if my fics had ever ended up in reclists i hadn't seen before, for obvious reasons of being full of myself but Also so i could remember what people like about them n get back in touch with my writing brain. there WERE in fact a couple recs i'd never seen before, which were very sweet. my absolute favorite involved someone politely asking "hey, you recced this fic really highly but i don't..... like darius..... does he play a big role here.....?" and the response being "he Technically does, but also. you will like him in this fic."

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

one | chapter list

Finding out you're a princess isn't half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can't seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au (sort of), all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance james isn't flirty this chapter i lied but he will be <3

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You're in the process of ruining your pyjama bottoms with willow charcoal when your father dies. 

The charcoal is fragile, unhoused, and it snaps with too much pressure. An uneven half falls between the sheets of your sketchbook, marring the artwork it rolls over indiscriminately. 

You sigh without thinking and rub your tired eyes, spreading a line of smudgy black under your brow. Squinting, you peek at the portrait you'd been drawing. A young woman with deep, dark skin, her cheek shaded by the leaves of a sycamore tree. The branches arc over her skin in shadowed lines, sunlight dappling illustrated by sparse triangles of the white paper underneath. 

It had been an okay sketch. The snapped charcoal distracts from what you'd originally set out to do — a dynamic, revealing portrait — and instead replaces it with a more abstract feel. 

You sigh again, this time with a melodrama you'd only ever feel comfortable displaying alone. Thankfully, that's the case more often than not. You live by yourself, no partner, no pets, nobody around to see you drop your sketchbook onto the floor beside your bed, kick out your feet toward the rug, and moan. Your socks slide against the hardwood. You kick them like a child as you slip down the side of the bed, shirt caught behind you, soft middle exposed. 

You swear to yourself quietly, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes. 

A sharp trilling sound chimes. On the nightstand, your phone vibrates hard, and the water in the glass next to it crests against the sides like tiny shockwaves. 

You pull it into your lap and stare at the number. It goes to voicemail, and then it rings again. Again, again, and again.

You consider turning your phone off. Five phone calls and counting indicates an emergency, but every cell begs to avoid whatever it is on the other side. 

You can't avoid everything, no matter how much you want to. You answer the phone. 

"Hello," you greet.

The muffled echo of a cheerful voice responds.

"Yeah, that's me… Okay. Yeah, now is fine."

More chattering. Less cheerful, diplomatic.

"My father?" you ask.

You are told two impossible truths. 

"Oh," you say. The walls spin. "Right." 

—

"I hate flying," Sirius mutters.

James hums, noncommittal. 

"You know, my good looks are wasted if we end up lost in the middle of the Atlantic ocean."

"It's not the middle of the Atlantic ocean," Remus says, sounding about as interested in Sirius' whining as James is currently. "It's an arm." 

"It's the fucking English channel," James says. It's barely the ocean. "How much do you reckon a pair of in flight headphones will cost?" 

Sirius, despite his anxiety, has the bandwidth to appreciate James' bad mood. "What crawled up your arse?"  

James sinks down into his seat, knees immediately pressed into the hard plastic of the chair in front, back aching and head heavy from a lack of rest he won't make up anytime soon. 

"He's agitated," Remus says. 

"Helpful, Moony. Super helpful."

"Fuck yourself, then," Remus says, pulling his sleep mask over his eyes and plugging in his earbuds.

The tannoy dings. The seatbelt light flashes. 

A flight attendant raises his voice from the start of the aisle. "If everybody could take their seats and buckle in, we'll be taking off in less than two minutes. Please turn all electronics to aeroplane mode. Thanks so much."  

"Is your phone off?" Sirius asks. 

"No, I actually want us to drown in the channel, but thanks for asking." 

A dark shock of curls lands against his shoulder. Sirius drapes himself unabashedly across James lap, hand on his friend's thigh, ankle crossing over ankle. Genovian through and through, Sirius doles out affection wantonly, smelling ridiculously nice as he does: a heady smell like browned sugar and citrus blossoms coalescing tickles the inside of James' nose. 

"Are you still cranky that you got demoted?" Sirius asks, smooth tones pitched into bubbly baby talk. 

"I didn't get demoted," James argues. 

James had, in fact, been demoted. 

"No, of course not. You've fallen from third guard to the Royal Prince of Genovia, may he rest in peace, to glorified babysitter of said Prince's illegitimate, forgotten child. Sounds the same to me." 

"Then we agree," James says, wanting to close his eyes. 

He'd pretend to sleep if he thought Sirius would believe it. Growing up together erases any semblance of privacy. Sirius knows James as James knows Sirius, and as they know Remus. Remus likely knows them all better than he'd ever admit, the youngest of the trio and the smartest, most perceptive man James has ever met. 

Sirius isn't perceptive, he's vigilant. He can read even the smallest signs of unrest, and it makes him uneasy. There will likely always be a shadow cast over him from a rough childhood, and while James is in a god awful mood, he reaches out to alleviate Sirius' anxiety. 

"I'm fine," James assures him, "just tired." Not mad at you goes unsaid. 

"It won't be as bad as you're thinking." 

"I'm fine. I'm not worried. Didn't sleep last night, and," —he grins as Sirius clasps his arm, their seats shaking underneath them, the plane beginning its race across tarmac— "some scrawny git is squeezing fuck out of my arm." 

Sirius flinches away from him. "You're annoying." 

James presses his shoe up to the side of Sirius' and leans back in his chair, wincing at the rattling carriage as they take off, and again when he remembers where they're going. You wait in London, though nobody in the task force assigned to your assimilation or the advisement team could come to explain how you'd ended up there. Your Genovian citizenship is unacknowledged on your passport, your birth certificate, even, and as far as Lily had been able to suss, you have little understanding of who you are. 

"She sounded tired, mostly," Lily had said when pressed for details about the new princess' personality. "In shock. Slightly disbelieving, but could you believe it?" 

Lily, James'... friend, and work colleague at a stretch, is an ambassador for the UK and full-time genovian resident. Along with a handful of other representatives and officials, she’d been responsible for opening the talks between Genovia and yourself. That is to say, she'd broken the news. 

Surprise! Your dad just died! Double surprise, you're a princess. And, no pressure or anything, but we kind of need you to come back to Genovia to maintain the royal lineage before your grandmother abdicates the throne (unwillingly). 

"Did you mention the tiara?" he'd asked Lily. The Princess' diadem, a master craftsmanship of silver-gold with a diamond the size of an apple. 

"Weirdly, Potter, I didn’t mention the jewellery." 

He supposes there hadn't been time to weasel that tidbit in between condolences and recruitment. 

You haven't promised anything in ways of returning to Genova or taking up the mantle. James understands. If he were in your shoes, he likely would've laughed down the line and blocked the number. You’d shown incredible promise as a future leader, agreeing to meet with Lily and her team at the Genovian embassy. Then, a day later, they'd modified the plan and asked if you'd be okay meeting somewhere more private. 

You'd said yes. 

As someone who may be very involved in your bodily safety in the near future, James thinks you're an idiot. Somebody calls you, claiming that you're a princess, though nobody has ever bothered telling you this before because you were never heir apparent, and that they'll tell you more should you deign to meet with them in a place with meagre surveillance, and you say yes to this?

How you've survived as long as you have is a mystery. 

He hopes you won't make his job difficult. Isn't that what everyone hopes? He feels guilty for judging you without meeting you, promising in his head to be nicer to you in actuality. You're probably grieving and definitely confused. He shouldn't be worrying about his job. 

Redetermined, James lets the anxiety of his new assignment water down. 

Sirius is thinking along the same lines: how easy will you make his particular occupation. "Bets are on. Scruffy or sweet?" 

"Huh?" James asks, pretending he doesn't understand in hopes of rectifying Sirius' attitude. 

"Slovenly or love-nly?" 

"I'm sure she's fine." 

"You should hope so, you'll be looking at the back of her head for a while." 

James rolls his eyes. 

"I'll manage, pretty or not." 

His confidence draws Sirius' curiosity. "How're you so sure?" Sirius asks, chin-lifted, light eyes narrowed in bemusement. His expression dances with the surety of somebody well-raised. He could wear a potato sack and his regal air would endeavour, deep-seeded and neat like the trim stitching of his expensive clothes. 

"Look at my face right now. Do I seem affected?" 

Sirius laughs much too loudly at the implication. "Don't act like I'm not handsome, Prongs." 

"Years of practice." James schools his features into an unaffected mask. "Uggos have no effect on me." 

"How else would you look in the mirror?" Sirius drawls. 

When Remus wakes afterward, he finds they haven't quite killed each other, though James has threatened it twice. With one hand, Black.

"Far are we?" he asks. 

Sleep has made little difference to him. He’s the kind of fatigued that can't be improved with an afternoon nap, and the kind of unwell that can't be fixed. Medicated, diminished, but never fully healed. He rolls his neck and makes three separate, unfortunate sounds, stretching his tight hands out flat over his thighs. 

"Landing any minute now is my guess," Sirius answers. "How are you feeling?" 

He waves his hand around, tired eyes locking onto James' lasting frown. "Sorry for leaving you alone with him." 

Sirius gasps his indignation. The three of them all smile in tandem, James in a rush to add to the joke. 

"You should be, fucker, I don't care how sick you are. You're sick in the mind if you think it's acceptable to-" 

"You're sick for acting like I'm some misbehaved child you've been pandering to. You're bullies, and as soon as we're in the airport I'm ditching you both in favour of a Great British Burger King." 

"One," James says, still smiling widely, "I have your per diem, so unless you brought your wallet, you're sunk." Sirius frowns. "Two, I'd love it if you would repeat that little moniker you gave me a minute before he woke up. Seriously. Shed some light on the real bully." 

Sirius pulls his sunglasses from his jacket pocket and places them over the bridge of his nose delicately. "Unnecessary." 

"I wouldn't mind Burger King," Remus says. 

"We have to be quick," James says. 

Sirius is so incensed he actually spits a bit as he scathes, "You fuckers. I want food and it's lorded over my head, but Moons wants something and your only limitation is how fast he can eat it?" 

He's not truly as angry as he appears. He's joking, and he's fallen into a familiarity that can only come with years of ragging on one another relentlessly. Still  Remus pats his tight shoulder and smiles.

"I'm a slow chewer." 

"He's a slow chewer, Sirius. Have some compassion." 

“How fast could he chew missing a few teeth, I wonder?” Sirius asks.

James gasps, delighted at his friend's casual threat. Remus does a better job at hiding his amusement, tamping back a smile as he reaches over the armrest between their seats and slapping a hand into Sirius’ seatbelt. The mechanism unlatches, the ‘Fasten Your Seatbelts’ sign flashes, and a shaming beeping sound rings overhead. 

Sirius squeaks. 

—

What do you wear to meet a British ambassador? A Genovian ambassador? Any sort of diplomat? You aren't too sure what an ambassador even is, only that every word Lily Evans has said to you sounds shockingly official. 

"Your citizenship has been reinstated whether you choose to move forward or not. We want to stress that you have choices," Lily says. Call me Lily, please. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to." 

"We also want to stress," says Emmeline, the Genovian ambassador, "that your presence in Genovia is greatly desired. For the funeral." 

"The funeral," you say softly. 

"It will be a… very, very big event. We don't have to talk about all of the logistics now. Or ever, if you're not interested." 

Emmeline clears her throat. "The family would appreciate it." 

The family. The royal family. The Queen of Genovia, your grandmother, and her… unfortunate younger sister, who's behaviour (according to the Internet) has been less than ideal. Her sisters son, who might take the throne if you refuse it. Or, so you've come to understand. 

All this lineage and politics has been hard to navigate by yourself, though rest assured, you've been assigned two personal assistants of a sort. One for appearances of the physical, and one for appearances of the mind. 

A stylist and a tutor. 

"And a bodyguard," Lily says, "your safety is the most important thing." 

You grip the end of your dress in your hands and squeeze the skirts tightly. Safety? You'd rather not embarrass yourself by asking. 

"We actually want you to meet them now," Emmeline says. 

"Whenever they show up," Lily adds. She sounds embarrassed but unsurprised, like this has happened before. 

There's a small silence. You pull your bag into your lap and squeeze it, hoping it hides the curve of your stomach. You aren't sure what you're supposed to wear to occasions like this, and so you'd worn the nicest thing you owned, a pretty, simplistic dress ruched under the chest, and a cardigan overtop. 

You catch yourself frowning and quirk your lips up into a practised smile. Gentle, amicable, the kind you'd offer a passing stranger. 

"Well," Lily says, filling the awkwardness, "I'm sure they'll come around soon. Maybe we should talk about inheritance." 

"Legally, you're entitled to an inheritance. You could think of it like a pension, an allowance you'd be given from the age of eighteen. You've already passed that, and so you'll be given the years upto, and then the rest in annual increments," Emmeline says. "There's a team of people who can and will explain it better at a later date, or whenever you want to discuss it, once you've agreed to a paternity test." 

"A paternity test?" you ask. 

You feel rather useless. All you've done is ask for explanations since you sat down, your head a spinning mill. Information goes around and around with no time to sink in. 

Emmeline opens her mouth to continue and is interrupted by three sharp knocks. 

"Come in," Lily calls. She turns her gaze to you, orange hair moving over her shoulder in a silken sheet, and raises her eyebrows. 

You don't know what it means. 

First to enter the room is a modestly dressed man with straight, sandy hair. It's long enough to peek out from under his ears, where it curls. He steps into the light, illuminating a shock of shiny scars clawed over the bridge of his nose and teasing up into one thick eyebrow. 

"Sorry," he says, not quietly but certainly not loudly. "We had trouble finding the room." 

Behind him immediately stands a man with dark hair to his shoulders, white but tanned. He wears slacks, in which a shirt has been tucked on one side and not the other, a purposeful dishevelment. 

"And the building," adds the second. 

Last to enter is the biggest of the three. You'd hazard a guess that he's six foot or taller, not the tallest of his companions but the most imposing, with a monotone outfit of pristine blacks that he fills too well, his shirt clinging to the muscle underneath it. His skin is a warm brown that soaks up the big light overhead and shines golden, his hair black and thick, laying in mussed ringlets stroked back from his face. 

He is the most handsome person you've ever seen in real life. It startles you. Worse, when he meets your eyes. 

You smile carefully. He smiles back. 

Lily stands to gesture toward each man in turn. The first, "Remus Lupin," she says, "your tutor on all things Genovia." The second, "Sirius Black, stylist and your guide on media presence." 

The third. 

"James Potter," Lily says, not looking at him. "Bodyguard. James will be with you for the foreseeable future, even if you decide on– Well. You should get to know one another, at any rate." You must wear your worries on your face, as she continues, "You're in safe hands. James was third in command in the protection of His Highness." 

"Hello," you say. 

Sirius' eyes widen in tandem with his smile. "Hello." 

"It's nice to meet you. We're sorry for your loss," Remus says.

"No," you say, head tilted toward your shoulder as you frown at James sympathetically, "I should be sorry, you actually knew him. I can't imagine how this feels for you." 

"Thank you. But don't be," James says. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Princess."

You look to Emmeline, almost like you're waiting for her to correct him. 

She smiles at you hopefully. "Shall we talk arrangements for your departure?" 

—

James is trying not to look at you too much, though if he is he can write it off as purely protective. You're sitting in your seat like you're worried about touching a seat mate who doesn't exist, arms wrapped around your middle and face pointed to the floor. 

"I'll rent a car," he says. 

You curl into yourself a little more. "What for?" 

"It's much safer." 

"I don't want you to– I mean, you aren't a chauffer." 

"I'm not." He bends at the knees to speak directly to you. "There are seven other people on this bus. One is elderly. Three are younger than sixteen. All seven could potentially harm you." 

You look to the left without turning your head, toward the sound of young laughter. He'd bet money on your thoughts. Even the children?

"The driver could have an aneurysm. He could be paid off. He could be carrying a concealed weapon." James smiles at you placatingly. "Understand? If I drive, the potential danger goes down to one." 

"Me?" 

"No. Me." He tries very hard not to wink and look like a dickhead. "But I'm not going to hurt you. Not really my perogative." 

"Oh, good." 

James recall what Lily had said, rightfully. You and James will be in each other's company for the foreseeable future, and while he has a job to do, there's room for friendliness. Sort of. 

He splits his attention between you and the front of the bus, where a small family carts a pushchair. 

"What do you do?" he asks. 

He knows you attend classes for a degree equivalent at your local college. He knows you're a waitress. He knows you moved to central London when you were very young, and that your estranged mother had been the cause of all this confusion. He asks you because he wants to know how you'll frame it. In your own eyes, what is your life?

"I'm a waitress." 

He nods. "Local?" 

"Mm. At a pub called The Morgan." 

"You have a shift today?" 

"Not today. I took the day off." You stand up and click the STOP call button on the rail James is holding. Your arm brushes against his. "It's this stop." 

James trails behind you, off of the bus and straight into a busy street. 

"How far is it to your house?" he asks, loud to be heard over the hubbub and the roadworks. 

"Not long. Are you okay to walk?"

James finds himself oddly charmed by your question. "I'm just fine." 

You squeeze through the crowded pavements lining the street, folded in, keeping your arms close, and you apologise every time you touch someone, even if it's the other person's fault. James keeps close to your back, moving to your side when he worries you might sprain your neck trying to check that you're following. He had some height on you, which is a good thing for security purposes — he can see uninterrupted over the top of your head when he stands this close. 

The day is cool, the last dregs of an end of summer heat lingering in the air and encouraged by so many bodies in one place. James wonders if you're too warm, dressed as you are in tights, but the thought fades when you trip. 

James grabs the top of your arm, fingers sliding between your arm and your chest. Closer than he wants to be, crueller than he means to be as he keeps you steady. 

To his surprise, you laugh. A really nice sound, sudden but sweet. 

"Sorry, Princess," he says. 

"You saved me," you say, a hint of breathlessness in your tone. "Thank you. My flat's in the next building over." 

"Brilliant." His bag is fucking heavy, a weight between his shoulders that aches when he lifts his hand to shield his eyes from the sun as it sets. You've got a long, long night ahead of doing nothing. "What's your address?" 

You tell it to him. "Why?" 

"For the rest of your security detail." 

He slows as you come to the main door of your building. It's quieter here, the loudest sounds a symphony of barking dogs, car engines revving, and the jangle of your keys as you unlock the door and bump it with your hip. 

"More people?" you ask. "Is that really necessary?" 

"You always do that?" 

"It gets stuck," you explain. 

He hums. "It's necessary. The media's been paid handsomely to keep our operation to themselves for now, but there's always pressure to be the first to break a story." 

"And I'm the story?" you ask, nodding toward the stairs in the centre of the room. 

He steps over a bundle of scattered letters. The building is mostly clean, but mail bulges from cubbies, and an old mattress has been left propped against a wall. 

"You're the story," he says, head up to analyse the atrium. There's a skylight spotted with green moss above. 

You take the stairs up to the first floor, where your flat is the first he comes across. That increases your risk of a break in, rapists or robbers. He asks you to wait at the door while he clears each room, knowing it's an unecessary precaution but taking it anyway. It's not worth saving the half a minute it costs on the off-chance you've been infiltrated. 

He snorts at his own train of thought and returns to you, where you're sliding a special locking mechanism between the door latch and the frame. You shake the lock. 

"Did you get that recently?" 

You look up at him and smile. "Since I moved in. I'm first on the floor. Don't want to get murdered in my sleep." 

"Good girl," he says absentmindedly, crossing the room to secure your window. 

He moves into your room again and secures the larger window over your bed. Then, because he's awful and curious, he catalogues your things. 

"You're an artist," he says, head listed toward the doorway. 

You stop by the dresser, hastily stuffing clothes left aside back into the top drawer. "Not– not really." 

The room is a crammed collection of things. It's clear you've attempted to keep it clean. You were doomed to fail, an outpouring of your heart stuffed into a matchbox; books, sketchbooks, notebooks are stacked against the leftmost wall between your bed and your dresser, while paints and pencils take up two thirds of your desk. A small sketchbook rests closed in the mess of your unmade bed, dark bed sheets disrupted by a pair of white pyjamas discarded at the end. Soot or something similar stains the fabric. 

He averts his gaze from your dirty hamper and faces you. 

"At 8PM, one of my team will swap duty with me. His name is Frank, and I've worked with him before, but if you aren't comfortable with anything he does while I'm not working, you can tell me. If I do something that makes you uncomfortable, you can tell Lily. You can tell me, of course," he amends. "I can take the couch." 

"You sleep at eight?" 

"I sleep at nine." 

"You don't mind sleeping on the couch?"

"Not at all." 

You walk to your dresser and pull open the bottom drawer. Inside is a layer of linens, and you pull them out neatly. 

"You don't have to, uh, put on a show for me," you say with a wince. 

"Sorry?" 

"I'm not a princess. I'm not the princess." 

"You don't think so?" 

You look sweet, kneeling on the floor, hair in pretty disarray from the walk home. You move it out of your face and offer a folded square to him with both hands. 

"It's a misunderstanding. But…" You take a pillowcase into your hand and stand up, closing the drawer with your ankle. "Even if I were, I don't think you need to be so formal, you know?" 

You move past him, a wave of nice smells.

"It's my job." 

Again, you surprise him by laughing, climbing on top of your unmade sheets to grab one of your pillows. "Right," you say, stripping it of its pillowcase and shaking it into a new one. The tip of your tongue makes a brief appearance as you plump up the corners. 

You climb off of the bed. "Here," you say, taking the sheet he's holding to press the pillow into his hands. 

"Oh," he says, looking down at the pillowcase. It's covered in small pink flowers. "I don't need this." 

"My settee isn't comfortable." 

"Half of my job is being able to sleep anywhere." 

You smile at him. His words don't discourage you, and he stands in the doorway between your bedroom and your living room as you lay down an old quilt over the settee and tuck a sheet around it and under the sofa cushions. 

"I know it's strange, but you could take my bed, if you wanted to. You're so tall, I don't think-"

James cuts you off, not unkindly. "Thank you, but I couldn't." He lets the side of his chest rest against the doorway, arms crossed. Your back is straight, tense with anxiety. "I have something for you." 

You blink at him. "For me?" 

He grins, his first proper smile all day, and pulls his bag onto the freshly made settee to unzip the front compartment. He pulls out a small jewellery box, pulling the lid off to hold between his arm and chest. 

The tennis bracelet inside is thin but strong, made up of gold-silver links with sapphire-coloured gemstone. He assumes them to be real sapphire or something similar, like blue-hued ruby. 

"This is a panic button." 

You seem more anxious than when he'd pulled out the box. 

"Don't worry about losing it. I'm sure the Genovian coffers will recover." 

"It's not that. Do you think it will fit?" you ask. 

He hadn't thought about it. Luckily, Mary had. 

"There are spare links hidden under the velvet." 

James puts the box on your coffee table and clicks the links into place, handling the bracelet with less care than he ought to. Firmly snapped into place, he offers the lengthened bracelet to you unlatched. 

"Here," he says, pointing toward one link in particular. "If you squeeze this tightly, the heat sensor will alert me."

"It won't feel the heat of my wrist?" 

"It will. It's sophisticated, it'll disregard anything that isn't a sudden spike. That's your panic button. You squeeze that–" He pinches it in demonstration. The small radio clipped discreetly to his shoulder starts to beep, a circling alarm. He removes his fingers from the bracelet and it stops. "Okay?" 

"I haven't even passed the paternity test yet." 

"My being here indicates that you're of special interest. We don't know if you're the Princess for certain, and neither do the newspapers. You're still in danger either way." 

You press your lips together and hold out your wrist. 

James steps close to you, enough to see details and lines he's missed. The longer he stays in your company, the more endeared he is to your shy smile, and your kindness, and he thinks you're the type of person who's outsides reflect the insides. You smile. 

Either side of your wrist glows with heat as he drapes the bracelet over your skin and clicks it closed, wary of pinching you. 

The room is quiet. The clock over your small kitchen table ticks. 

"There," James murmurs, taking back his hands. 

"Thank you." 

He disregards it completely. "No worries." 

His informality gets you, and you smile, your own first and proper smile since you'd been introduced. 

By the time Frank arrives for turnover, James is confident that his assignment to your protection won't be nearly as awful as he'd thought. You'd insisted on making him something to eat, which he'd been sincerely grateful for, as a man can't run on Burger King alone, and then you'd practically showered him in an awkward but entirely genuine hospitality, offering your bathroom and all its contents, every blanket you owned, the TV remote, and a tin of biscuits. 

He introduces you to Frank, and for an hour you make yourself busy in the kitchen, cleaning dishes you'd refused his help with and wiping down the counters. 

He senses your unease at being outnumbered in your own home. Unfortunately, there isn't much he can do to make you feel better, besides appoint Frank to door duty and try to offer some words of comfort. 

James tries not to look as imposing as he feels, clearing his throat to draw your attention as you leave the kitchenette.

"Listen," he says softly, a mirror of you now that you're both changed into lounge clothes and damp-haired from the shower, "I want to reassure you— I'm here to protect you from any and every threat. I know this is unconventional, but I promise to do my best to make this easy for you." 

You look down at your trainer socks. "Sorry." 

"Can you do me a favour?" 

"Yeah, of course," you say, raising your chin. 

"No more apologies. This is hard, and I know that, you don't have to say sorry for anything. I'll promise you whatever you need me to if that will make you feel more comfortable."

Princess or no princess, you're confused, and you're unhappy in your own home. James wouldn't want that for anybody. 

"Do you think someone's going to kill me?" you ask. 

James softens. "No. Nobody is going to kill you." His smile melds slowly to mischief, dark lashes kissing in the corners of his eyes as he squints. "I'm a brilliant bodyguard, okay? Don't doubt my skills. And Frank's alright." 

You laugh under your breath, relieved. "I'm not doubting your skills." 

"Good. I'm not just a pretty face, Princess." 

You sober at the title. The flicker of camaraderie between you fizzles, and you shake it off. 

"Can I get you anything?" you ask. 

He hopes that in a month, or a year, when you're living the high life in Genovia with a hundred serfs and lavish goods beyond your wildest dreams, you'll keep your earnest smile, and your good heart. He's seen exactly what court politics can do to timid young women like you.

"No," he says, matching your volume, "nothing."

"Okay. You can wake me if you need anything." 

He absolutely won't. "Thank you... Goodnight." 

"Goodnight."

You disappear behind your bedroom door. James lays down over the small sofa, alarm set for a dry-eyed 4:30AM, and listens to your flat as it cools. You close the blinds, sharpen a pencil, and for a period of time, he's lulled by the mild shushing of a pencil over paper. 

He falls asleep. He must. A silence settles, thick and uninterrupted as poured molasses. 

A splintering crash pulls him back to consciousness, and every nerve-ending sings as a weight falls to the floor. A thump sounds from behind your closed door. James practically leaps over the settee's arm to your door, Frank hot on his heels. 

He throws open the door, braced for impact.

You aren't anywhere to be seen. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thanks for reading!! i hope you enjoyed this first part, and if you did and you have the time please consider reblogging, it makes a difference! plus i'd love to know what u think or what you'd love to see in future<3

the fics title is adapted from a line in piedra del sol by octavio paz

[padfootagain]

Only an Almost (XIV)

Chapter 14: Heartbreak

Hi! Here comes a new chapter!

Alright, buckle up! We’re up for a wild ride! We are reaching the heights of the angsty mess, from this chapter all the way to chapter 17. Is our girl going to be an asshole? Yes, I’m afraid she’s about to fuck up big time...

Apologies for all the damage that is about to be made in this chapter.

It’s also the first chapter I wrote for this fic! It all started with this mess…

I hope you’ll like this chapter! Please, tell me what you think!

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

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader, friends with benefits AU

Warning: No explicit smut or nsfw content, but there are sexual themes and heavy make-out sessions (it’s a friends with benefits AU, I can’t really escape it), so 18+ only!

Summary: Andrew has been in love with you for years, and yet he has never confessed his feelings. But a night out celebrating the engagement of his best friend changes everything. However, you don't seem ready to be with him just yet. You make him an offer that he can't refuse... but will certainly regret.

Word Count : 3450

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s Masterlist – Main Masterlist

It was 11pm, which was early for a night owl such as Andrew, but late for his friends. Neither Sam nor Daphne were nocturnal creatures, and so Andrew answered his phone in a hurry when Sam’s name appeared on the screen. Something had to be wrong. He suddenly wondered where he had put his car keys, in case he needed to leave in a hurry.

“Hello? Andy? It’s me. It’s Sam.”

“Yeah, I know, are you alright?” he asked with worry making his voice deeper than usual, pausing the tv-show he was watching, lounging on his comfortable sofa.

“Yeah, yeah…”

“It’s 11pm, is there something wrong? Is Daphne okay?”

“What? Oh, no! Don’t worry, we’re both fine!”

Andrew heaved a relieved sigh.

“God, don’t scare the shit out of me like that ever again…”

“Did I wake you? I thought you never went to sleep before dawn.”

“Vampires tend to do that indeed.”

“Whose blood did you drink this week?”

Andrew wanted to answer, but he heard Daphne pestering Sam about not having much time, and he merely frowned instead.

“Right… sorry, darling…” Sam mumbled through the phone. “Are you alone, Andy?”

“Erm… yes…?”

“Okay, erm… it’s… it’s about Y/N.”

Andrew sat straighter this time.

“Y/N? Is she okay? Did something happen?”

“No, no… I mean… she’s fine, but…”

“For fuck’s sake, Sam! Spit it out! What’s going on?”

“Look I… I know that you said that I couldn’t tell Daphne about you and Y/N… but Y/N told her, so we’ve talked about you two together…”

Andrew rolled his eyes, lying back down, resting his head on the armrest of the couch.

“It’s alright, Sam… I knew you’d break it to her sooner or later anyway.”

“No, Andy… look… have you talked to Y/N lately?”

Andrew frowned.

“Erm… I don’t know… about… three days ago. Why?”

“I think you should talk to her.”

“Why? Sam, what is it?”

There was a short silence, while the couple exchanged a glance, no doubt.

“Daphne thinks she might take a terrible decision,” Sam answered.

“What kind of decision? What are you talking about?”

Andrew was growing annoyed at this game of riddles. If something was wrong, he ought to know what it was…

But even if he insisted some more, Sam refused to speak.

“Just… call her, and tell her you love her. Tell her to choose you.”

“’Choose’ me? What do you mean?”

“Just… do it tomorrow, will you?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll call her tomorrow.”

“Good… good…”

When he hung up, Andrew stared at the ceiling for a while.

Choose me?

Andrew didn’t need to call you the next day. You were the one to call, and ask him if he was free tonight. You didn’t offer an activity, like you usually would: a movie on Netflix, the cinema, a walk, going to the beach, eating together… There was little ambiguity to the reason behind your demand, and Andrew wasn’t sure whether he was flattered or vexed by it.

He warned you that he wanted to talk to you about something tonight though, and you agreed. You had something to ‘discuss’ with him too. His heart dropped as you spoke those words through the phone. It ought to be some kind of bad news. Or maybe not. Maybe he was reading too much into this, and you meant… to talk about the upcoming wedding, or your job, or… something else entirely. He wondered if you knew that he meant to tell you that he felt more for you than what he had let on.

He parked his car in front of your house, but didn’t climb out just yet. First, he ran through his speech one last time.

I know that you are not looking for a relationship at the moment. But I want more than just sex when it comes to you. To us. Our arrangement can’t go on like this. Again, I understand that you are not in a position now where you want to be in a relationship. And that’s okay. If you tell me that you could give us a chance, I will wait for you. I’ll wait until you’re ready, until your job is more stable and you’ve figured things out in your life. I’ll wait until you want a relationship with me. I have feelings for you, feelings that go beyond a casual fling. And that’s the reason why I’m asking you now to give me a chance. To give us a proper chance…

No l-word yet, you might freak out if he used it. But this speech seemed good enough. Short, to the point. He had written six versions of it this morning.

He took a deep breath, before finally climbing out of his car and walking up to your house.

You were quick to unlock your door and welcome him in. You looked lovely tonight. But then, you were always beautiful…

You went through some meaningless chit-chat while Andrew took off his coat and shoes and followed you down the hall to your kitchen.

You offered him tea without asking if he wanted one. It was late afternoon, but not quite dinner time yet. He could have used some alcohol, but it would have been impolite to ask for some, so he thanked you when you handed him his favourite mug with two teabags plunged in warm water. He leaned against your kitchen counter, his back to your tiny window and your sink while you were facing him, a couple of steps away.

“You… you wanted us to talk about something,” Andrew reminded you, taking a sip of the warm beverage. “And I wanted to talk to you too, so… who should start?”

You were growing nervous, the signs were obvious. In your modern kitchen, there was a window above the sink that let in some golden light. The photons embraced your form, in a way that made Andrew’s heart skip a few beats.

You pushed back some hair behind your ear, pulled on the sleeves of your jumper. Andrew frowned at the sight.

“You’re alright? I can start…”

“No, I… I reckon I should start.”

“Okay.”

He was nervous beyond reason and measure. Andrew dried his clammy palms on his jeans, tried to breathe deeply through his nose, but his heart kept on pounding and his stomach was turning into knots…

You stared at each other for a moment, him expectant and you hesitant. He raised an eyebrow as a silent encouragement for you to speak, but you merely bit on your lower lip.

But then you heaved a sigh, crossed the distance between your bodies in a hurry. Andrew barely had time to blink, and you had grabbed him by the collar, pulling him down to you while you rose to your tiptoes so you could slam your lips to his. But kissing you was a habit by now, and a delicious one too. Andrew’s body was reacting on instinct as he kissed you back, messy and passionate and breathtaking. Your teeth bumped into his in your passion, but he didn’t mind. It was easy to deepen the kiss instead, cradle your face in his hands while you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, closer, always closer.

You were making his brain short-circuit, despite the important talk he wanted to have with you. You were everywhere, blurring his senses, making all traces of reason disappear…

Only when he felt your fingers travel down his chest and towards his belt did he stop you, pulling away.

“Wait, wait… stop…”

You immediately took a step back, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“You’re okay?”

“Yeah… yeah… I… look, we… We wanted to talk, like… I think we should, erm, talk before we…”

“Or we can have sex, and talk after that.”

“Is that wise?”

“Do we really need to be wise?”

It was tempting. Too tempting to resist. God, he couldn’t think about anything else but your lips, how inviting they looked, how he wanted to kiss your neck too, he could feel his fingers tickle at the thought of touching all these places of your body, entire landscapes of bare skin…

He blinked a couple of times, struggled to swallow, trying to calm down. But blood was pulsing in his ears, and when he tried to remember his carefully-crafted speech, he couldn’t remember a word…

Fuck all of this…

“Alright,” he nodded. “But we talk tonight… cause it’s important…”

“Deal. Deal. Can I kiss you now?”

“Yes… God, yes, please… please, kiss me…”

You were back in his arms in a second, hands in his hair at first, while his travelled along your frame, from chest to hips and arse, feeling your shape through your clothes. You detached your lips from his to take his hand and guide him to your bedroom.

“We should get dressed to talk,” Andrew proposed, his breathing finally settling back into a regular rhythm.

He threw his condom away in the tiny bean next to the door of your bathroom. He grabbed his underwear as he walked back to your bed and handed you your large jumper.

“You’re too beautiful not to be distracting,” he chuckled, only half-joking, while you put on the piece of garment he was giving you.

He noticed how you looked away, how you seemed uncomfortable, all of a sudden. Instead of joining you in bed once more, Andrew sat down on the edge of the mattress, right next to you.

“So… who should begin?” he asked, voice soft and a little timid. “I… like… actually, I think I should…”

“Andy, I… I think you should get dressed.”

He frowned at that remark, or rather… he frowned at the tone you used. Cold and distant, whispered, and your eyes were still fleeing his.

“Why? Am I distracting too?” he asked with a charming smile, forcing a chuckle out. But you didn’t laugh, merely brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.

Andrew’s nervous smile soon crumbled.

“Right,” he let out in a breath, blushing hard now, heart racing.

He grabbed his undershirt, slowly put it on while trying to swallow back the lump in his throat.

“Look, I… We should talk about… this arrangement of ours…” he started, but you interrupted him, blurting out words he wasn’t expecting so fast he second-guessed if he had heard you right.

“We need to stop sleeping together.”

He was half-bent to grab his pants when you spoke. He froze, looking up at you, cursing at his long hair when it fell before his eyes and hid you away. He stood back up in a jolt.

“What?”

“We… we need to stop this arrangement. Things have changed.”

And all of a sudden there was hope again, brighter than a sun and blinding every bit of reason in him… And he fell for it. No matter the odds, he fell for it, flew straight to it like a moth ready to be burned at the pyre of your flames…

“Right… things have changed for me too. So, actually, I do think that we need to change things between us…”

“I have a date next week.”

He froze again. Stared at you, too stunned to say a thing, too stunned to protest or ask any question or even comprehend what you were saying.

“I… I have a date with a coworker, Maggie. Next week. So… we should stop this… We said we would if we wanted to try something with someone else…”

A date? Next week? Maggie?

You… you wanted to date again… just… not him…

“But… we’ve just had sex,” breathed Andrew.

It sounded stupid and he knew it, and yet these were the only words he could summon now. The first that came to mind, the only protest he could find.

There were too many emotions all at once. It felt… like falling… falling forever… like the ground being stolen from under his feet. He had no air left in his lungs, and he had forgotten how to breathe.

“Yeah… it wasn’t planned. But I… I just… Maybe I shouldn’t have done that…”

His lip trembled, but his cheeks were still dry.

You were regretting him now?

“I think I just… wanted one last moment with you. Before we’d stop and I would date someone else.”

“So… you… you have a date?”

“Yes, I have a date with Maggie.”

“What do you mean, you have a date with Maggie? Who the fuck is Maggie?”

Andrew stared at you as he was about to cry, and he couldn’t help it. He blinked tears away, but they lingered at the edges of his eyes, ready to fall at your words.

“She’s nice. She works at HR, she’s a secretary. She asked me out, and… I don’t know, I said yes. So… I think we should stop this arrangement.”

“Oh…”

At long last, the information was being recorded in his brain. Andrew shook himself back to earth, turned around, fleeing you and your beautiful eyes, hurrying to put his trousers back on. He almost fell in the process, already looking for his shirt. He felt so exposed like this, so vulnerable, so flawed…

You were going on a date… with someone else… because you didn’t want to date him… he was the fucking problem. He was all along…

“I just… it was… good.”

He nodded, but didn’t let out a sound.

He couldn’t look at you. He would start crying if he did. He needed to run away as fast as he could…

“And she’s nice, you know? And… just… easy. Not like, easy to sleep with, but…”

“I understand.”

Of course, he did. Same argument all over again. And he couldn’t blame you, how could he?

But what if he dropped everything? What if he stopped touring? Stopped the whole music thing?

He thought about what you looked like right now, perfect and dishevelled and still gently glowing after the efforts of love-making. Absolutely perfect. Yeah… yeah… You deserved better than him, no matter the touring or the staying…

“Andy… are you angry?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t start acknowledging his feelings now. He would start crying if he did.

Where the fuck was his sock?

“I loved the nights we had together,” you went on, apparently unaware of the daggers each of your words planted through his heart, and for the first time in the long years the two of you had known each other, he wanted to stop hearing your voice.

You seemed to need to fill up the silence that Andrew was trying to maintain. Perhaps it was a way to reach out, perhaps it was a way to keep him at bay. He wasn’t certain about that.

“It was nice.”

Where was that fucking sock?!

“Andy?”

He put on his jumper, abandoning the thought of his black sock. He couldn’t lose any more time, he couldn’t breathe properly anymore…

“You’re okay? Can you say something?”

Silence. Only the rubbing of fabric against fabric as Andrew was getting ready to leave. He only had to grab his shoes and jacket in your hallway.

“Andy, wait!”

But he was already outside of your bedroom.

“You can’t be mad at me! We agreed about this, Andy! We agreed that… that… this was nothing but sex! It didn’t mean anything.”

He was blinded by tears when he reached for your doorknob, unlocking the door without seeing the keys he was turning in the lock.

“Andy! Where are you going? Stop! We need to talk about this!”

He shrugged you off when you reached for him.

“Andy!”

But then he was shutting the door behind him, his movement so harsh it shook the doorframe. He hurried to his car while he dried his eyes, refusing to crumble now, in the alley leading to your house.

He drove blindly, unaware of a destination, of a will behind the turns he took and the roads he chose. The words kept ringing in his ears, he couldn’t shut them out, they played on repeat in his busy mind…

This was nothing but sex.

It didn’t mean anything.

Did it not? The way you touched him, the way you kissed him, the way you held him… did it not mean something?!

His hold tightened on the wheel. His jaw clenched until it was painful, until he could hear it.

Nothing. The tenderness in your touch, the fondness in your gaze, the sighs on your lips. The way you held him after it was done, like you needed him to land again gently on the ground, like you held onto a dream before it faded. How you stared into his soul when you connected in the most intimate way possible. How you laughed together until none of you could breathe, how you talked for hours about the most meaningless things and the most intimate parts of your lives. How you let him be yours, how you almost let yourself be his…

Only an almost…

He parked the car before a house he had always called home, and it was only then that he realised where he was. He stared at the familiar door of his parents’ house, the curtains behind the windows, the light that came through them.

So, you had let him love you, and it meant nothing at all?

He turned off the engines, stared at the house for a suspended moment. What would he do now? He couldn’t possibly face you again after this. He was about to lose you for good; because after having a taste of what loving you felt like, he couldn’t go back to being a mere friend. No… no, he wasn’t strong enough for that. For seeing you happy with someone else, knowing that you held him close for a moment only to let him go, because he wasn’t enough.

He picked up his phone, ready to do something stupid, something he would regret the second his thumb would press send. He typed the text under your name.

If I gave up on touring, if I stayed home… would you give me a chance? Would I be enough if I weren’t just a ghost?

He heaved a sigh, resting his head against his seat, head tilted upwards in his exhale. He blinked tears away, staring at the dark ceiling of his car.

Did you really feel nothing now? Did it not hurt at all for you? Not even a little bit? Not at all?

Andrew didn’t press send. He deleted the text, opened the door, climbed out of the car and into the street bathed in an inky darkness and orange streetlights. His feet guided him to the safest place on Earth while he tugged his phone into his pocket. His right foot was hurting in his shoe without a sock on. He didn’t even notice.

It took his mother a moment to open the door, nothing surprising at this hour. She saw him through the glass of the backdoor, and her eyes grew round. Andrew finally noticed he was crying.

The door opened in a hurry, bumping into Raine’s foot in the process.

“Andy? Honey, what’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

His lower lip trembled as he stared at his mother, hands digging further into his pockets, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His throat was too tight to speak.

“Honey, what’s wrong? Tell me. Tell me what’s wrong?”

She narrowed her eyes a little as she guessed, aiming straight for his heart.

“Is it Y/N?”

He opened his mouth to answer but all that he could let out was a sob. His legs were shaking, he could feel all of his strength leaving his body. He barely registered his own moevements as he bent into his mother’s arms, folding around her frame.

“Oh, Andy… here, it’s alright. It’s gonna be okay, darling. It’s okay. I’m here, I’m here…”

She rubbed his back, in this soothing movement that had never failed to appease him ever since he was a child. His voice was a hoarse whisper when he let out the most painful words he had ever pronounced.

“She doesn’t love me, mom. She doesn’t feel anything… What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do without her?”

She let him cry for a moment longer, his father calling from the living room to know who was at the door. Raine merely answered with her son’s name, and gently pushed him upwards so he would stand straighter again.

“Well, for a start, I’m going to make you a cup of tea, with a lot of honey. And then, we’ll figure out the rest.”

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Masterlist

Chapter 3

“Hey buddy,” Spencer sat down in the chair next to Henry who was coloring at the table after dinner.

“Hi Uncle Spencer,” Henry replied, switching his orange marker out for a green one.

“So Josephine seemed pretty cool,” Spencer started.

He wanted to know more about his possible kid before going to Y/N. If it was true and she would let him meet her, he wanted to know all about her.

“Yeah, she sits at the same table group as me in class. One time when we were playing tag at recess, I fell and hurt my knee but she kissed it three times and said that’s what her Mommy does when she has a boo boo and it didn’t hurt anymore,” Henry explained.

“Does she talk about her Mommy a lot?” Spencer asked.

“She loves her Mommy like sooooo much. She says her Mommy says she doesn’t need a Daddy because her Mommy loves her extra,” Henry smiled.

“That’s nice,” Spencer said, getting up from the table.

Spencer was glad to hear that Y/N and Josephine seemed to be having a good life. He was just saddened that it didn’t include him even if she wasn’t his kid. He didn’t blame Y/N for not telling him if it was his. He honestly would have had no idea how he would have handled that news back then.

-

“And that is the difference between a stressor and a trigger. Any questions?” Spencer slid his hands into his pockets as he looked out into the audience.

The students were silent. Most of the girls appeared to be in a daze but still looking at him. Spencer furrowed his brow.

“Okay well then, I will see you next Monday. We will be covering chapter four section three of your textbook regarding victimology so I would suggest skimming it over before class,” Spencer finished.

He grabbed satchel from the desk and quickly exited the lecture hall. He had looked up the class schedules in the administration office and Y/N was also finishing a lecture at this time. Spencer was hoping to catch her before she could run away again.

He quietly slipped into the back of the lecture hall, taking a seat in the last row.

“Okay! That is it for today. Remember, we have a lab next class so closed toe shoes only and long hair tied back please. Have a great day, everyone,” you announced.

Students began to file out of the room, some coming up to your desk with questions so Spencer hung out in his seat a little longer. Once the last student had their question answered, Spencer got up and made his way to your desk as you were packing up your things. When you heard the footsteps, you looked up with a friendly smile that was immediately replaced with a grimace.

You grabbed your bag and keys and bolted. However, Spencer was expecting this and was hot on your tail.

“Y/N, please slow down. I just want to talk,” he pleaded as he chased you across the campus, garnering funny looks from people passing by.

You sighed and halted your movement. Spencer was not expecting this so he almost crashed into you. You took a step back to regain your personal space.

You looked around, noticing some people were staring.

“Let’s go to the coffee shop on campus,” you suggested.

Spencer still remembered how you took your coffee after all these years and insisted on paying even though you told him that wasn’t necessary.

You both sat down in a quiet booth in the corner. You were nervously fiddling with the coffee cup sleeve and avoiding eye contact.

“I-Is Josephine mine?” Spencer asked.

You could feel his eyes burrowing into your skull. You couldn’t lie to him, I mean you could but you wouldn’t get away with it because he was a profiler.

You finally looked up and made eye contact, “Yes, she is,” you stated.

Spencer smiled softly with tears brimming his eyes.

“Did you know before I Ieft?” Spencer sniffled.

“No, I found out after,” you responded.

Silence fell over the both of you.

“Why did you break up with me, Spencer? It all happened so fast that I never got a reason. We could have made long-distance work if you actually cared,” you spoke softly.

“Y/N please do not doubt that I cared about you. I loved you, I think I still do after all these years. I just thought you would be better off without me holding you back and not having a lot of personal time to visit you. It doesn’t mean I ever stopped thinking about you. I just thought you deserved someone better,” Spencer explained.

“Yeah well no one wanted to date the single mom in college. Guys would run for the hills when I told them,” you chucked sardonically.

“I’m sorry” is all Spencer could manage to say.

He thought he was doing Y/N a favor by breaking up with her but instead he made everything worse. He abandoned her to figure out how to take care of their child on her own.

“Can I-um...I would love to get to know her more,” Spencer stuttered.

“Spencer, I don’t know if that’s the best-” you started to say.

“Please,” Spencer begged.

You closed your eyes and exhaled.

“You can come with me to pick her up from the school if you want. You can play with her for an hour with my supervision. Under no circumstances are you to tell her that you are her father,” you demanded.

“Understood,” Spencer nodded.

You finished the last sip of your coffee and slid out of the booth, tossing it in the trash can.

“Let’s go,” you motioned for him to follow you.

Spencer scrambled out of his seat to catch up with you.

You unlocked the car and you both hopped in. Spencer noticed the backseat of your car had random toys and articles of children’s clothing scattered around and he smiled at just the thought that they belonged to his daughter.

When you pulled into the school parking lot, you turned to speak to him for the first time since he entered the car.

“You stay here,” you said as you turned the car off.

Spencer watched as you approached the line of kids and a genuine smile grew on your face. Josephine ran over to you and was immediately scooped up and littered in kisses. Josephine was dressed in overalls with a dinosaur sweater and a mini pair of converse. Y/N whispered something in her ear and she nodded as they made their way back to the car.

“Jo, you remember Spencer, Henry’s friend?” you opened the car door.

“Hi Josephine!” Spencer greeted.

Jo snuggled herself closer into your neck.

“Why are you being shy today, Baby J? Remember you already met him? He told you all those cool dino facts. Maybe he can tell you some more on the way home,” you bounced the child in your arms a few times before gently placing her into the car seat and buckling her in.

“Josephine, I remember you said stegosauruses were your favorite. Stegosaurus actually means ‘roofed lizard’ and their brains were the size of ping pong balls,” Spencer was looking at the child through the rearview mirror.

He heard the sweetest little giggle. The sound was music to his ears.

“Mommy, did you hear that? They have ping pong balls for brains,” Jo laughed.

“Yes, baby, I heard but I think Spencer said they were the size of ping pong balls, not actual ping pong balls,” you smiled as you corrected her.

Spencer turned around to face her now that Jo was feeling more comfortable.

“They also weighed about two tons which is about the same weight as this car,” Spencer smiled.

“Woah,” Jo exclaimed in awe.

“Okay! We’re home! Jo, you can play with Spencer for a little but then we have to do your ABC’s homework,” you explained as you parked the car in your driveway.

You lived in a small grayish blue house. It had a tiny gated backyard but you usually just took Jo to the park anyways. It was enough for the two of you. You moved in last year after accepting the job at Georgetown.

You unbuckled Jo and unlocked the front door with Spencer awkwardly standing behind you until he felt a tug on his sleeve.

“I want to show you my room,” Jo said.

“Sure! I would love to see it,” Spencer replied as he was tugged by Jo up the stairs.

Spencer laughed when he saw Jo’s bedroom. It was decked out in everything dinosaur. Dinosaur wallpaper, bed sheets, toys, and a carpet.

“You really love dinos, don’t you?” Spencer smiled.

Jo nodded, beaming as she seemed to be very proud of her room.

“Jo, I’ve got a snack for you,” Y/N called out from downstairs.

The little kid lit up even more and ran down the stairs, leaving Spencer alone in the room. He saw a small little bookshelf with picture books, mostly about dinosaurs. It was nice to know his daughter shared his love of reading.

“You have a lovely home,” Spencer complimented as he entered the kitchen.

“Thank you, I don’t know if you want some apple slices and peanut butter too. I would offer you something else but I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping this week,” you explained.

“It’s all good. If you ever need help-” Spencer began.

“We’re quite alright,” you snapped.

A silence fell over the room, even Jo picked up on it and stopped the loud chewing of her apple.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, patting the top of Jo’s head to tell her she could continue eating, “We’ve been on our own for so long that I can sometimes get a little defensive when someone suggests I can’t handle it.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that at all. I think you have done a wonderful job raising Josephine. But, I also had a single mom so I know that sometimes there just aren’t enough hours in the day,” he replied.

“Thank you,” is all you said.

Spencer glanced at his watch, “I should get going. My hour is up. If it’s okay with you, I would love to come over again sometime,” Spencer said.

“Leave your number and I’ll text you,” you replied, handing him a scrap piece of paper and a pen.

“Bye Josephine!” Spencer smiled at the kid who had peanut butter smeared all over her face.

“Ew, Jo! Did you get any in your mouth?” you laughed.

“Bye Spencer!” she attempted to wave to him as you were wiping her face and hands with a damp paper towel.

[jungwonenthusiast]

Friend's Don't Lie Ch. 3 & 4

Pairing: Jungwon x reader

Warnings for this chapter: Jay trying to smoke lmfao, swearing

Word count: 2.6k

Based on: Stranger Things

Jungwon

“No fucking way.” Jay shakes his head. “I swear she did it!” Jungwon voices. “You know him right? Sunoo?”

You nod.

“This is insane. How would she know him?” Jay scoffs.

“Have an open mind.” Jake says.

“How can we trust her?” Jay argues.

“Why not?” Jungwon says.

“No, she’s crazy.” Jay climbs up the stairs and opens the door to leave but it slams in his face. “What the fuck.” he opens it again just for it to shut again.

They turn to look at you.

“No.”

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“I’m telling you, she’s a psycho.” Jay sighs.

“No she’s not, she has super powers.” Jake sits next to her and she smiles.

“So where’s Sunoo?” Jay asks and you look away. “See? She doesn’t know.”

Then, you stand up and walk over to the table where the Dungeons and Dragons game lays. They’re eyes widen. You pull the board out and flip it upside down so that the board is just black.

You point at the board. “He's here.”

“What do you mean?” Jungwon asks.

“He’s here.” you point again.

“No he’s not.” Jay groans. “Sunoo’s been kidnapped.”

“No he hasn’t,” Jungwon sends him a stern look. “Something fucked up has happened. I can feel it.”

Jay scoffs. “What are you? Psychic?”

“Shut up,” Jungwon rolls his eyes. “Things have just been… off ever since that night.” “So what does this mean?” Jake comes up to the table. “She just flipped the board upside down.”

“Upside down.” you pick up the wizard character, Sunoos character, and place it on the board.

“Shit,” Jungwon says. “Is that where he is?”

“This is kind of crazy.” Sunghoon chuckles.

“Kind of?” Jay exclaims.

“Listen, they obviously have some kind of connection. She recognized him in the picture and she knows who he plays.”

“So what’s he doing in there?” Jake furrows his brow.

“Hiding.” you say quietly. Jungwon can tell that you’re scared.

“From what?”

You pull the demogorgon out of the box and slam it onto the board.

Jungwon makes eye contact with Jake.

“What. The fuck.” Niki says.

“What- what does that mean?” Jungwon looks at her.

“Monster.” you say quietly.

“Monster?” Jay bleats. “What are we in Alien now?”

“You don’t understand.” you say. “The world is more than you know.”

That silences Jay pretty quickly.

“So you know where he is.” Jungwon confirms and she nods. “Can you take us there tomorrow after school?”

“After school?” you tilt your head.

“Yeah, at three fifteen.” he says.

“Three fifteen.”

“Mhm, here,” he takes his digital watch off and fastens it onto your wrist. “When it says three one five, come meet us out by the power lines.”

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“Okay, don’t forget, three fifteen.” Jungwon tells you the next morning.

You nod but you seem blue. Your eyes are duller than usual.

“You okay?” he asks and you shrug. He sits in front of your fort.

“Jungwon-ah! Time to go!” Mrs. Yang calls out.

“One second!” he yelps. “What’s up?”

You hesitate. “I don’t like being alone.”

“I know, being alone is boring, but I can’t stay here again, I’ll get in trouble.” he sympathizes.

“Will they hurt you?” you ask, worried.

“My parents?” he cocks his head and you nod. “No no, they won’t hurt me, they'll just be upset.”

You nod and look down.

“I’ll be back soon though, just stay put until my parents go to work, okay?” he reaches to grab your hand and you flinch. “Shit, sorry.”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. I’m just not used to it.”

He smiles at you. “See you soon El, don’t forget, three fifteen.” he says as he walks up the stairs.

El

Everything is strange. The carpet feels weird on your feet. You’ve only ever walked on cold tiles.

You venture up to his room.

His room is dark and lived in. There are science fair trophies on his dresser and the walls are covered in band posters.

You touch one of them.

“The Cure. Boys Don’t Cry.” you say softly.

He has a bookshelf full of cassettes tapes and novels with the spines peeling off. There’s a couple baskets of vinyls on the floor and you squat to look at them.

You read them all outloud. “New Order, The Police, The Human League, Black Flag, Duran Duran, Devo, Misfits.”

You don't know what they are. You remind yourself to ask when you see him again.

You climb under his covers and snuggle into his pillow.

You notice that he still has a stuffed animal on his bed and you smile.

Jungwon

He finds you standing tensely by the powerlines. Your arms crossed and your shoulders hiked up.

“El!” he jogs up to you. “You okay?”

You smile a small smile and nod.

“You ready to take us there?” he asks.

“Yes.”

You hop into the Camaro and tell him every time he needs to take a turn until they arrive at their destination.

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“Are you serious?” Jay scoffs.

You had brought them to Sunoo’s house.

“What?” Jungwon says to himself. “He’s not here, El.”

“See? She’s a liar.” Jay groans.

“I’m not a liar.” you say.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” Sunghoon sighs.

“You don’t understand.” you grumble.

“Then help us understand!” Jay says, agitated.

You shake your head in annoyance.

You all slump into your chairs when the blaring of sirens catch your attention.

You all twist to check out what’s going on. It’s a dozen police cars driving at the speed of light.

Jungwon puts the car into drive and follows them.

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CHAPTER 4

Jungwon

He can’t believe his eyes. He feels his knees buckle as Sunoo’s limp body is pulled out of the water.

He doesn’t remember anything that happened that night except the way he screamed at you.

“You liar! You fucking liar! I trusted you!”

Words couldn't explain how he felt. He felt cold but there was a fire building up in him. He’d never been that angry in his life.

El

He doesn’t understand. That body is fake. Sunoo is breathing. You can feel it.

Jungwon

You try to sit next to him on the basement couch but he scoots away.

“Jungwon,” you say but he ignores you. “Won.” that gets his attention. “I am not lying to you.”

“You keep saying that,” he groans. “You expect me to believe you? I saw him with my own two eyes.”

You shake your head. “It’s fake.”

He scoffs.

“I’m not lying.”

“I’ve had enough of this-” he stands up to leave but you grab his hand.

“Jungwon, please listen to me.” you pull him back down to sit.

You reach to the table and grab his walkie talkie. Your eyes shut and the basement light flickers.

Jungwon’s about to get up to leave again when he hears static, and Sunoo’s soft voice.

“Darling you got to let me know,” Sunoo sings, as quiet as ever. “Should I stay or should I go?”

Jungwon’s jaw nearly drops.

“If you say that you are mine, I’ll be here ‘till the end of time-” his singing is cut short.

You look at him, waiting for a response.

“Was that?” he looks at you, dumbfounded.

“Sunoo.” you nod.

“How’d you..?”

“Friends don’t lie.”

He pauses for a moment to process everything that just happened, then his head drops. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” you say and he shakes his head.

“No it’s not. I shouldn’t have yelled at you last night. I’ve been so rude.” he looks up at you for a second just to look away again.

You pick up his chin and his eyes widen.

“It’s okay. People make mistakes.” you say and he smiles.

El

You want to hug him, but you’re not sure how to. He looks so small right now. He looks like he needs a hug.

Jungwon

You hold onto his hand for a quick second and his heart leaps into his throat.

“What’s wrong?” you say and he looks up at you.

“What?”

“Your cheeks.” she points. “They’re red. Are you angry?”

He touches his cheek. “No, no, I’m just…” he giggles. “No, I'm not angry.”

“Your ears too.” you point and he grabs at his ears.

“I-it’s nothing.” he stutters and you shrug.

“I wanted to ask you something.” you say and he nods. “What are those things in the boxes on your bedroom floor?”

He ponders for a moment. “Oh, my vinyls?”

You shrug. “What's a vinyl?”

Has she never listened to music? He wonders.

“They’re like these discs that you put onto a player and they play music.” he explains.

You furrow your brow but nod.

“Maybe we can play them sometime when my parents aren’t around.” he smiles.

“And the papers on the wall, The Cure, Boys Don’t Cry.”

He sighs and grins. “The Cure, they’re the greatest band ever. You have to listen to them, they’ll change your life.” He begins to drum on the air and sing a tune. “I would say I’m sorry if I thought that it would change your mind, but I know that this time I have said too much been too unkind.”

“Pretty.” you say and he looks down, blushing again.

A moment passes before he speaks up again. “I have an idea.”

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“How are we gonna sneak her in?” Jake asks. “She doesn’t have any normal clothes.”

“She can borrow some from Jooyoung noona.” Jungwon says.

“She’ll fucking kill you if she finds out.” Jay says.

“I know, so none of you say a peep.” Jungwon orders.

“It’s kind of funny watching her beat you up to be honest.” Niki chuckles and Jungwon glares at him.

“Remember the time she gave him a swirly.” Sunghoon chimes and the whole group breaks out into laughter.

“Yeah I remember, I almost died.” Jungwon sneers.

“Honestly I wouldn't mind if she gave me a swirly if her tits were pressed up on my back like that.” Jay jokes and Jungwon pounces on him. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding!”

“Don’t fucking talk about her like that man.” Jungwon huffs and rakes a hand through his hair.

“Is it so wrong to say your sister is hot?” Niki holds back a laugh.

“You wanna be next?” Jungwon raises an eyebrow and Niki playfully gallops away.

“You guys are weird.” you say quietly and Sunghoon nods in agreement.

“You’re all getting off track, how are we gonna sneak her into our classes?” Jake finds comfort in your fort.

“Do you think we can say she’s a new student?” Niki suggests.

“No, no one can know about her.” Jungwon says.

“Why not?” Jay asks and lights a cigarette.

“Dude, what’d I tell you about fucking smoking?” Jungwon groans.

“Just light an incense.” Jay says and Jungwon grabs the cig.

“My mom’s not an idiot.”

“Maybe we can just get her in during lunch.” Niki suggests.

“How is she gonna get on campus?” Jake asks.

“She can hop the fence and meet us by the gym, no ones there during lunch.” Sunghoon says.

Jungwon turns to look at you. “Do you think you can jump a fence?”

You stare back at him. “I’ve never tried.”

“We can meet her at the fence and then help her over.” Jay says.

“Wait, how’s she even gonna get to the school, it’s not like she can drive.” Niki says.

“Fuck you’re right.” Jungwon sighs. “Do you think you can bike there?”

You shrug.

“Of course she can’t, she can barely talk properly.” Jay grumbles.

“Stop being a fucking dick head.” Jungwon snaps.

“Okay bitchy Betty.” Jay jokes.

“Maybe I can just give you biking lessons tonight?” Jungwon turns to you. “What do you think?”

“Okay.” you say and he smiles.

El

“Here, hop on,” he holds the bike steady for you. It’s late at night and it's so cold that clouds puff out of your mouths every time you talk.

You hesitate. “What if I fall?”

“You won’t, I’m holding on tight.” he assures you.

You grab the handles and try your best to get on. You wobble and let out a small squeak.

“This is scary.” you say to him and he chuckles.

“It’s scary at first, but you’ll get it soon.” he says.

He gives you a moment to regain your balance. The moon is shining bright in his backyard and it’s illuminating his face.

“Ready to peddle?” he says and you shake your head. “Come on, it’s easier than you think.”

“Fine.” you mumble.

He holds on the back of the seat and one handle as you slowly push forward.

“I’m gonna fall!” you yelp.

“No you’re not, look how good you’re doing.” he says as you pick up speed.

And soon, he’s jogging to keep up to you. You don’t even notice that he took his hands off the bike until he points it out.

“Let’s leave the backyard,” he says and points to the gate. “Go through there.”

You follow suit.

Riding the bike is invigorating. The wind is cold and crisp against your skin. You’ve never felt anything like this before.

Eventually you look back; you see Jungwon jogging after you, his smile as bright as ever. You smile back so big that it almost hurts your face.

You let your leg down to stop yourself. He catches up to you.

“That was awesome.” he says, a little out of breath.

You giggle and his eyes widen.

“What?” you ask.

“I’ve never heard you laugh before.” he says and you look away sheepishly.

You’re all alone on this dark road and the only source of light is the moon. The scene would be eerie if Jungwon wasn't there with you.

“Well, now you know how to ride a bike,” he says. “Do you think you can make it all the way to school?”

“I think so,” you nod and he nods back.

A moment of silence passes before he speaks again.

“So how’s the fort? Is it too small?”

“Only a little, I like it though.” you reply.

“I wish I could build you your own room or something,” he says. “You could sleep on the basement couch but that’d be pretty risky.”

“What about your room?” you ask cluelessly.

“My room?” his eyes widen. His eyes are already so big and when he widens them they basically take up half of his face.

“Why can’t I sleep in your room?” you say blatantly.

“Uhm, I guess you could. That’s kind of risky don’t you think?” he says and you shrug.

You rub your arms from the cold.

“Let’s go inside,” he nods to his house. “It’s freezing.”

Jungwon

You both sneak back into the basement and he waits for you to wash up in the bathroom. He sticks his hand through the door and gives you a fresh set of clothes. Today it’s plaid pajama pants and a sweatshirt.

“Do you ever get bored here?” he asks as you change.

“Not really,” you say.

“What do you do when I’m gone?”

“I go to your room and look around.” you say and he goes beet red.

“What do you look at?” he asks, suddenly embarrassed. It's not like he had anything to hide, but the thought of you being in there makes him feel like he should’ve cleaned up or something.

“Everything,” you pull the sweatshirt over your head and exit the bathroom. “Is that bad? I’ll stop if you want.”

“No, it's fine,” he says. “I wish we could hang out more.”

You nod and scoot into your fort.

“Winter break is soon, I’ll be able to see you more then.”

“Winter break?”

“It’s this three week vacation all kids get during the winter.” he explains and you nod.

“Well, goodnight El.” he says while walking to the stairs.

"Wait," you run up to him and he whips around to look at you. You gently wrap your arms around his neck. "Thank you for tonight. It was very fun."

He stands there for a moment, too shocked to move. But he quickly snaps back to reality and rests his arms around your waist.

"Yeah, uhm, no problem." he says, trying his hardest not to sound shaky.

Your cheek feels smooth against his neck. There's this foreign electricity racing through his veins and it just makes him want to hold you tighter against him.

You pull away (to his disappointment) and smile before walking back to your fort.

He watches you get comfortable before heading up the stairs. He knows he won't be getting any sleep tonight. ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

taglist: @shawkneecaps @enhypenengenebea

[beskarhearts]

Bounty (Din Djarin x Reader)

Connection series Pt. 8

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings: cursing, death (choking), fighting, anxiety, nightmares

Word count: over 8.0K

Summary: Din has a bounty to catch, leaving you and the child alone on the Crest.

Notes: This chapter almost made me cry writing it so I wish you all luck. I also started writing part nine today and ooof... buckle in folks.

Previous Part ____ Next Part

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You couldn’t help the bout of laughter that escaped your lips as Din walked up to you. 

“Are you ever going to stop laughing about this?”

You doubled over in laughter even more, clutching at your stomach which was beginning to literally hurt from your laughter. “I can’t believe you never told me.” You wheezed as the man stood in front of where you leaned against the wall, placing a hand on his hip.

“It’s not even funny.”

"You know, I feel like you should of told me about it. Like that should of been the first thing out of your mouth when we first met. It would have told me everything I needed to know.”

“The fact that I wear suspenders would have told you everything you needed to know?”

You let out a loud cackle at his statement, causing him to shake his head at you. “Absolutely.”

“I wear it because it’s convenient. I don’t know why it’s funny.”

“Do you think your bounties would be considerably less scared of you if they knew you wore suspenders? Because I think they would.”

“Sweet one...” You smiled as he let out a small sigh, but deep down you knew he was smiling under the helmet.

“You should consider wearing less armor and letting the suspenders show more. The ladies would love it.”

Din cocked his helmet at you, stepping closer to you. “Oh, really?”

“Absolutely. Suspenders are just irresistible.” You let out another giggle, smiling widely as you expect an exasperated sigh from the man of beskar.

But instead he brings his hands up, putting them against the wall on either side of your head, boxing you in. You let out a small gasp, not having expected Din to get so close to you. “Really?”

You tried to hide how flustered you were with a small smile. “Would it break your heart if I said that the suspenders didn’t do anything for me?”

“Probably.” You heard Din let out a chuckle and you laughed back.

“Well then I love them. They are super good looking. One would probably describe them as sexy.”

Din just let out a grunt and shook his head at you. “That didn’t sound convincing.”

“I wonder why.” You teased, ducking under one of his arms, escaping his hold on you. Din turns around, leaning against the wall exactly where you were and crossing his arms. 

“I should probably get going.” You let out a groan at his words. You guys had left the planet with the flowers a couple days ago and went straight into hyperspace. Din had explained that he had a bounty to catch. It was an underground job, meaning no one would know it was him and he wasn’t risking Moff Gideon finding out about it. He just had to stop on this planet, catch his bounty, and turn them in for some much needed credits. It wasn’t supposed to be too dangerous but he still insisted on you and the child staying behind in the Crest. He didn’t want to risk anything or anybody seeing the kid, even though the planet you were on was relatively deserted. 

“Din, are you sure we can’t go? I’m pretty good with a blaster, y’know?”

“I know, cyar’ika.”

“Then let me go.” You knew you were whining and probably sounded like a child, but you didn’t want him to go. Ever since you joined, you guys haven’t really separated and you didn’t want to be alone.

“This should be a quick one.” Din didn’t even bother to entertain your statement. You had already bothered Din about going and he was being stubborn. There was no way he was going to let you go but you could still complain about it. “Hopefully it will only be a day or two.”

“Two days?”

“You whine a lot.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over you chest. “I just want to go. I don’t want to be alone here.”

“You won’t be. You have the kid.”

You hated how literally Din took things sometimes. You didn’t know if it did it on purpose or if it was just how he was. “I could help.”

Din sighed, shaking his head. “I think I’ve got it covered. I’ve done this before.”

“Yes, but have you ever done it before with me by your side? No. We could probably catch this poor schmuck in less than a day if I tag along.”

“I forgot about all your experience in bounty hunting.”

You knew he was teasing but you still narrowed your eyes at him. “I would probably be great at it.”

“You aren’t a very subtle person.”

You let out a small gasp. “What does that mean?”

Din stepped towards you, putting both hands on your shoulders. “It means, you tend you gather peoples attention. And that isn’t good when hunting.”

“Maybe you can teach me how to do it then. You said this bounty isn’t too difficult so this would be the perfect opportunity.” 

“You do know nothing you say will make me bring you along?”

You let out a grunt, pulling away from Din. “Fine. But you’ll regret it when you realize just how much you miss me.”

“Of course, cyar’ika.” Din sarcastically responded and you huffed.

“You are going to be chasing after this stupid bounty and thinking about how much you miss me and my pretty hair and my wonderful humor and-”

“I’m starting to think you are in love with yourself.”

You flash him a devious smile. “I mean, I am pretty great.”

Din shakes his head and pulls his body towards you. “You know what I’ll enjoy most about this?”

You frown, already prepared for a sarcastic response. “What, Din?”

“Some silence.” 

You roll your eyes and back away from him, only for him to take a step towards you. “Yeah, right. You love when I talk.”

“You love when I talk.”

Another step backwards for you. And another step forwards for Din. “Hmmm... not really?”

“Sweet one, you already admitted you like the sound of my voice.” You back up one more time and feel yourself bump into the wall behind you, to which Din chuckles. “See? You are clumsy. I can’t bring you.”

You push against Din’s chest with your hands. “You should go before I kick your ass.” You try to hold back the smile but fail to do so.

“Alright.” Din grabs his bag from the floor and strolls towards you. “Keep the door shut and if anything happens, use the radio I gave you. But only for emergencies.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

“If it takes longer than two days, I’ll radio you and let you know I’m fine. If you don’t hear from me and I don’t respond to you, get out of here.”

“Din, I’m not leaving you behind-”

“Please just agree to my terms.” 

You nod your head, knowing you’d never actually leave without Din but not wanting to stress him out. “Fine.”

Din brought a hand up to your cheek, grazing it lightly. “Be safe.”

“We will be fine, Din. Like I said, I’m handy with a blaster.” You give him a lopsided grin, wanting to ease his worries. 

“Okay. Goodbye, cyar’ika.”

“See you soon.” 

Din dropped his hand, opening the hatch to the Crest, and stepping down it. He turned back to look at you, giving you a sharp nod of the head, and you watch him walk off as you close the hatch of the ship.

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The child was sat in your lap, fully awake to your dismay. He spent the first half of the day whining and crying because his dad was gone. He would look up at you with these big, dopey eyes and his little bottom lip puffed out, looking like somebody had done the meanest thing to him. You’d explain to him that Din was just doing a job and he’d be back soon, but you think the kid either didn’t understand you or didn’t care.

Then once the kid finally got over his pity party, he was absolutely wired. All he wanted to do was play and you swore he was trying to drive you crazy. At one point, you had tripped over something the kid had dropped and he absolutely lost it, thinking it was the greatest thing he had ever seen. In hopes of tiring him out, you had purposely started ‘tripping’ on things, each time warranting the same ecstatic response but not proving to tire him out at all. 

So that led to where you were now. In the cockpit of the Crest, with the kid held in your lap, as the two of you looked up at the stars in the sky. You had hoped a calming activity like this would make him sleepy considering how late it was and how he hadn’t taken any naps. But all he was doing was intently staring at the little metal sphere in his hands that he stole from the Crest’s dashboard, completely transfixed by it like it was the most exhilarating thing in the world.

You on the other hand were on the verge of sleep. Your eyes were drooping and you kept yawning. Taking care of the kid was a tiresome task, especially when  you didn’t have Din around to help at all. You were sat in Dins seat, letting yourself fall into it. You missed him, which sounded silly considering he had only been gone for less than twenty-four hours. But you had to fight back the urge to radio him in, just to hear his voice. You had gotten used to his constant company and being in the Crest without him was odd. He was just an overwhelmingly sweet presence for you and without him, it felt a little less safe and a little less warm. 

Your dreary eyes drifted down to the child, who was sat in your lap and looked up at you, showing you the ball in his hands. You nodded slowly, your mind seeming to process things about ten times slower than usual. “Very neat, booger.”

The kid looked away from you, seemingly satisfied with you acknowledging his metal ball and looking back down on it. You let out another loud yawn, your eyes slowly drifting closed. You were just going to relax, not sleep. Just rest your eyes for a minute...

Then there was a loud clatter than woke you up. Your body lunged forwards and you looked to see that the kid was still awake, sat in your lap,  with the ball in his hand, but his ears twitching and his vision direction towards the ladder leading down to the hull of the ship. “Anybody there?” You called out.

You picked him up, pulling him close against your chest as you approached the ladder. You peaked down into the hull, your head hanging a little from your position. You looked around. The latch of the door was closed, nothing seemed out of place.  “Hello?”

No other noise was made, no response meaning Din wasn’t back yet to your dismay. You looked over at the kid, who was intently staring into the hull of the ship, his ears still twitching like he was listening for something. “It’s just us kid. This piece of junk ship just makes noises sometimes.” The kid looked up at you briefly before turning back to the hull. “We should get some sleep.”

The kid still seemed totally fine, no hint of fatigue on any of his features. You let out a small sigh. This was going to be a long night. You carefully stepped down the ladder, making your way towards your cot when you heard another noise. You whipped your head around, identifying that it came from the refresher. You put the kid down on your cot quickly and lifted up a finger to your lips, hoping that the kid would understand and be quiet. He simply looked up at you and you turned around, your right hand resting on the blaster kept on your side. You made your way towards the refresher, hoping it was just Din who saw you asleep and didn’t want to wake you up to let you know he was back. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t Din. And he had told you this planet didn’t have a big population and you were far from any towns where there would be people. Meaning if there was someone in the ship, it was probably either Din or his bounty. 

You stopped walking, considering your options. You had your radio, maybe you could call Din in. But if there was someone there, they’d probably hear you do it and then what would you do? And what if Din was far away and couldn’t get back quickly enough?

Or what if this wasn’t his bounty and something else entirely? Din didn’t have a tracking fob this time, just a location. You knew Din was good at his job and if his bounty was here, he should be here. So if he isn’t, maybe there was someone else in here.

You turned back to look up at the kid, to check if he was still in the spot where you left him, only to find he wasn’t. “Shit.” You whispered under your breath. You looked all around but couldn’t find the kid. Sometimes he liked to hide from you, thinking it was great when you found him, but right now was not the time for hide and seek. “Kid, where are you?”

You turned around completely, back facing the door to the refresher as you ducked to see if he was below your bed. No luck. You let out a sigh. You couldn’t do anything without knowing where the kid was. That was too risky. “Womp rat, where did you go?”

All the air left your lungs as you felt a huge slam into your back, bringing you down onto the floor. You landed face down, your whole body pulsing from the pain. Your body throbbed from the impact and your hands just barely reached out to stop you from slamming your skull into the metal floor of the ship. You quickly pulled yourself up and turned to see a Klatooinian staring back down at you. His face bunched up into a growl and he snarled at you, glaring at you with a fierceness in his eyes. “What the kriff?” You yelled out.

The creature held a blaster right at your face, not bothering to say anything, and let out deep breathes, his chest heaving. You quickly popped back up on your feet, trying to knock the blaster out of his hand. But instead the man fired a shot, hitting the floor of the ship as you jerked out of the way. Your head turned quickly, just to make sure the kid wasn’t anywhere near the blast. You were satisfied when you found no kid, but also worried as to where he could be. You didn’t want him getting caught in the cross fire. And you certainly didn’t want this creature finding him. You needed to get rid of him, before he hurt the kid or you.

Your hand reached for the blaster on your side, just starting to curl around the smooth metal of it, when you heard a small noise emit from behind the Klatooinian. The man and you both turn to look in the same direction, your vision landing on the child who stood in the corner of the room with the ball in his hand. His face was crumpled up into a little frown, clearly not too pleased by the presence of the man before him, but he didn’t do anything except just stand there. “Shit.”

Your fingers just started to pull on your blaster, not even able to pull it out completely, before the man turned back to you, snarling again and rising a leg to kick one of your knees, your leg buckling in on yourself and dropping you against the floor. You let out a yelp from the pain, your right hand still itching towards your blaster, but your other hand landing on the floor beside you, trying to steady yourself. He spat into your face and a thick glob landed on your cheek that you wiped away with a growl. He turned back around towards the kid, stomping closer to him with the blaster aimed at his little body. “You son of a bitch!” you yelled out, trying to distract him, just do anything so he wouldn’t harm the kid and the kid could scurry away. He turned to look back at you, letting out a harsh laugh.

There was no way you were going to let this man hurt the child. Din trusted you to protect him, so you were going to do it. You rise to your feet again, your landing a little sloppy due to your knee, and you go to reach for the blaster when you feel a tingling sensation through your whole body. The fatigue and pain fades away, and for a second you think it’s just a rush of adrenaline from the situation until you realize you’ve felt this feeling before. It’s been a very long time, but it is strong and it is undeniable.

You feel an energy fill every part of your body. It seems to fill your pores, soak into your bones, and lift you up. It penetrated every part of your being and you feel more powerful than you had in a very long time. You haven’t felt the Force flow within you for many years, but the feeling is just as intoxicating as it was before and it seems to clear all your senses. Your right hand eases away from the blaster on your side and instead you bring it up, your body seeming to work on its own without a second thought. You watch as the Klatooinian stumbles back slightly before you curl your fingers a little. One of his dirty hands reaches for his throat, trying to tear something away from it, as the blaster in his order hand drops to the ground. You squeeze your hands together a little tighter to which the creature let’s out a ragged gasp, his other hand reaching up as well as shock paints his face. You don’t even fully realize what is happening, just letting your powers take hold of you. The man begins to lift a little from where he stood in the hull, his feet dangling slightly in the air as he continues to gasp and take in shallow breaths that are beginning to fade. 

Your hands tighten up even more and you watch as his face begins to turn into a shade of blue, his eyes bulging from the pressure as you continue. It seems like only mere seconds until he let’s out one more choked breath before falling limp. And like you had been on the verge of choking as well, you let out a loud gasp as you drop your hand, and the creatures body falls to the floor right in front of the child and you. You feel like time finally resumes to normal after it was going at warp speed. You had felt like time was just flashing in your face and you weren’t even able to realize what was happening until it was too late. You look at the body on the ground before you and you let out a choked sob, crumbling to the floor. The fatigue from earlier settles back into your body, but now tenfold from the energy you just exhausted. You let out a whimper as the child begins to waddle towards you, walking around the body. 

What had you done? You hadn’t used the Force in years because the last time you had, it had resulted in a dead body as well. You swore to never use it again, in fear you’d use what was supposed to be this precious gift to harm somebody. You hadn’t felt that feeling in so long and the first time you had after all these years, you had used it to kill. You can’t stop the tears falling down your face or the way you let in small, panicked breathes. The child finally makes his way over to you and goes to hand you his small metal sphere, something to comfort you. You let out a small noise as you look down at him. He looked up at you with complete trust in his eyes and you wonder if he understood what you did, if he had felt the Force like you had. If he understand the harm you had caused with it.

A pop of static pops through and it takes you a second to register that it is the radio Din had given you earlier. “Cyar’ika, you there?”

You are barely able to turn, but you look back at your cot and the radio you had tossed on it earlier in the day. You reach a shaky hand out, your fingers, the same ones you had squeezed the life out of the man just minutes earlier, wrapping around the device. You turn it on, trying to control your breathing as you let out a small, “Yeah.”

You hear him panting and you can tell he is running. “The bounty is heading towards you guys right now, I think. Lock everything down and get your blaster. I’ll be there in a minute.”

You feel a tear roll down your cheek. “Din, he already came here.” You drop the radio, ignoring as Din continues calling through, repeating your name. The kid tries to climb in your lap and you limpy lay a hand on his little body, your gaze never moving away from the body.

_____________________

“Cyar’ika, what happened?”

You looked up to see Din standing in the hull of the Crest, standing in front of the body and looking back and forth between it and yourself. His chest was heaving and small pants made their way through his modulator. He had ran the whole way here, worried sick after you had spoken with him. Your hands were still shaking so badly and your whole body felt fatigued. If you weren’t so wired from the anxiety, you would probably have passed out by now. You slowly brought a trembling hand up to wipe away at your tears, a fruitless effort because more just ran down your cheeks. The child shuffled off your lap, starting to waddle towards Din with his arms reached out for a hug. You sniffled, looking at Din and the child and the ship. Anywhere but at the creature laid out on the ground before you.

“H-he came here.”

Din let out a loud sigh. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

You got annoyed at yourself for the frustration you felt at what he said. Din didn’t know about your powers. Hell, you didn’t even know you still had this in you. He also didn’t know the bounty would get to you before he caught him. It wasn’t his fault. But you had pleaded with him to take you and if he had, you wouldn’t be in this mess. The worst thing that would of happened was the Crest would of been robbed. There wouldn’t be a body in front of you. One you had killed in such a grotesque way. You wouldn’t feel this self hatred seeping into you.

But instead of yelling at Din, you just pulled your legs up against you, wanting to block yourself from this moment. You choked back some sobs rather pathetically, small whimpers still drifting from your lips along with sniffling. “I d-did it. He had the blaster aimed at the k-kid.”

“It’s okay. You did what you had to do.”

Yeah, you did what you had to do. But you didn’t have to do it like that. You remembered the first time you had used the Force to kill someone. You watched the life drain from that Imperial officers face as he tried to block you from your parents. The pit in your stomach was so heavy, it felt like it was weighing you down. Your grandmother had taught you how people used the Force to harm and kill, and how the power that came with it drove people to the dark side, to madness. You remembered her telling you how she had never used the Force to kill and making you vow the same. And you had broken that vow, multiple times now.

This wasn’t supposed to be you. The Force, and the power it gave you, was supposed to be pure and good. Used to heal and connect. Used to help you and aid you, not coldly strike down your enemies like they were nothing. Because if you did that, how were you any different from them? And how far would you go? What if one day you couldn’t control it and accidentally hurt Din or the child?

That thought forced a sob out of you and you let yourself fall apart. You buried your face in your legs, not wanting Din to see you like this.

“Kriff, what happened?” You heard Din step towards you and bend down at the knees, resting a hand on your back. “Sweet one, talk to me.”

You looked up at him, seeing your reflection in his helmet and wincing. You looked away from him.

“I choked him.” You left out how, just letting him assume you had done so with your hands. You watched his helmet turn to the body before it drifted to the blaster still attached to your hip. You knew what he was thinking. Why wouldn’t you had just used the blaster? “I had to.”

That was a lie. But Din didn’t need to know that. Din couldn’t know that. “Okay... that’s fine.” Din brought his hand up to the helmet to rub at it, like one would do with their temple when having a bad headache. “This is okay. You should go shower and calm down. I’ll take care of... this.”

You felt even guiltier. Now Din had to deal with your mess and you didn’t even know if he was supposed to bring the man in alive or not. What if you had messed up his bounty? “I’m sorry.”

Din shook his head. “Don’t apologize. You protected the kid. I’m proud of you.”

You tried your best not to cry at his answer. Din shouldn’t be proud of you. What you had done was not honorable. Not something to take pride in. Instead you wiped at your face, nodding. “Okay.”

Din stood up, holding his hands out for you. You grabbed onto them and he helped you rise up from your place on the floor. You fell into Din, feeling extremely weak and like your legs were numb, your knee still throbbing from earlier. You let out a reassurance that you were okay to Din, feeling his concern washing over you, and forced yourself to let go of him. You trudged away to the refresher without another word, wanting to wash away what had happened, even though you knew it would haunt you.

_____________________

When you finally walked back into the hull of the ship, you were shocked by how spotless it was. Din had cleaned up anything that had been tossed about during the attack. The kid was in his hover pram, asleep and letting out little snores. Din was sat on the floor, now in what appeared to be his pajamas, the only piece of metal on his body being his helmet. Most notably, the body was gone, now frozen in carbonite instead of laid out on the floor. You were glad to not see it but it still didn’t settle the uneasiness you felt.

“Hey, sweet one.” You closed your eyes at Din’s words, letting them soak into you. You needed Din right now, as much as you shouldn’t. He was like a life preserver while you are drowning. You weren’t sure if you deserve it, but you were going to cling to it.

“Hey.” You whisper out and Din rises from the floor, walking over to where you stood. He didn’t say anything, just pulling you into his arms as he embraced you. You knew Din wasn’t used to affection like this, perhaps never having gone out of his way to hug someone before you, and you were so grateful he was willing to do it for you. You allowed yourself to be swallowed by his large frame, your arms wrapping around his lower back. You rested your head on his shoulder, your wet hair probably getting his shirt soaked but he didn’t seem to care.

You finally pulled away and Din’s helmet looked down on you. “You look exhausted.”

You were exhausted. Absolutely drained in every way: physically, mentally, spiritually. Using the Force earlier had emptied you of all the strength you had, and the emotional turmoil after that had just piled on top of it. But you also didn’t want to sleep. You didn’t want to lay on your cot on the floor alone, where you could replay what had happened time and time again. Where you could drift into a sleep that would remind you of the horrors of your past or of today. Sleep already didn’t come too easy to an individual like yourself and todays events would make it even harder. “I’m okay.”

“It’s late. You should sleep.” Din gestured over to where he usually slept. “You take my bed tonight.”

“No. I’m fine.” You honestly didn’t plan on sleeping. You would probably trudge your way up to the cockpit and just stare out the window, thinking and dwelling on your mistakes. On the person you had become.

“You need to rest. I will sleep on your bed.”

“Din, I barely fit on that cot. You won’t fit. And you’ve been up all day. You need proper rest.”

Din shook his head. “You had a rough day today. I’ll be fine.”

You let out a sigh. “I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Not after... not after today.”

“What if I make you some tea? You can relax and you’ll eventually drift off.”

While the idea of Din making you tea absolutely melted your heart, you shook your head. “Tea won’t help.”

“What will?”

The only thing that helped was standing right in front of you. “You.”

Din nodded and one of his hands reached out for yours, grabbing it. “Come on.”

“What-”

“Shh. I got you, sweet one.” Din walked around, turning off all the lights on the Crest besides the small one right above his bed. Dins grip was strong, reassuring, and he let you drift with him towards the bed. You wanted to argue but your body was so tired and so was your brain, and Din was so strong right now. “Lay down.”

You nodded hesitantly, crawling into his cot and laying back into it. It wasn’t comfortable per say, but it seemed heavenly compared to the cot you usually slept on. It also smelled like cinnamon and something like bark. It was Din: alluring and inviting and primal. You let out a hum, letting the padding of the mattress envelope your frame. You then felt some shifting and lifted your head slightly to see Din crawling in besides you. “Din, what-”

“Scoot over a little, cyar’ika.” You shuffled, almost pressing against the wall. Din’s cot was very small, making it so you couldn’t help but to feel him press up against you as he settled down next to you. “I’m going to turn out the lights and then take my helmet off, okay?”

You let out a hum, looking forward to hearing Dins voice. The light went out and you couldn’t see anything, not even your hand in front of your own face. It was completely pitch dark, nothing to see. But even when you heard the click and hiss of the helmet being removed, you still closed your eyes, just in case. You felt Din shuffle around some more, clearly trying to give you enough space. But with the tight quarters, you could still feel his legs nudge against yours and his shoulder touch your back a little. Part of you wanted to lean into him but you didn’t want to invade his personal space more than you already were. “Are you okay with this?

You smile as you hear his voice, feeling so incredibly grateful that you were privy to it. That Din trusted you enough to let you in and take his helmet off around you. You were sure it wasn’t an easy feat. You nodded, but realized he probably couldn’t see you, so you let out a small, “Yes.”

You lay there in silence for a little while until you shift to your other side, no longer facing the wall. You come to the realization that you are probably facing Din, not being able to see a thing but knowing his face was so close to yours. You could probably reach out and touch it, feel the angles and curves of it. “Sweet one?”

“Yeah?”

“You know you never have to hide anything from me. Right?”

The question alone makes your heart break, and the inflection in his tone adds to it. It is heavy and curious. You know Din is an exceptionally smart man, more intelligent than most people would realize. And you also knew that he knew you very well, more than anybody else. Of course Din would notice how bizarre your reaction to todays events had been. He knew that wasn’t your first kill and knew that you were always willing to do what you had to do, especially if that meant protecting someone you loved. His curiosity was only natural. But you also knew you couldn’t tell him and that hurt him. He’d wonder why you couldn’t trust him with something but he also didn’t know how substantial the secret you were keeping from his was. You just whisper out, “Of course.” and feel like you wanna crawl in on yourself. Din trusted you with so much but you couldn’t tell him this. And that broke you.

“Okay.” You know he doesn’t believe you, that he knows you are keeping something from him. But he doesn’t push you, which you are thankful for.

“You know you mean everything to me, right?” His voice is so soft, his words melting in your ears, and you feel your heart clench. You knew deep down, in every way, you were in love with Din Djarin. It wasn’t a matter of maybe or one day you could be. You were head over heels for the man and everyday your affection for him grew stronger and stronger. And he meant everything to you. You’d do anything for him - even if it meant making tough decisions.

You didn’t trust yourself to not say anything stupid, so you simply scooted closer to him. Din slowly reached an arm out to you, bringing you in closer to him. You felt your body press against his and felt so secure. Even though he didn’t have the armor on, you felt safer in his arms than anywhere else. Your head rested against his shoulder and you closed your eyes. “Thank you, Din.”

You felt his chest rumble with a little hum and placed your hand on it, over his heart. You felt his chest rise and fall, giving you peace. You then drifted off, falling asleep in the arms of the man you loved for the first time.

And the last.

_____________________

Din was back in the field of flowers, sitting on top of a blanket with the warm sun shining on his face. He took a deep breath in, inhaling the scent of all the flowers. He could hear children’s giggling somewhere from behind him, knowing they were playing. He reached his hand up, realizing his helmet wasn’t on. He wasn’t actually in any armor: just a pair of pants and a plain shirt, no shoes, and his hair wildly tossed about on his head. The thought of not wearing his helmet, or his armor for that matter, usually terrified him but he felt as ease, knowing he was completely safe.

“Din, the child is trying to teach our son to eat butterflies.” He whipped his head around, watching as she approached his spot on the blanket, sitting down next to him. She has a bright smile on her face and wore a white dress that was flowing in the breeze. A few flowers were stuck in her hair which was pulled into a beautifully braided bun. Din’s eyes followed down to her hands to see a ring on her finger. He looked at his hand to find a matching one, made of the same metal: beskar.

“W-what?” Din mumbled out, seeming shocked by the sound of his own voice. He felt at peace but he was also confused. This wasn’t his life. But maybe he could pretend it was for a little bit.

She reached her hand out to brush back some of Din’s hair, her fingers brushing past his cheek as she brought it back down. He swore he almost fainted at the feeling of her touching his face. It was so soft and loving. A feeling he could never get sick of. “Isn’t this nice?”

Din nodded, feeling a smile grace his features as he kept looking at his cyar’ika, not wanting to tear his eyes away. “Yes.”

She let out a small chuckle and Din reached his hands out. He cupped her face but froze when the smile on her face dropped, her features melting into sadness. “Sweet one, what’s wrong?”

Tears surged at her eyes and Din felt something begin to crumble. That’s when he realized she was literally crumbling away before him, her body falling apart. “Too bad you couldn’t save us either.”

“No. No, no. I can. I know I can.”

“It’s too late.”

Din felt a sob crawl up his throat as she disappeared right before him, turning into nothing but a pile. He turned to look behind him, to where he heard the children laughing, but realized he was no longer in the field of flowers, but in Aq Vetina. Everything was being destroyed in front of him. “No. Please. I can protect them.” He didn’t know exactly who he was pleading to but he felt every bone in his body fill with dread. Din had only ever felt this kind of fear once before, when he had lost his parents in this very place.

“Din, you took your helmet off.” He turned around, to see The Armorer from Navarro. She stood, towering above him, her golden armor seeming to be the only color anymore. She shook her head disapprovingly, and Din felt like a child in The Watch again, being degraded for something he had done wrong.

“I need to save her.” He begged, looking to where his riddur was and finding absolutely nothing. He let out a choked sob as he looked back up at the Armorer. He needed her help. More than anything. He didn’t know what to do without his sweet one. And his child.  “And the kid. I can protect them.”

“You broke your creed.”

“I did it for her.” Din knew he’d do anything for her, even if it meant losing himself.

“And now you lost her. Just like your family.”

Din felt tears fall down his cheeks when he heard a loud bang behind him and the ground shake. He turned to see the droid, the one that had tried to kill him when he was young and locked away in that hatch before his parents died. But this time, Din knew there was no Mandalorian coming to save him. And just like everything around him, he was going to be destroyed.

_____________________

Din let out a small gasp as he jerked awake. He heard a small sigh next to him and suddenly realized where he was. He was on the Crest, in his bed with her. She was asleep next to him, her head resting on his shoulder and hand placed on his chest. Din let out a sigh of relief when he realized that she was safe. It had only been a horrible dream. Nothing more.

Her body against him was warm, the blanket strewn lazily across their legs. His bed wasn’t very large which made it so they were in very close proximity. He couldn’t see much in the dark, more accustomed to it than she was but still feeling partially blind. He knew she couldn’t see a thing with the door to his cot closed, making it pitch black. Part of Din wished he could have just the smallest bit of light so he could look on her, but that was too risky when he didn’t have his helmet on. He could feel her anyways, and that was good enough. The feeling of her chest rising and falling with each breath she took was a reminder she was alive and there, with him. And with his arm around her, he knew she was safe, even if it was only for this moment.

But then he remembered earlier. He shouldn’t have left her alone. He should of given in to her nagging and let her come with him. At least he would of been able to keep an eye out for the kid and her. Keep them safer than he had. The first time Din left them and somebody attacked her. The very bounty he was meant to catch had found her and she had to deal with the repercussions of that.

Din felt horribly for the way she felt. The guilt seemed like a blanket weighing down on her and Din had to admit he was slightly shocked by her reaction. He had trusted her to stay alone because he knew how strong she was and that she could take care of what she had to. Din had seen her before, knew she wasn’t afraid to do what it takes to protect herself and the kid. The first day they had met she had killed in order to help the kid and him and it didn’t seem like she was phased at all by it.

But today was different. He could tell that killing that Klantooinian had done something to her. But Din couldn’t tell why. It wasn’t just her being shaken up. And Din didn’t even think she felt guilty per say, like she shouldn’t have killed him. He was a danger to the kid and she was a fierce protector, much like Din. So what had bothered her so much about it?

Din thought maybe it was the way she killed him, having to do it with her hands instead of the blaster. But even the manner of death confused him. Ever since they had been attacked weeks and weeks ago, she had always kept a blaster on her side, attached to her hip like it was just a part of her. She slept with one under her pillow, kept one in the refresher even, just in case. And when Din walked into the Crest, the blaster had still been on her hip. It hadn’t been lost or used against her. She could of used it instead of choking him. It would of been easier and considerably less strenuous.

But even if she was in a situation where she couldn’t use it, Din didn’t know if he believed she had choked him. The creatures neck had no markings. If she had choked him enough to kill him, it would of required a lot of pressure. Enough to bruise him and leave a fresh mark of finger prints against his skin. But there was none of that. His neck was a little red, but not enough to indicate that anything substantial had happened. Choking a man like that also would of required a lot of strength. And while she was strong, he didn’t know how she would of had the ability to overpower him and keep him down long enough to get the job done.

So Din was left contemplating what else may of happened. He considered that maybe the child had used his abilities. He had seen the kid try to choke Cara that one time. But the kid looked like he was going to pass out before he could finish the job. And if the kid did do it, it made no sense that she wouldn’t tell him about it. She knew about the kids powers and knew that Din was aware of them. She would of been shocked by them, but she wouldn’t have lied to Din, not told him about what the kid had done. And when Din had come back, the child was wide awake, bustling with energy. It didn’t seem like he had exerted any energy and every time the kid used his powers, it took a lot out of him. The kid hadn’t looked like he had lifted a finger.

Which meant it was her. But, how did she do it? Din had looked over the body and there was nothing. No blaster marks, no stab wounds. No bleeding or bruising. No marks. Nothing. As far as Din could tell, the guy had just dropped dead. But that was impossible. Something had to have been done. Something she did. But Din couldn’t think of what it was.

But, the thing that was driving him crazy the most was that she wouldn’t tell him. He knew that she trusted him on some level or another. But perhaps he had overestimated how much she had. Maybe a woman like her would never trust a person completely. And Din couldn’t blame her for that. But it also hurt because Din trusted her with ever fiber of his being. So why couldn’t she tell him? What was she keeping from him?

Din shook his head, trying to rid himself of these thoughts. It would do him no good to dwell on it. It would only drive him nuts. Maybe one day he would ask her about it or maybe one day she would trust him enough to tell him. Din could wait for that day. For now, Din was just going to thank the galaxy that she was okay. Din pulled her in a little closer, hearing her let out a little noise but not waking her. He nervously placed a small kiss on her head and closed his eyes. And he whispered one thing, one thing he didn’t know if he’d ever have the strength to tell her while she was awake.

“I love you, cyar’ika.”

_____________________

Din was in the shower and had just turned on the water, which meant if you were going to do this, you had to do it now.

You haphazardly threw all your important belongings in your bag. Din had mentioned his bounty had a small ship of some kind and it wasn’t too far from the Crest, perhaps only a few hundred feet. It would be hard but if you ran fast, you might be able to make it before Din realized what was happening. You had told him to take a nice, long relaxing shower and he had said once he was done, he had to go into hyperspace to turn in his bounty on some planet.

You heard a little squeak behind you and paused. You turned to look over at the child, who was sitting upright in his hover pram and staring straight at you. You swore that the child knew what you were planning, his face turned into a contemplative frown, his eyes looking at you with confusion. He reached a hand towards you and you turned away, knowing you couldn’t look at him more. It only made what you had to do harder.

You had to leave. For so many reasons.

You couldn’t help with the kid in the way you needed to. In the way Din didn’t even know you needed to. You were a Jedi, but a weak one. One who didn’t even want or really know how to use her powers anymore. Only using them for violence. You couldn’t trust yourself with your ability. You would never harm a hair on the child or on Din, but you feared so badly you would lose control like other Jedis had done before. That you would hurt the very things you loved most. And that wasn’t a risk you were willing to take.

You also knew how close Din was to you. How much he trusted you and the risks he was willing to take for you. And you weren’t worthy of that. And Din deserved someone better. Someone who didn’t have so much baggage and someone who didn’t need for him to constantly be there. He should be showing his kindness and compassion to someone who deserved it. And the longer you stayed, the longer you’d be dragging Din further into your mess. He would open up more and more, only to be hurt. Because you knew you couldn’t keep this secret forever. And this secret would hurt him.

You considered yourself a strong woman, even from a young age. Your family taught you to be resilient. Your grandmother taught you to not take shit from anyone, to be a force to be reckoned with. Your mother taught you to be kind but to also protect yourself. Your father taught you to be a hard worker and an honest person. You were usually able to protect yourself from others and make the right decisions. And a moment like this required you to be strong against your own emotions and feelings. You loved Din. You loved the child. You wanted nothing more than to stay with him and be with him. To protect and cherish the little family you had been given. But, you needed to make the right decision. You had to protect Din and the kid from yourself. There was a reason you were alone for so long on Yungbrii. Because everyone you loved got hurt. And nothing had led you to believe that the same thing wouldn’t happen to Din and the kid, whether it was by your hands or someone elses.

You slung your bag around your shoulders. It was heavy, but you tried to take only the necessities. You avoided the child’s gaze as you turned. “I’m sorry, kid. I really love you. And your dad. But I need to go.”

You felt tears prick at your eyes as you reach one hand up to the necklace around your neck. You pull it over your head, looking down at the sigil. You turn it over, reading the engraving on the back one final time. Your eyes close and you take in a deep breath. Your feet stumble over to go to Din’s cot, turning off the light and laying the necklace on his pillow, the very one you both had rested your heads on last night. You close the door, hoping that maybe Din would just think you were sleeping a little more. You turn towards the hatch of the Crest, taking a step forward when you hear the child let out another small noise. But this time you don’t turn around. You just open the door of the Crest.

And run.

Tag List: @ilikethoseodds @dindaddy @poguesvixen @starspangledwidow @fangirlalexia @the-scandalorian @ka-x-in @keepcalmandblogstuff​

[amiedala]

SOMETHING MORE (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 27: Conditions

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: sexual content, violence, & a brief scene of implied assault (it's the scene in the cantina in Canto Bight!! it's over in a few lines, but if you want to skip over them, it won't impact the story at all!) please let me know if there's anything else that needs to be tagged! <3

SUMMARY: “I—what?” you ask, trying to shake away the fuzzy feeling, “what are you saying to me?”

“I’m saying,” Din emphasizes, sighing, looking down at the Darksaber in his hand, “that I don’t have a secret family, and I’m never leaving you again, but…”

“What?” you repeat.

“I accidentally became the ruler of Mandalore,” Din admits. “And I don’t know how to get out of it.”

You stare at him, speechless, and then the bacta kicks in and everything fades to black.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HELLO AND HAPPY SOMETHING MORE SATURDAY MY LOVES!!! i hope you love this chapter, it's 12k+ words because i simply could not stop writing. we are getting INTO IT ;) hope y'all love the dinova makeup scene hehehe ENJOYYYYYY!!!! <3

*

When you and Din first fucked, all the way back on Dagobah, you remember how gentle he was with you, how it stood out in such shimmering, stark contrast to the man and warrior he was everywhere else. He would pause, he would revere you in the dark, he would let his mouth make sweet love to you in between your thighs for hours. It was lovely. Him being gentle, taking his sweet time with you, it was lovely.

But you’ve just spent an agonizing month apart, you nearly lost each other forever to that looming darkness, and the baby’s not here on Kicker to be quiet for.

So when you grab at him, lustful and intentioned, the big, brave bounty hunter bends at your will. Again.

“You—” Din says, strangled, the second your hands slip down his face, “you don’t have to—if you’re not ready—”

“Shh,” you whisper, and at that alone, he quiets. You let your thumb lightly graze over the length of his cheekbone, eyes darting all over his face, taking in every single gorgeous inch. “I want the man who loves me to fuck me senseless.”

Din groans, the noise strangled and low in his throat. You grin, top teeth coming down on your bottom lip. “I used to—fuck—like to be in charge. A lot. B—but you talking like this, stars, Nova, I could cum from your words alone—”

“Don’t you dare,” you emphasize, closing all the remaining space between the two of you, swinging your legs up and over into his lap so that you’re straddling him. “It’s been a month, Din, a whole month without feeling you, without fucking. Give me a taste first.”

He makes another small noise at the base of his throat, and a horrifying thought flutters into your head, foggy and heavy.

“It—” you blink at him, stomach doing backflips, “It hasbeen a month without…sex for you, too, right?”

Din’s eyes flash open, dark and dangerous. “Are you serious?”

You feel your body start to shrink against his, your knees wobbling from where you’re straddling him, sliding down into his lap. “I—”

“You think I could even look at someone else?” Din asks, his voice low and electric. You raise an eyebrow. He tangles one hand in your messy hair, and when he sharply brings your head back with the force of it, the moan you’ve been holding back escapes out of your throat, easy and loaded. “That every time I touched myself, I wasn’t regretting every second of my decision to leave you somewhere because nothing compares to your warmth?”

Maker, he sounds betrayed. Like he can’t even believe that you’re suggesting it, which, come to think of it, you can’t really believe you’re suggesting it either, considering how much of himself he gave you back on the last planet, but you have to know, even if it’s hard to hear. You swallow. “You left me there, I didn’t know if we were—done, if you were breaking off our engagement—”

“Nova,” Din interrupts, and everything in your body goes white-hot, blistering. You’ve heard him say your name before—in love, in fear, in pain, in pleasure—but something about the timbre of it right now is halving you with lightning strikes. He’s somewhere still buried in your neck, and when his tongue brushes up and flutters against your strongest pulse point, you feel like you’re melting, all over Din’s lap, all over Kicker’s floor. “Even if I was that much of a total fucking idiot, even if I were stupid enough to truly let you go, do you really believe that any pussy in this galaxy or the next would be as good as yours?”

You yelp. All of that control that you had a second ago, it’s blissfully rushed away, a river running out of you, everything concentrating between your legs, low and wet. “Well,” you manage finally, your voice shaking, “prove it.”

For a second, a single, tantalizing second, Din just holds you there. You can feel the heat, the friction between your hips, his hand on your left one, anchoring you there and pulling you against his crotch. You feel his cock jump in his pants, and it makes that flash of desire strike through you again, regardless of how many times you’ve felt it do so before. “I love you,” he whispers, tongue dancing in and out of your ear, and when he pulls away from you and looks at you in the starlight, you want that to be it. That confession, that freedom, that honesty—and you being able to look at him straight in the eyes while he gives himself to you—that’s enough for you to cum right there on the spot, but you made him promise to hold out, so you grind your teeth together, control your breathing, and try to hold out your own challenge.

“That’s not what I meant,” you breathe, your hands coming loose to land on either side of his face. He closes his eyes into the safety of your touch, and, for just a moment, you press your forehead against his.

It’s over a flash later, when his eyes open, dark and possessive. “Oh,” Din smirks, “I know.” And then you’re being hauled up and out of his lap, and when he grabs you and pushes you up against the wall, face first, you let out a gasp that could rattle every single last star in the galaxy. “Tell me,” he whispers, “tell me if I’m going too far—”

“Din,” you interject, softly, your voice still shaky and uneven, “I thought I told you to prove it.”

All you hear is the rhythm of both of your breathing, and then your clothes are being ripped limb from limb, the tank top tearing straight off your back, your pants being shoved down to your knees. The sharp intake of breath that comes out of you is partially because off the immediacy of it, the urgency, and partially because of the shock of the cold metal of Kicker’s walls against your bare skin.

“You—” you start, as Din yanks down your trousers even further, “you bought those pants for me—”

“So?” he tosses up to you, and then you feel the rough fabric of the glove slamming into the small of your back, making it arch. “I’ll buy you new fucking pants.”

“Okay,” you pant, already halfway there and way past being coherent, “yeah, sure. I didn’t have that much of an attachment to those anyway—”

“Nova?” Din asks, and you toss your head backwards as you feel his scruff on the right side of your neck. “Open your legs.”

You do. You’re pretty sure everything you’re wearing is trashed, now, but at this point, you couldn’t care less. When you feel Din’s lips travel down your shoulder blades, your spine, stopping just on the small of your back, you shudder, the cold metal in front of you already turned warm from your touch. When his lips leave you, you think that’s it, that he’s going to shove his fingers in you, but Din drops, stealthy, like the practiced bounty hunter he is, to his knees. You inhale, exhale, all of your energy on expelling and intaking air, and then his tongue starts at the very back of your slit, and somewhere between your legs, before it finds your clit, he’s turned over, staring up at you with his mouth buried inside of you.

“Oh,” you manage, faintly, and there it is, the electric feeling of being pushed right on the edge, that white-hot numbness, everything falling and rising at once, “oh—”

“This is the part,” Din hisses, muffled slightly as he moves his tongue in and out of you, “where I’d normally tell you that I own you.”

“Don’t you?” you ask as he pulls off his gloves and pushes a finger inside you, and, stars, you can feel yourself clench, the way you take him in, like you’re hungry, like you’re insatiable, and you’d usually feel your cheeks flush from all of that pure, unadulterated desire, but you barely even register all the noises you’re making because Din’s drowning it all out with his touch.

“Not anymore,” he says, simply, and then he’s in and out of you, standing back of behind you so lightning fast that you can’t categorize how his mouth went from being on your pussy to back on the nape of your sweaty neck, but your knees buckle at the feeling of him pressing up against you, ripping every connective piece of armor off his body like it’s scalding him. “You own me. Every inch.”

You moan, wriggling your hips back as if to entice him, to make him just fuck you already, and you know how impatient you’re being, and that you should savor this, that this should last through the entirety of hyperspace for all of the lost time that you have to make up, but you can’t hold back.

“Tell me,” Din whispers, his voice just as breathy as yours is, “what you want.”

You inhale, exhale. He’s behind you, and you can feel the tip pressing at you, leaking a small bead of wetness that’s trailing down your naked body, and you’re so choked and consumed with this, with how much you missed it, that you have to take a second to compose yourself. Din holds himself there, patient—writhing, but patient—until you know exactly what to say.

“I want you,” you breathe, tilting your head just a bit, enough to catch a glimpse of his silhouette, “your every fucking inch.”

Din moans again, and then, before you have a second to prepare yourself, that’s exactly what you get. Your own moans eject themselves form your mouth, completely uncontrolled, animalistic, insatiable. With every stroke, the symphony of the noises that Din’s making gets louder and louder, one hand against your hips, the other tangled back up in your hair, bringing your body closer and closer to him like rolling tides.

“Cyar’ika,” Din whispers, his mouth contorting around the word like it’s holy, something divine, “oh, fuck, Nova, I—missed you.”

You throw your head back, eyes fluttering, everything dark and warm. Din’s other hand slips down to your bare hip, and he starts rocking himself deeper and deeper inside you, as if he’s trying to fuck away all the mistakes he made, as if he’s begging you for repentance.

“Cum in me,” you gasp, already shaking yourself through another orgasm as his hands tighten around you, as he buries his face in your neck, “mark me as yours.”

And, Maker fucking above, the way he screams your name as he does makes you ready to fall in love all over again. It’s like the first time. It’s better.

“I was right,” you say, finally, after both of you have sunk to the floor, throbbing and aching and delightfully exhausted.

“Yes,” Din agrees, automatically, his arm tightening around your midriff as you both try to breathe yourselves back to consciousness, “about what?”

You smile. As your vision focuses, you turn around in his arms so that you’re sitting against the wall, looking out at the stars you’re traveling past, grinning at the notion that you just had a supernova more brilliant than they could ever dream to have. “It’s not about deserving. It’s about belonging.”

Next to you, Din slowly untangles himself from the mess of your shared limbs and slides into his usual position on the floor. You smile at that, too, because regardless of how much has changed, this too, this mirror image, is still the same.

*

Hours pass. You don’t remember falling asleep, but when your eyes open lazily to the slow tilt of space around you, you’re swaddled in blankets and pillows, and your Mandalorian is cuddled up next to you. It still makes your heart jump in your chest, the knowledge that he’s yours again, that he belongs to you just as much as you belong to him. You still don’t think you forgive him, because that ache is bitter and horrible in the depth of your chest, but you feel how much you feed into one another, how much easier it is to fight off any incoming threats with Din next to you, and you make momentary peace with your broken heart.

“Hi,” he says, sleepily, his eyes fluttering open, “come back to sleep.”

“I will,” you answer, sitting back down and snuggling into Din’s bare chest. Everything else in here is dotted with luminescence—the stars outside, the lights you strung in the back of the hull—but it’s cold compared to him and his light.

You think he’s asleep again when you feel his lips moving, his chest rising and falling, the noise his voice makes vibrating where your ear is pressed against his ribs. “You said you have conditions,” Din whispers, “back there, on Takodana. I didn’t forget. What are your conditions?”

Your stomach does a small flip. You absolutely did have conditions, but right now, it’s nearly impossible for you to remember any of them. You’re both here now, where you belong, and space is quiet, and you’re not currently in any immediate danger, and you just had some of the best sex you’ve ever had—

Danger. It lights up, and you blink hard and then shoot upwards at the threats the both of you just narrowly escaped back on Takodana, the people that have been trying to catch you and hurt you for weeks. You feel the way your heart is pounding, and you immediately curse yourself from being distracted enough to not warn Wedge about the mysterious danger that’s rising from the ashes of the Empire, and Din follows you when you sit straight up, pressing the warmth of your blanket against your bare chest.

“Nova?”

“Um,” you say, holding up a single finger, “my first condition is that you come with me to tell the Alliance everything we know about these new troopers, and their new boss.”

He stares at you. “Can’t…can’t you just call your friend back on your commlink? Tell him what you saw?”

You press a cold hand to your face, and the chill grounds you. “I could,” you admit, “but the two of us just barely got out of there alive, and I think we need to literally call in the big guns. Besides, I—I have ties there. You’ll understand when you see it.” You flash him a small look. “It’s cold on Hoth. Really cold. Not a desert planet at all. You’ll love it.”

It’s still so strange seeing his face, like something out of place, but after a minute, Din’s quirked eyebrow relaxes. “Okay,” he agrees.

You nod, definitively, feeling his eyes on your naked body as you get up to point the nav system back towards Hoth, and when you slide back into your nest, he’s even warmer than you remembered.

“Din—” you whisper, and you’re not even sure what you’re about to say until he pulls you in, the low light casting parts of his face in shadow.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs back, the promise barely air but so concrete, so powerful, “I meant it when I said I’m going to follow you anywhere.”

Kicker, like the habitual monster she is, starts screeching right before reentry onto Hoth. You untangle yourself messily from Din’s arms, pulling the closest blanket you have around your bare body again, tiptoeing over to where the dashboard is blinking and flashing.

“Work with me, baby,” you whisper, turning dials and pounding on wherever you think you could get it to quiet, “c’mon, what’s wrong with you?” You turn knobs and flip switches, and when Kicker shows you she’s clearly not slowing down, you turn to throw on whatever clothes are closest, and they’re the tatters Din tore off of you last night. As you run a systems check, you trade the ripped fabric for your orange jumpsuit, which is, thankfully, still untouched. You shiver as you zip it up over your bare chest, tucking your messy hair behind both ears, studying the panel of blinking lights and the volume of your glorious rebel of a ship. “Kicker,” you try again, exhausted, dragging your hands over your eyes, the stars exploding as you press against them, “please, I am so tired, tell me what you want—”

And then you spot it. Your shields, which have consistently been locked and loaded since you left Hoth last time, are depleted and tired. They keep flashing on and off, and you hesitate, peering out the front widow to survey the open space around you, checking furiously for any immediate enemies, trying to gauge if you need to keep them on until you land, or if you want to save the last bit of power for whenever you leave Hoth next.

“What,” Din mutters sleepily from behind you, “is happening?”

“She screams,” you answer, which is honestly completely self-explanatory, “when she wants to tell me something,”

“Nova,” Din says back, groaning as he sits up, pulling on all the underclothes he has, leaving the armor scattered and strewn all over the ship’s interior like a trail of shiny breadcrumbs, “she is not a sentient being, and you have the power to shut her up.”

You do. Then you turn, staring at him, trying to look menacing. “No making fun of my ship.”

A tiny smile surfaces across his face. It’s fleeting, but glorious. “You’re a real pilot again,” he says softly, “how does it feel?”

You grin to, bringing one orange-clad knee to your chest, resting your chin on it. “Like I spent way too long without it,” you admit, reveling in your pilot’s chair, slowly swaying from side to side as you observe him. “I miss the Crest,” you say, “every day, but being able to be in charge of my own destiny, to be my own captain, to fly something I could handle in my sleep—it feels right.”

Din looks at you, slowly striding over. You grab his bare hand as you pull him in closer, tipping your head back so you can stare up at him, and even in this position, you feel the way he’ll bend to you, how he’ll do whatever you want. That sense of power, exhilarating as it is, also feels unlike you, so you let him tuck your hair back behind your ears again, relinquishing small atoms of control until you’re both back on equal ground. “Are we sticking with Kicker, then?” Din asks, and you nod, fluttering your eyelashes at him as he strokes lightly over your cheek. “I think I might need flying lessons from you, then, Her Highness Rebel Rouser Pilotess of the Outer Rim.”

You grin. “Maybe we should write that all over the ship.”

“You write that all over the ship,” Din points out, gently, “and you’ll have even more of a target on your back.”

You sigh, long and heavy, and you feel the energy shift. Din moves to the copilot’s chair, and you swing the other way as you crest through the chilly atmosphere of Hoth, shivering the second you broach through the air, even though the cabin temperature is holding steady. “I was reckless back there,” you admit, voice small. “I was spending too much time trying to give them the best vocal middle finger I could muster up, that I wasn’t paying attention to the soldiers we downed. I’m not very good at the hand-to-hand combat thing,” you say, examining the ridges of your fingers, the way your knuckles bulge slightly against your skin. “I’ve always done so much better up in the air. But now, with my new—” you cut yourself off, flipping your hands over to study your palms, trying to envision where the Force works like a conduit underneath it, “powers,” you finish, halfheartedly, “I know I need to be down on the ground more, that I need more practice. I’m not even close to being skilled enough to beat multiple people.” You glance over at Din, and then back at the wicked handle of the Darksaber. Even though you know it’s not Gideon’s weapon, that it came from Mandalore, it still carries the symbol of so much darkness, so much hatred, and you shiver. “Especially if it’s going to be you and me against these new troopers, this new threat.”

Din’s staring at you. You turn your attention back to navigating Kicker down onto the snowy path that funnels down into the landing bay, watching as the whiteness of it all jut up in mountains and valleys around you, carefully moving into the spot you had to emergency evacuate a few weeks back. “What do you think it is?” he asks, and you can tell he’s asking because he believes you, but also because he has no idea. “Who do you think it is?”

You square your shoulders, pulling your parka off the hook it’s hanging on, glancing at the armor all over the floor. “I don’t know,” you answer, honestly, “but whatever—whoever—it is, it’s coming. That’s why we’re here. I’ve had visions of it,” you say, stretching your arms back to quickly braid the top layer of your hair, “a few times, but I have no idea. I—we—are totally out of our depth.” You look out the front window of Kicker, watching as a small squadron of orange jumpsuits starts to materialize in the distance, and a grin stretches itself across your face before you can stop it. “That’s why we’re here,” you say, tying off the braid and pointing with your chin, “because if anyone has advice on how to battle back the unknown, it’s the Alliance.”

You glace back over at Din, who’s still standing there, collecting random pieces of armor off the floor absentmindedly. His eyes are still on you. Secretly, you wonder if he always stared at you this much underneath his helmet, of his eyes never leaving your body is a new thing, or if it’s been one for the last year and you just had no idea.

“Are you coming?” you ask, and you’re trying not to push him, because you know if you tell him he has to, he will, no questions asked.

He nods, clicking the last piece of armor into place. You press on his pauldron, evening it out, and when you look up at Din, maskless, helmetless, your heart catches like it always does. “Yes,” he says, finally, his gloved hand gently finding your wrist.

You look to where he has his helmet in his other hand, and the second your eyes move, you feel his do too. Even out of your periphery, you can tell he’s staring at it as intensely as he does with you, internal battle of tradition versus newness loud and unencumbered in your head.

“You don’t have to wear it,” you whisper, reassuring him. You bring your hand up, touch your fingertips to the side of his face, brushing your thumb lightly over the bow of his lips. “But you can, if that’s what you want.”

Din looks back to you, then to the helmet, then to you again. You smile as encouragingly as you can, and he exhales, pulling the rim of it over his head. Your heart drops and rises as you watch him do it, conflicted with the knowledge of how hard this is, how hard anything is, how he’s like a ship without sails.

“You’ll like them,” you say, quietly, as you move downstairs and disengage the gangplank, “I promise.”

“Rebel girl!” Wedge calls through the frosty air, and you squeeze Din’s hand and smile as your boots meet the crunchy, snow covered ground. “Welcome back. Who are we fighting?”

“That’s what I’m hoping you’ll help me with,” you sigh, falling easily into Wedge’s paternal arms, feeling Din’s eyes scour over him underneath the visor. “Listen, we don’t have much to go on, but the threats are coming, and they’ve got the jump on us. Is everyone in the control room?”

Wedge lets go of you, nodding, stepping forward to shake Din’s hand. Din, adorably, has absolutely no idea what to do, and when Wedge grabs him, you can sense the flinch before it even happens, and then something in him relaxes. “You must be Nova’s fiancé,” he says, smiling. “I’ve heard so much about you. Pleased to meet you…”

You know he’s waiting for a name, for something concrete, and you freeze, not knowing how to intervene, if Din can willingly reveal his identity, and right before you’re about to fake some sort of emergency to hurry Wedge along, Din’s hand clenches over his.

“Din,” he says, quietly, but his intention is vivid and strong. “You must be…Nova’s contact. Friend. In the Alliance.”

You nod. Wedge grins back. “I am. Wedge Antilles. We could use someone like you,” he tries, as the three of you move forward into the small gathering of people who are greeting you, welcoming you back in, “if you’re ever looking for a career change.”

You laugh under your breath, trying to imagine your calculated bounty hunter rushing immediately into battle like the rebels do, but Din’s helmet moves over towards you, then back to Wedge. “Well,” he sighs, “depending on how much of a threat these new forces are, I might be.”

“Anything associated with the Empire,” Wedge sighs, dragging a hand over his face, “is a threat worth fighting against. I should know,” he tacks on, opening the heavy door that leads to the inside of the base, “I used to work for them.”

Both of you whip around to study his face, his expression. Din doesn’t know Wedge well, but you do, and your eyebrows narrow, trying to decide if he’s joking or if he’s being level with you. Wedge isn’t someone who does anything without intention, so it seems like he’s genuinely telling the truth, but at the look at your startled expression, Wedge scratches his head. Under the faded, white light of the hallways, you can see more greying in his hair than you thought was there the last time you saw him up close.

“I’m from Corellia,” he reminds you both, quietly, as you let him go in head of you to direct your small group of people into the control room, “I didn’t have much of a choice. Got caught up in the Imperial Navy because I wanted to be in the air, flew a few missions before I realized how much death and destruction I was contributing to. Defected, never looked back, joined the Alliance.” There’s a small smile on his face. “I met Luke,” he offers, and you follow the way his mouth moves when he talks about Luke Skywalker—that same sort of urgent intimacy you detected in the flickering image of Luke on the holotable the last time you were here. For whatever reason, it makes your grin match his. You glance over at Din as you stride into the bigger room, watching how Wedge tucks his expression away for later, but you can tell his mind is still on Luke.

“Glad you got back safely,” one of the generals says. His voice is low, gruff, and he has facial hair that’s stark white. He’s intimidating, stone-faced, but he seems to genuinely be thankful for your presence, so you smile brightly over at him.

“Listen up,” Wedge calls, barely louder than his normal talking voice, but all the conversation around the room quiets almost immediately, everyone’s attention focused solely on him. “Nova’s back, not because she’s out of danger, but because it seems like we’re all about to be in a hell lot more of it. I know we’ve talked about this for years, but it seems like whatever was left in the Empire’s ashes is rising up stronger and quicker than we’ve kept our eyes on.” You nod, confirming his theory. “I know most of us are veterans,” Wedge continues, his eyes aglow, connecting with every single person in the room, “and I know that we’ve already lost so many battles, so I understand if you’re tired. If you want to walk away from this one,” he declares, leaning over the table, and you take stock of the circle gathered around, all clad in orange, determination written all over their faces, “I’ll understand. I won’t hold that against you. But if you’re not prepared to fight this next one, you need to leave this room now and go somewhere safe.” He raises his eyebrows. People exchange glances with one another, but not a single one of them budges. After a handful of seconds, making sure to account for any delayed reactions, Wedge nods. “That’s what I thought. Okay, Nova,” he says, turning to you, “for our remarkable lack of Force sensitivity and our living on the outskirts of this mess, you seem to be the forefront authority on what’s coming. Tell us everything you can.”

You swallow. You knew this was what you were coming here to do, to direct the Alliance in the right path, to give them the most explicit briefing on this new evil, but you step forward, your mouth going dry, You haven’t had to do this part in years, almost a decade, and you got used to hunting rather than defending, hiding rather than attacking. Din’s hand squeezes over yours, just once, and that fortifies you enough to open your mouth.

“I’ve seen every corner of this galaxy,” you start, wringing your hands together to try and muster up the right amount of information to give these people, these people who are fighting alongside you simply because of your word alone. “I was born into the Rebel Alliance, and I’ve spent most of my life trying to keep our world here free of evil. Even when I dropped out after my parents died,” you continue, voice shaking a bit with embarrassment at the naivety of leaving, “I shuttled people to safety, regardless of what they were running from. I got myself into a serious bit of trouble, and I narrowly escaped with my life. Then I met my fiancé,” you say, pointing to Din, “and I spent a lot of time figuring out my own power. I thought…I thought what I had was just me being me,” you say, vaguely, swatting at a loose piece of hair fluttering in your face, “but over the last year, I’ve learned that I have the Force. Like my son. Like Luke Skywalker.” You swallow, making a fleeting second of eye contact with Wedge. “I watched when General Skywalker and Wedge destroyed the first Death Star, and then I watched when the Rebels eradicated the evil from this galaxy, even though I was out on my own then.” You sigh, staring at the luminary solar system projected on the holotable, steeling yourself. “You did a great job,” you say, softly, trying your best to follow Wedge’s example by making eye contact with the rest of the generals and rebels in the room, “really, you did. You made this place safe for us to live in again, and you were brave during a time when I wasn’t. And whatever part of the Empire is left over,” you continue, voice gaining strength as you undo your crossed arms to lean slightly against the table, eyes focusing on the little locator on the Hoth base, blinking a blue YOU ARE HERE to the rest of the room, “it’s not because you weren’t thorough. It’s because the Empire was conniving and cunning, and was built upon decades of secret creation, and no matter how many parts we cut off, there’s always going to be one lurking under the surface.” You look at Din, then back to the others gathered around the table. “We thought Moff Gideon was the most dangerous lurking evil left. We were wrong.”

“Who else is there?” another woman asks. You faintly recognize her face, but you can see by the way that her laugh lines are written around her mouth that she’s at least a decade older than you are. “What did we leave over?”

“That’s the thing,” you sigh, rubbing the place where your eyebrows burrow, pinch together, “When I see things, in my visions…they’re not always exact. I saw Luke coming back to defeat Gideon’s troopers, and I saw our kid being taken, but they were always foggy, hazy. When we were back on Takodana,” you say, inhaling a deep breath, “I felt something there, too. But I could tell this time that it was a premonition, that what I was feeling was a threat in the future and not one I needed to be fighting in that exact moment. But there have been concrete examples,” you say, finding your rhythm again. “Stormtroopers, a whole regiment of them, except they weren’t like the ones that worked for Darth Vader.” You swallow. “I could tell by their uniforms that they didn’t quite belong to ones we’ve seen before, but beyond that, they’re precise. They attack with intention, and they’re nimble and fast. They daggered me with a tranquilizer dart twice,” you admit, “and nearly killed the both of us back on Takodana.”

“They kept threatening us,” Din says, and you whip around to face him. In these situations, in anything more than a handful of people in a social setting, he usually doesn’t speak a word. Even when weapons are drawn, he chooses to act rather than talk, and so you close your mouth and let him. “They told Nova they worked for a different boss. A scarier one. One more…dangerous, and formidable, than Gideon.”

“That’s what scares me,” you say softly, your finger tracing a soft line over the hairs of your eyebrow. “Usually, Empire thugs like to rule with a sense of superiority, to threaten us with specifics. But the mystery surrounding this whole thing is what’s different. It doesn’t feel like a new era of the Empire. It feels like something darker, more sinister, that they’ve been working on to replace it.”

The general, the one who welcomed you back, stares at you. “Do you have proof of that?”

You know he’s not trying to judge you, but you can hear it in his tone. “No,” you admit, honestly, “no, I don’t have any concrete evidence that this is something new coming out of the ashes of the Empire, but I can feel it.” You swallow, looking around at everyone, trying to gauge if they’ll dismiss your intuition. No one, not even the man who spoke, even lifts an eyebrow. “Look,” you say, leaning forward against the table again, “I’m not in charge here. Frankly, I really don’t know what I’m doing, except when it comes to fighting them off up in space out there. But that’s not enough, and they’ve been after me—and my family—for months, now, and this kind of defense isn’t what I’m good at. And I have almost no specifics, I just learned I was Force sensitive a few months ago, and I don’t know what we’re facing up against. I’m not Luke Skywalker,” you tack on, a bit desperately, noting the way that Wedge’s expressions shifts when you mention him, “I’m not even a real Jedi. But I’ve seen a lot,” you say, eyes focusing back on the holotable, “and this—whatever it is, whatever evil is coming—is a real threat. And I can’t face it alone.”

You press your lips together. You can feel Din’s eyes on your face from where only one cheek is turned in his direction. Wedge, finally, steps forward, meets you in the middle directly across from you. “You don’t have to,” he says, and it’s with such determination, such finality, that it makes you exhale what feels like a month’s worth of bated breath. “Look, we’re all coming from different places,” he continues, gesturing to the array of people and aliens in the room around you, “but we have one goal, and that’s making sure the Empire, or whatever this is, stays dead and gone. I can be the figurehead, if you need a leader,” he says, and you nod, relieved, “but you need to be the one keeping us updated.”

“I can do that.” You grin over at him, standing up a little straighter, “especially if I have the rest of you behind me.”

“Well, then,” Wedge says, smile spreading back across his face, so warm in such a freezing place, “consider this your official welcome back to the Rebel Alliance, Commander.”

Your smile fills up the entire lower half of your face. “Thank you, General Antilles.”

Wedge looks around the room, and when you join him, you see the brief moment of lightness being shared by the rest of you. “Nah,” Wedge says, finally, “with what we’re doing, we don’t need formalities. We’re the new legion of the Rogue Squadron,” he continues, and your eyes bloom with tears around the edges. That was your mother’s team when she flew in the Alliance, all the people she told stories of when the night crept in. “Let’s get started.”

And when everyone moves in around the table to devise a plan, you feel Din’s hand clasp in your own, and when he squeezes it, you know he’s as proud of you as your parents would be, and you stop running. It’s time to fight.

*

A handful of days pass. You and Din share an empty bunkroom, huddled up together to keep each other from freezing. He still doesn’t seem like he’s entirely comfortable here, but earlier in the night, he ate in the mess hall with you. Even though it was technically after hours, even though no one else was in the room, he kept his helmet off for longer than a second, took the time to really enjoy his food. Now, you’re both naked, snuggling, wrapping the warmth of the blankets around each other’s shoulders.

In the past three days, you and the Alliance have devised a plan. Your job—and Din’s, considering he swore to follow you anywhere—is to go out scouting for these new troopers, to try to gain any sort of reconnaissance you can gather without drawing attention to yourselves. Wedge and the rest of the fractured Alliance—the new Rogue Squadron—will fly in small numbers of three or four to the deserted Empire outposts and connect with other allies in the New Republic to try and find out anything concrete related to this new boss, this new threat. Tomorrow morning, you’re leaving to fly around the Outer Rim, trying to go as undercover as possible wherever you land next, disguising yourselves—and Kicker—enough to hopefully travel relatively undetected.

“What’s the next condition?” Din whispers, bringing your attention back to him, the way his hands roam over the small of your back as he pulls you in close to him, your bare skin pressed flush up against his.

“Condition two,” you answer, pressing your cold nose into his neck, “is that I don’t stay on the ship anymore. Neither do you. Whatever we’re fighting, we fight it together.”

“Deal,” Din says, sighing. “Nova, I hated leaving you behind. I never thought you were…a burden, or something I had to keep an eye on. I just knew how much danger you could be in, especially in the last few weeks before…” he trails off, and you know how he’s kicking himself.

“I know,” you echo, out loud. “I know you didn’t think I was a liability. But you never let me fight my own battles alongside you, and now that I’m the one who’s putting us both in the direct line of danger, I have to have an equal standing on the ground with you.”

Din nods in the dark. You feel your hair tangle in his scruff, still slightly damp from the shared shower you took together an hour ago. “No staying on the ship.”

“The third condition,” you continue, snuggling in closer, “is that you hold me until I fall asleep. No complaining, no take-backs.”

“Nova.”

You giggle, the sound a soft, melodic thing in the dark. “I’m only half kidding. But the real third condition is that we talk about things and make decisions together. Unless, of course, we’re in the heat of battle, and one of us leads by example.”

Din sighs. “That’s only fair,” he allows, and he pulls you closer. “Does that mean…?” he trails off, and even though you’re half asleep, you can feel the weight of his unasked question, so you shift under the blankets to stare up at where you think his face is, only navigating by knowledge and touch alone through the darkness. “The other day,” he continues quietly, directly into your ear, “you said that you thought that—that me leaving meant that I was breaking off our engagement.”

“Yeah,” you manage, heart hammering in your chest.

Din swallows. You can feel it, in the pitch black, the movement of his throat. You map out his movements, trying not to pull away until he’s fully asked what he needs to. “Did I?” he asks, finally, voice low, dejected.

“I don’t know,” you answer, honestly. “I mean—you said you were coming back, but you left, and I didn’t know for how long. For a while, I…I acted like you were my ex, just to myself, so that I could try to protect myself from the hurt of it all, but…you told me you’re tied to me. I think I’m tied to you, too.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” you sigh, “you don’t have to win me back, anymore, but…if you wanted to propose to me again, I wouldn’t be entirely opposed to the idea.”

You can feel Din smile, a ghost of a thing, through the sleepy darkness. His grip on you tightens, and then he turns to wrap his body around yours, trapping all the heat in. “Is that how we’re playing this?”

You’re asleep before you can answer.

*

When you leave the base, it’s with a game plan in one hand and breakfast in the other. You and Din are heading to Cantonica. You’ve never been—its main locus, Canto Bight, was always a pit of gambling and crime, and after Jacterr, you never wanted to see anything remotely seedy ever again—but they have cantinas and loudness and clothing, and Din promised you replacements for the ones he tore off of you the other night.

Kicker’s been repainted, which wasn’t the original plan, but the planets that allied, nondescript ships are on—Dantooine, Tatooine, Naboo—have already been through the ringer, and you don’t want to implicate anyone else in this war on the new Empire if you don’t have to. She’s still very obviously a starfighter that belongs to the legion of Alliance ships, but with the remodel, everything’s been painted over with white and grey, disguising the orange. You’re still in your jumpsuit, because it’s about the one intact article of clothing you have, but when you land on Cantonica, you’re going to go in the first store you see and buy up a few sets of trousers and tops. Your other jacket, the one you didn’t wear when Din left you, is still hanging up, and you throw that on too, trying to counteract all the orange.

“What’s the plan?” Din asks as you’re taking off, and you level Kicker up and out of the landing bay.

“New clothes,” you say, winking at him, “food, reconnaissance. Trying not to die. Do you have anything else to add to the list?”

He hooks his fingers under the rim of his helmet, pulls it off. You’re distracted, almost immediately, eyes roaming over the contours of his face, trying to drink it all in. “Trying not to die should come sooner,” Din mutters, and you can trace a small smile on his lips.

“Good point,” you allow, pushing Kicker into warp. “That should always be the first thing on the list.”

For a handful of hours, you coast, kicking your feet up on Kicker’s dashboard, talking and laughing. You’re amazed at how easy it is, how it feels like everything in between, the distance, the darkness, has fallen away as you’re coasting through the stars. When you touch down, your mouth hurts from grinning, and you navigate to the northern part of the city, trying to find the cheapest landing bay. If you park on the outskirts, the loaners are a lot less demanding, so you pass over your credits, eyes scouring the ground for any potential threats.

Canto Bight is glittering, loud. The architecture here is almost all curved and chrome, and it looks like a flashier version of Coruscant, something that you didn’t even think was possible. It’s enough to keep you jumpy, make your skin crawl, but you don’t want to look dodgy, even though you know that you are far from the sketchiest figure here.

You look out the front window. “We need to get me in something that’s not orange,” you remark, wrapping your cloak around your waist like a skirt, pulling your jacket over your upper half.

Din’s looking at the armor that he took off earlier, shininess strewn over the floor. You know he’s going through another internal battle, trying to decide what the least conspicuous choice is, and you hand him his cloak.

“Here,” you whisper, draping it up over around his face, so only the bottom half is visible. “You can wear your helmet if you want, but—”

“It’s like a big, reflective beacon,” Din sighs, and you nod, biting down on your lip. “I can deal with this. I won’t wear my full armor, either, but I’d like to keep the weapons in my wrist plates.”

“Good call.” You hand him back those specific pieces, pulling your own blaster from the small armory on the lift side of the ship, and both of you make a simultaneous grab for the Darksaber.

Din stares at it. You stare back. “I don’t like that thing,” he says, voice loaded with disdain.

“Why do you have it?” you ask, tilting your head as your eyes map over the metal, dark and wicked. “Why keep something that you hate so much?”

Din sighs again, long and low. You know there’s more to the story, and you want to know it, but you don’t want to push him. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain,” he starts, as you lower the gangplank, “when we have a bit more time and we aren’t trying to stay undercover.”

You nod, slipping the hood of your jacket over your head. “I’ll carry it,” you offer softly, and as it hangs from your belt, you can feel that power, the way it burns, even when the blade isn’t ignited.

Canto Bight is loud. Everywhere, it’s loud, from the cantinas that people spill out of onto the streets, to the stores that you restored your wardrobe at, to the way noise filters in through the strange architecture. Everything here is amplified. You hate it, but there’s something alluring about it, too. You’ve stuffed your jumpsuit in your bag, sporting black pants and a black shirt, a new, heavier shawl in swirling patterns of browns. It’s warm and it’s soft and you feel like you’re wearing a blanket.

Din looks uncomfortable. That seems to be his standard mode of operation without his armor, but he’s just as shifty and paranoid as you are. Back in the shop, he got a black face covering, so between the hood and the makeshift mask, only his eyes shine through. Gorgeous and brown, flitting and concerned.

You’ve been walking around for hours, trying to pick up any clues that might lead you back to whoever’s after you. There are more sketchy people on Cantonica than there are non-sketchy ones, but all the leads you’ve followed have just lead to underground fighting or drugs, and when they look at you, you can sense they don’t have that special kind of malice and ruthlessness that the Empire thugs after you do. Your stomach grumbles, loudly, and Din takes your hand and pulls you into the newest cantina.

“Eat,” he says, immediately shoving a menu in your face. “Please,” he tacks on, after, the second he gets a glimpse of your face.

You do. You order kebabs and steamed vegetables and whatever delicacies they have to offer, and the table fills with bulbous platters and plates of food. You know Din prefers to have his face to the room, but you take over his usual position so he can eat without anyone making eye contact. He scarfs his food down, but you have a feeling it has more to do with the energy of this place than fear of being seen.

“This may have been a bad plan,” you admit, after your tummy is swelling up with the hallmarks of good food. “This planet seems to have one dead end after another.”

“You wouldn’t survive a day as a bounty hunter,” Din remarks, and you lightly kick him under the table. “Most of what I do—did—was just sitting and waiting.”

“I,” you say, with a lofty air of pompousness, “prefer not to sit and wait.”

“You love sitting,” Din counters, and you narrow your eyes. You can see his flash with mischief, even under his cloak, even in the low light, and you know he’s right, but you also don’t want to give this one to him.

A beat passes, and then the new band in the cantina starts playing a swinging tune, upbeat and jazzy, and you grin over at him, sliding out of your bench, heading straight for the dance floor.

“What are you doing?” Din hisses, hand closing over your wrist. “We’re supposed to—”

“Believe it or not,” you whisper back, nimbly plucking your hand free, “I can dance without revealing my identity. Most of these people in here are disguised. No one’s going to look at me twice.”

“Nova—”

“If you’re afraid,” you say, voice lowered, “you can just follow me out there and shield me.” This shakes him, you can tell. You wink, sauntering out onto the dance floor. You weren’t exaggerating. This place is full of people who don’t show their faces, and most of them are just swaying to the beat, moving and writhing out on the chromatic floor, spinning underneath the lights and colors. You haven’t danced in ages. Since you were first out on your own, before Coruscant became the place you almost died, you’d go out with friends you met in the cantina the day before, just to have someone to go with. When you were still traveling with Grogu, you’d spin around the Crest, trying to get him to move alongside you, but that wasn’t real dancing. Here, though, here in Canto Bight with your shawl obscuring your identity, you dance. Really, truly dance, your hips undulating, your arms moving to the beat, twirling and jiving underneath the lights, getting lost in the dance floor.

You can feel Din staring at you. A few times, you try to make eye contact with him, shimmying your hips suggestively, gesturing for him to join you, but he just sits there like he’s frozen. The tune changes, something slightly slower radiating for the band, the lead singer’s voice crooning and sultry. You close your eyes, trying to feel the music, only focus on the notes, the symphony.

Someone’s behind you. You sigh, a small groan, whipping around to face them. The man is tall, an orange tint to his skin, and you can tell he’s not fully human.

“I like a woman who knows how to dance,” he says, eyes lingering just a touch too long on the contours of your body.

“I do know how to dance,” you agree, “and I prefer to do it alone.”

“C’mon gorgeous,” he whispers, slimily, moving closer. You can feel his leg as it brushes yours, and you jerk away, knowing that your blaster is just on your thigh, that you can pull it out and knock him with it if he wants to try and touch you again. “Give me one dance. Let me take you for a ride.”

“No,” you say, heart flipping over, “I’m good, thanks.”

Quickly, before you can register, he’s grabbing your hips and flipping you around, fingers slithering into your belt loops, forcefully pulling your ass back to grind into him. The motherfucker’s hard. You take a second to respond, trying to decide between shooting him in the foot or kicking him in the groin, and when your gaze flits over to where Din’s sitting at the table, he’s not there anymore.

“Let go of me,” you say, “this is your final warning.”

“I’m just trying to dance with a pretty girl,” he whispers into your ear, and his pointer finger slips into the waistband of your pants, not quite prying into your panties, but you’ve had it. He’s going to get kicked where the sun don’t shine and you’re going to shoot his foot. You bring up your own, hard, between his legs, pointing the reinforced tip of your boot right where you know it’s going to hurt the most, and he starts yowling.

“I said, don’t fucking touch me,” you say, pulling your blaster out, trying to remain calm. The music is loud, everyone around you still dancing, without paying you any mind.

“You crazy bitch,” he says, still on the ground, trying to grab for your leg. You shoot his hand, just to stun him, and the blast gives him an electric shock. “I could have been the best you’d ever had if you gave me a fucking chance—”

“She’s spoken for.”

Din materializes, out of nowhere, and you look over at him, both relieved he’s here and annoyed that he didn’t trust you to fight this battle yourself. The man gets off the ground, swings at Din, and pushes his other hand onto you, his fingers dragging down the material of your shirt to the bare bones of your cleavage, fingernails digging over the fabric into your scar. You narrow your eyes and plant your boot on the side of his face, stomping him into the ground as hard as you can.

“I can speak for myself, you know,” you say, more to Din than the man, and when the fucker on the ground tries to grab for you again, you’ve had it. You’re exhausted from walking around, you’re tired from being chased to the corners of the galaxy, and you are so fucking sick of men trying to tell you where you belong. “But yeah, you creep, I’m taken. And if you don’t try to be a bit more respectful to other girls—if we leave you alive for long enough to hit on one again—you’re going to get hurt worse. Because I’m one of the nicer ones in this galaxy, and I didn’t shoot your face off on sight.”

He starts swearing at you, and Din moves, lightning fast, to grab a platter of fresh food off a nearby standing table, whacks the guy across the face. You see him spit out a few teeth as he’s knocked bloody and unconscious, and even though you know that it’s a better treatment than he deserves, heads turn wildly to the sound and the violence, and it doesn’t help that the band was in between songs and the only ruckus in the cantina is you and Din beating a creep into the ground.

People stare. You look at Din, who’s frozen, again, face still obscured under his clothes, but you can tell how hard this is. You don’t react, just take his hand and firmly pull him behind you, running out of the heat in the cantina into the cooler night. People are calling after you, and you know it’s probably not the wisest move to make a scene and then immediately cut and run, especially when you’re trying to stay undercover and not show anyone you’re the Force sensitive girl and her ruthless Mandalorian bounty hunter, but it doesn’t matter if Din’s not safe.

So you run, and you pull him with you. After a few blocks, you pull him around the corner of one of the strange, curved buildings, hiding in a small alley so that if anyone’s on your trail, they won’t be able to see you in the dark. Your breath is heaving, you can feel scratches over your scar, and you’re sweating, trying to cool down enough to take in air.

“Are you okay?” you ask gently, and Din nods, even though he’s stiff. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Great,” you exhale, heavily, “then you can tell me why you didn’t trust me to fight my own battle back in there when we just had the conversation about us being equals out here.”

Din looks back at you. Even in the dark, even with his face still half-obscured, you can see the guilt in his eyes. “Nova, I—”

“I know you were trying to protect me,” you sigh, dropping to the ground, pulling your shawl off your neck so you can press it against the coolness of the building. “I get that. And I’m thankful for it. But I’m not the same girl that needed you to kill every single thing that meant her harm a year ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Din says, his voice low but clear. “I—you’re right. I didn’t think. I saw that man touch you and I wanted to drop him right there, and I wasn’t paying enough attention to you handling it on your own.”

You smile. “Thank you,” you whisper, and then he’s standing over you, and you stare up at him, glorious and gorgeous even in the low light. “What are you doing?”

“Figuring out how to make it up to you,” Din whispers, and you let him pull you to your feet. “Would you rather be bent over backwards in this alley, or be eaten out for hours back on the ship?” His lips meet your neck, and everything is warm. You sigh, a small moan of a thing, feeling him write apologies with his tongue on your pulse point.

“Is both an option?” you manage, voice all breathy and high, and when he sinks his teeth into you to leave you with a hickey, something flashes in front of your eyes. For a second, you think it’s just the blinding light of pleasure, but when you try to flutter your eyes open, something’s there, obscuring you. A figure in a long, dark robe. Then flashes of light, red and blue, and your own mouth open and screaming, even though you haven’t moved. There’s something so unsettling about watching yourself move, watching yourself strike with light exploding out from around you, unable to warn yourself there’s someone behind you, unable to make yourself run away, and you yell again, except it’s coming from your own mouth instead of the one in the vision.

This breaks you out of it, just a bit, but you can feel yourself start running. Here, in your present day, feet hitting the pavement, even though your head is still in the vision. Whoever is attacking you is ruthless, lethal. The lightsaber you have at your side is no comparison to the evil behind you, and you run and run and run, swinging your arms, trying to use the Force in any desperate way that you can, and then you run into something.

You struggle. Hard. And then your eyes clear, and you can open them, and you see Din in front of you. Immediately, you stop kicking, You can see panic in his eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, pulling you off the ground, wiping away the dirt kicked up in your attempt to get away from whatever that vision was.

“I—” you start, looking around wildly, “I had a premonition. Vision. Dream. Usually, when I have them, I’m in my own body, but I was watching myself this time. It—I’m okay. I’m sorry,” you say, looking back to him, trying to coax your hammering heartbeat back to its resting temperature. “We need to go back to the ship, I need to report this to Wedge—”

“Breathe first,” Din says, eyes darting around before he pulls his own cloak down. You stare at him, register his gentle but firm touch on your forearms, looking into his deep, brown eyes, trying to ground yourself. You nod, exhaling through your mouth, and, finally, you’re back at your baseline. When the two of you start slowly making your way back through the chromatic buildings, trying to find where you parked the skip, you take a few wrong turns and run into a handful of people.

One’s wearing brown, nondescript except for the seedy look on his face. Two are stormtroopers, one who’s pocketing a bag of spice. And the last man is the one you and Din just stomped on back in the cantina. You inhale, trying to step back undetected, but when you move, you feel the white armor of another trooper.

“We didn’t see anything,” you start, and the man who grabbed you in the club steps forward, grin evil and full of black holes from the teeth Din knocked out.

“I didn’t know you were so valuable, sweetheart,” he leers at you, moving forward. Din lunges, but he’s knocked back by the man in brown, and without his armor, he slams into the building, losing his balance. “If I had known you were worth this much money, I would have traded you straight in to the bounty hunters myself.”

“Could have saved a few teeth,” you say, cracking your neck to the side. “Shame you didn’t know beforehand.”

He moves closer to you. He’s gaunt and horrible in the moonlight, and the dried blood on his mouth looks like a gaping wound if you don’t fixate on it. You swallow. “What do you want,” you whisper, low and tired, positing it to the general group. “You want to turn me in? Get money for me? Why’re you after me in the first place?” You clock Din getting to his feet. The man in all brown strikes at him again, and Din dodges it. The troopers just stand there, holding you in place, while the man you attacked grins again, a broken smile full of venom.

“It’s not my place to ask questions,” he says, leering, “only to take you in.”

You sigh, looking up at the troopers holding you. Their uniforms are much more standard, rounded, normal. You can tell by action alone that they aren’t the ones working for whoever the new boss is, but you try it anyway. “How about you guys?” you ask, blowing a puff of air to get your hair out of your face, “why do you want me?”

You can see Din in your peripheral vision. You think he’s hurt, seriously hurt, but when you catch his eye, you know that he’s just faking it until you’re ready to jump into action. He’s righting his wrongs. You have the helm.

“Legend has it,” one says, voice strange through the modulator, “that you have the ability to use the Force. And that you,” he says, pointing at Din, “are the Mandalorian who almost died in the fight against Moff Gideon.”

“So what if we are?” you ask, and the man in front of you steps closer. Maker, he’s the worst. You can feel how hard the troopers are holding you back, so you try to relax, to get one hand free to call the saber into it when you’re ready. “What do you want with us? Why are there bounties on our heads?”

“You,” the man you attacked whispers, coming close enough that you can smell the vile blood on his breath, will be worth something invaluable to the Order.”

“Yeah?” you ask, brining your chin upward, trying to look frightened, to milk them for all the information they have. “What order?”

He grins. “With your power? We’ll use you over and over again, sweetheart.”

You’ve had enough. You sniff, hair in your eyes, and when he bends down to inspect you, you bring your head up, hard, under his chin. He cries out in pain, and you throw the Darksaber over to Din, who ignites it, cuts the man in brown down to the ground. You’re not sure if the severing of his arm was enough, but you dart and pull through the troopers, trying to use your size to your advantage. They tower over you, and even though you aren’t the nimblest or fastest, you’re good at getting on the ground and kicking the shit out of whatever else is above you. You roll and twist, and one trooper grabs you by your neck, the other one taking a crack at your knee. You yell in pain, and you close your eyes, throwing one against the wall, evading the other trooper’s arms.

“Now!” you yell to Din, and you watch as the Darksaber flies, fully ignited, through the air. You catch it like you’re built for it, and you twist around to go back-to-back, you swiping at the man in front of you, Din pulling the blaster off your hip to use on the two troopers.

“You have no idea what you’re doing,” the man spits, and you cry out as you slash at him, moving him back against the wall. “Even if you kill us, nothing will change. You want to know what the Order is?”

“I have decided that I don’t care,” you seethe, swiping at his foot. He’s quicker than you are, somehow, and he’s able to predict your movement. He cracks at your hand, and you yell, tossing the saber back over your shoulder to Din, grabbing the blaster out of his outstretched palm.

“It’s going to be even bigger,” he says, grabbing at your neck, and you shoot him in the foot like you should have back in the cantina. Howling, he falls back, but he’s still yelling at you. Behind you, you hear the cries of the troopers, and then silence. Din tosses the saber back, unlit, and you ignite it in your hand. You’re not great at this. You’re making mistakes. But you’re here, fighting your own battles, and you have your weapon against the bastard’s throat, the man you love in waiting behind you to back you up if need be. “You have no idea what’s coming.”

“More thugs?” you ask, pointing the tip of the saber underneath his chin. “I think I can handle that.”

He grins at you, blood spilling out of his slimy lips. “What died didn’t stay dead, little girl,” he whispers, and Din ducks under your outstretched arm to hold your blaster up, firm and strong, looking at the guy with pure hatred. “The Dark Side is coming for you. You’re never going to win.”

“Watch me,” you say, and then Din puts a bullet through his chest. “Fourth condition,” you say, trying to catch your breath, “you don’t let me fall.”

Din stares at you. “Okay,” he starts, and then you feel your consciousness fade back out into a vision, and before you land on the ground, Din’s holding you up. You can see it—the same scene as before—flashes of blue and red light, screaming. You’re on the other side, this time, watching yourself battle against something dark and faceless.

“Go!” you hear yourself scream, reverberating, and the you that you’re watching explodes in light. It’s so bright that you have to turn away. You cry out, and when you turn around, Luke Skywalker is staring you straight in the face. Except he’s not blonde, anymore, he’s old and grey and there’s a haunted look in his eyes. “Go,” he repeats, and presses something into your hand. Your eyes fly back open before you can make sense of it.

You come back like hurtling out of a dream. You gasp, and Din lets you down, gently, onto the ground. “Cyar’ika,” he says, and you can hear how scared his voice is. He pushes your hair out of your eyes, and you stare back at him in the moonlight, trying to get your bearings. “Novalise, what is going on?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, honestly, and then you hear a noise from behind you. You duck when the first round of artillery comes. It’s not stormtroopers, at least—it looks like angry villagers, maybe a militia they’ve formed to keep outsiders in check. Din’s hand is clasped in yours and he’s pulling you behind him, throwing the saber through the air until you can catch it in your palm. When you ignite it, you see the people balk, and it’s enough for them to step back to give you both the leeway to run. You have no idea where you’re going. There’s absolutely no indication where you are in the city. Din twists and turns, but the group is gaining speed, and they’re on your heels. They’re yelling, jeering, and the only thing in your head is the voice of the man who touched you, whispering what died didn’t stay dead. You’re cold, but it has nothing to do with the chill of the night.

You’re on the ground before you realize you’ve been shot. You yelp the second it registers, a slug buried in your calf. Din lifts you up and keeps moving, until another gun points at him and sinks one into his shoulder. He yells out, too, and both of you are just moving, running wildly away from your attackers. The second you spot Kicker, you ignite the Darksaber again, slashing at the closest men on your heels. Din ducks in front of you, pulls the blaster out, and keeps shooting as you climb the gangplank and get up the ladder. For a second, a slow, agonizing second, Kicker doesn’t start. And then you hear Din get shot again.

“No!” you cry, scrambling back down the ladder, brandishing the Darksaber. “Get away from him,” you say, voice as level as you can possibly make it. Din is gasping on the gangplank, bleeding profusely out of something on his chest.

The main raises the gun and you use the Darksaber to slice his arm clean off. You gasp at what you’ve done, staring at your hand, trying to reconcile how even your pulse is, how your palm isn’t even shaking. As Kicker bursts into life, you pull Din up the gangplank, scaling the ladder long enough to punch the coordinates of open space into the navigation system, and then sliding back down with a bacta kit to fix whatever’s bleeding.

“Fifth condition,” you say, voice shaking, “you wear your armor no matter how dangerous it is, because you are not allowed to leave me again.”

“Deal,” Din manages, weakly. You wrangle off his shirt. The bullet is lodged in between two of his ribs, but it doesn’t look like he’s nicked a major artery, so you breathe a sigh of relief as you begin to clean the wound. “I’ve already told you, I’ll follow you anywhere—”

“That,” you interrupt, “doesn’t matter if you fucking die on me.”

“Well,” Din starts, hissing the second the alcohol burns into his skin, disinfecting the wound, his stomach contracting. You stare at the pockmarks of all the other scars you’ve patched up. “That’s a—fuck—a good point,” he agrees, finally, and you carefully apply the bacta patch. The second it’s secured, you look around to his other injuries, scanning for anything else life-threatening, and then Din’s pushing himself up on the heels of his hands.

“No,” you protest, “not a good idea—”

“You’re shot,” he reminds you, and your eyes follow his all the way down to the bullet lodged in the muscle of your leg.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, distantly, “I am.” Silently, you assume your regular position—staring over at Din while he works, quiet—and when you feel Kicker shoot safely out of Cantonica’s atmosphere, you breathe a tiny sigh of relief. “Condition six,” you sigh, “is that we keep patching each other up after we’re being shot at.”

“That just seems like common sense,” Din mutters, and when you catch his eyes, he manages a soft smile. “Is that the last condition?” he continues, injecting you with the bacta shot before he bandages the wound, “because that seems like a notable place to end on.”

“I don’t know,” you say, softly, feeling the buzz of the bacta coursing slowly through your veins. Your face stretches into a smile, even though you know it won’t be the last one. But here, now, after you just fought off five men together, before you’re about to rendezvous with the rest of the New Rogue Squadron to try and stop whatever evil is coming, you think you both deserve a safe place to land. “I don’t know if that’ll be the last one. But I’ll tell you,” you sigh, adjusting, pulling him in closer, “after you marry me.”

Din stares at you. “I thought I was supposed to propose again—”

“Beat you to it,” you slur, “marry me, Mandalorian.”

He laughs. A real laugh, a genuine one. Maker, it’s the most glorious sound you’ve ever heard. He bends down to kiss you. He tastes like home. “Okay,” he whispers, tipping his forehead gently against yours. “But there’s something I have to tell you first.”

“Oh, Maker,” you sigh, feeling the bacta about to take its full effect, struggling up on your hands to face him. “Do you have another family that you haven’t told me about?”

“That…depends on what you mean by family,” Din says, slowly. Even through your drugged haze, you feel the weight of it. You sit up straighter, staring at him. “Earlier, you asked why I have the Darksaber.”

“Yeah,” you answer, eyebrows furrowing down the middle.

“Well,” Din continues, sighing, pulling it off of your belt, “I have it because I won it in battle with Gideon. And much to Bo-Katan’s dismay—and mine—apparently, that means it’s mine until someone else wins it from me.”

“I—what?” you ask, trying to shake away the fuzzy feeling, “what are you saying to me?”

“I’m saying,” Din emphasizes, sighing, looking down at the Darksaber in his hand, “that I don’t have a secret family, and I’m never leaving you again, but…”

“What?” you repeat.

“I accidentally became the ruler of Mandalore,” Din admits. “And I don’t know how to get out of it.”

You stare at him, speechless, and then the bacta kicks in and everything fades to black.

*

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I HOPED YOU LOVED IT!!!! this chapter spanned over so much, but it was a joy to write. i took a lot of little liberties here and there with fudging the og star wars plot/timeline, but it's all to set up the sequel, and i promise if it seems like it's moving quickly, there's going to be more plot points described in way more depth later on! <3

SOME NOTES:

1. i do not know when SM will be over (i have this last arc to finish up & stuff to introduce for the sequel) but as soon as i know when we're nearing the end, i will let y'all know here & on tiktok (padmeamydala)!

2. yes i am pushing the wedgeluke agenda. they are in love. if you guys are picking up ~vibes~ it's because they're there. wedgeluke romantic subplot because, well, i want to and i love writing about my favorite little fruit luke skywalker & it's been so fun to write my interpretation of wedge!!

3. i've gotten a few comments and messages that are very critical of Nova and the way she's acting. i want her to have depth, and sometimes being a little selfish or not immediately rushing to convey messages to the Alliance when she's dealing with heavy and/or emotional experiences comes along with that! you are, of course, entitled to your opinions on Nova/her characterization/SM in general, and it's more than okay to voice those opinions to me, but please just know that she's written the way she is because she's coming into her own (and the girl has been through the RINGER lol), and she's flawed because i want her to have depth and her own merits, more than just a reader insert character or a love interest, because she's going to have much more of her own personality in the sequel. please just be respectful of me and my work, and please voice whatever you want to say with kindness <3

CHAPTER 28 WILL BE UP SATURDAY, JULY 3RD @ 7:30 PM EST!!!!

xoxo, amelie

[honsoolie]

don’t rush | 04

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings: excessive amounts of pining, explicit smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, semi-public sex, mutual masturbation 

words: 10.3k

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: thank you for waiting... if you've stuck around this long :") i've tried so hard for the past couple months to condense this story into the original length (3 chapters) but i've gotten attached and i'm afraid that this will turn into a longfic at the rate i'm going. so after this chapter, i'll be sure to post lots of drabbles of the scenes i couldn't fit in!! thank you so much for the wild ride, and without further ado, i present to you don't rush 04. 

start from the beginning?

You can’t bring yourself to fault Yoongi for what happened that morning. You also can’t bring yourself to say that it was your fault either–or even that there may be a single person to blame. 

24 hours of radio silence. No good morning text, no morning after–or really, afternoon after–text. Nothing. 

The thing about silence–absolute silence, with the exception the low hum of the air-con, or the distant sounds of a city, or footsteps from the room above you–is how slowly it passes. Maybe that’s why you’re a music student, spending all your time filling the silence with your own music. 

Silence is such an empty space–and can breed such bored thoughts. And where else for your mind to wander but Yoongi? 

It’s not that you were waiting for a text from him, it’s just that… you were half-expecting a text from him. Like he owed it to you. Even if none of this had ever happened, he would have texted you good morning by now. 

At least in your head, it seems fair that the onus is on Yoongi to text first. After all, he was the one who dragged you tightly by the wrist back to his apartment. He pushed you down on his couch, and in a very roundabout way, made you late for class. 

It’s not that you let this whole affair happen to you, but he started it. So it’s his job to text first. That’s the excuse you use, for not being brave enough to do it instead. 

It honestly feels a little pathetic that most of your thoughts outside of music and school are occupied by Min Yoongi. Even now, weeks after you’ve started talking to him, even mere thoughts of him elicit physical reactions from you. 

Your heart rate picking up, skin flushing where your neck meets your collarbone… maybe you’re allergic to Min Yoongi.  

It’s hard for your mind not to run wild with conclusions and assumptions after what happened between the two of you, even if a day hasn’t elapsed yet.  

Why hadn’t he texted? Does he do this often? Did he hate it? Did he ghost me, and now I’m never going to hear from him again? Should I text him first? Why is this so hard? 

Why do I care so much? 

The worst part is, you can’t turn it off. The thoughts follow you throughout the day, a weight sitting on your shoulders as you flit from class to class, building to building, rehearsal to rehearsal. Once the sun dips below the horizon, you’ve almost completed the process of resigning yourself to never knowing the answers to any of your questions. 

You make a note to yourself that you might start grieving the loss of any sort of closure–other than what Yoongi had given you the day before. All evenings this semester have been relegated to the confines of the practice room, so that’s where you head next after chamber music rehearsals end. Finally, the Bach partita has a purpose in your life other than plaguing your waking dreams–something to focus on other than Yoongi. But for God’s sake, it sounds pathetic when it’s put like that. 

Your. Life. Doesn’t. Revolve. Around. Min. Yoongi. You tell yourself, punctuating each word as you march down the stairwell in the music building. You clutch your violin case to your body, seeking warmth in the cold plastic. 

The universe likes to play tricks on people, and its language is irony. Yoongi taught you that lesson, the hard way. 

So it almost makes sense that the next time you encounter Yoongi is when you collide head-on with Yoongi’s smooth chest as you speed-walk through the doorway once you’re at the foot of the stairs. Just as you dreaded (and knew was going to happen anyway), your cheeks light up, some light from deep within you turning on. You kick yourself for the fact that your entire body perks up in his existence, erasing the cold and the tiredness from the night before. 

“Oh–I didn’t expect to see you here.” At the very least, Yoongi doesn’t look like he hates you. Or is disgusted by you. If anything, he looks a bit coy. If you could let yourself believe it, there might even be the warmth of fondness in his eyes, and even more incredulously, maybe the hard edge of guilt. 

“Didn’t expect? Yoongi, I’m here more than my own room.” You laugh despite the thoughts that have been trailing you all day, sounding something like cherry blossoms floating on the new breeze that spring has brought. You feel like you’ve forgiven him for something that he didn’t do, even if he hasn’t said anything yet. 

Just seeing him makes you feel better, the devil in the back of your head whispers. 

“Right, right.” His answering laughter is familiar. Even now, ever after everything, he still has the audacity to smooth his hands over your shoulders, make sure you’re intact and okay. “Violin okay? You okay?” 

You try not to let his scant touches send a shiver down your spine, just so you don’t give him that satisfaction, but you fail all the same. You manage a nod, but can barely bring yourself to look in his eyes. But is it for fear of seeing that warm tenderness again, or something else? 

“So…” With no prompting from you, Yoongi slides a fingertip underneath your chin. It feels simultaneously casual and momentous, and you’re not sure which one you prefer. 

Is this really happening right now? 

He looks deep into your eyes, taking inventory of something that you’re too self-conscious to think about right now. 

Of course, you’re self-conscious. You bump into your hookup a day after the fact, now that it’s nighttime in the practice rooms on the second floor of the music building. Both of you should be somewhere else, anywhere else, preferably drunk. How could it not be awkward, and how could you not feel self-conscious? 

His eyes flick lower, to your lips, and you avert your gaze. Yoongi’s hand returns to his side, and he coughs. 

“Sooo…” You say, digging your foot through the carpet, the warmth of his hands lingering on your skin. You play with the buckles on your violin case, just to give your hands something to do. You hope he says something first, because you’re sure as hell not going to do it. 

“Got something to say?” There’s a hint of a laugh in his words. He coughs again. 

“I thought you were going to say something,” You say, still not looking at him. It’s all you can do to not shrink away. In the dim lighting of the mouth of the hallway, there’s no way he can see your blush, but you turn away all the same. 

He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t, or maybe like he’s purged the last thirty-six hours from his memory. “Let’s not be strangers, come on. Are you busy?” 

“Not… particularly.” You commit to the words before you can finish the thought. 

“Can you do me a favor?” Right. So he wants something from you. Of course, of course he wants something from you. 

“What kind of favor?” 

“I was going to print something downstairs, but now that you’re here, can you listen to my piece? I need a second opinion.” He sighs, as if remembering something sweet. “It’s time I made it even, right? I’ve kept you waiting for long enough.” He smiles, just barely, and yet it feels like a gift. 

So that’s it. It’s confirmed. This is officially Not a Thing, you consign yourself to the fact. It’d be a lie to say that you aren’t a little bit relieved. At least you have an answer. 

There’s no need for a great step forward that’s necessary. No more awkward conversations like these, no admitting of feelings, let alone reciprocation of feelings. 

Nothing has to change between the two of you. Isn’t that what you wanted? 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” You say, like it shouldn’t have been a question in the first place. You hate that even despite his silence on the matter, you’re running back to his side. You hate that you’re happy that he still wants anything to do with you. You ignore the empty kind of ache in your chest, too hollow and too full at the same time. 

You follow him down the narrow hallway, past the couch where it all began, and into the practice room. Of course, Yoongi’s already booked the only one isn’t a dingy cesspool. 

He pats the space next to him on the piano bench, beckoning you closer. 

“Sit down, don’t stand the whole time.” 

“Don’t you need the space?” 

“No, no, it’s okay. Come here.” If it’s even possible, your face burns even hotter when you sit down next to him, shoulders brushing just so. It’s harder to forget about the fact that you are hopelessly crushing on Min Yoongi when you’re literally touching him again. 

It reminds you of all his touches from before, because it was good. The sex was good. If it had been awkward and fumbling, if Min Yoongi hadn’t been able to push you over the edge with only his mouth and that look in his eye, you would be a lot more inclined to leave those memories in the past. 

You don’t need to relive the memory over and over, an endless reel. And yet, glimpses, flashes, disjointed stills of that morning still follow you everywhere. But you look at him now, silently flipping through the marked pages on his score, and now you see more than just a good lay. Looking at him now, in his natural state, you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, you’re whipped, there’s no chance for you.  

“I don’t have it memorized yet, please don’t judge me.” You try not to think about the way he had pulled you closer by your hips. You try not to think about what you might have thought was lovesickness in his eyes. You try not to think of the timbre of his voice, when he told you to come for him. You try not to think about that. 

“Really, a pianist who can’t memorize his pieces? Sacreligious.” The delivery of your jibe falls flat. You steady the ricketing breath in your lungs. You’re nervous, and tired. Accepting that your Min Yoongi has absolutely no interest in you other than when he needs you for something isn’t easy, you know. 

“Oh come oooon y/n, this is something I’m learning this semester.” He pouts, just like he had before the both of you had fallen into this nebulous mess of feelings. Or maybe, it’s all one-sided and you’re the only one feeling like things have gotten messy. 

You poke him in the side, which you regret immediately after doing so. “I’m just joking. Show me your piece. Are you warmed up?” Yoongi turns pink, again. 

You remember the pink dusting his cheeks when he was–right, you’re supposed to be forgetting that ever happened. 

He runs his tongue along his lower lip, everything moving in slow motion. Your head is swimming. 

Well, maybe things aren’t moving in slow motion, and it’s the proximity to Min Yoongi that’s making time distort. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m fine. Are you ready to listen?” 

“Yeah. Go ahead.” 

Yoongi hovers his hands over the keys. He does that pianist thing you’ve always loved, where he pauses before the keys, preparing to play. 

He leans in slowly, sinking his hands down, pulling out a sound so sweet and, so, so solemn. This is a different Yoongi than the one thirty seconds ago. 

You realize somewhat belatedly that the fluorescent lights, the same ones that erase any sort of proper time telling in windowless rooms like these, still make Yoongi look good. The light bounces off of him just right, his cheekbones casting a gentle shadow on the sloped panes of his face. Like the rest of him, there’s no harsh angles, just soft gentle slopes that feel like home. Like comfort. Your gut twists in yearning. The hollow of his cheekbone is the perfect place to kiss, you ponder. 

Things should be easier now. All of it was a mistake. It’s in the past. It seems that Yoongi doesn’t seem to care at all. It should be forgotten about. Things, in theory, should be easier now. You should be able to carry on as you’ve always been able to. The path of least resistance, right?

He pauses, and begins what must be the main theme, cascading sixteenth-notes that sound about as tumultuous and troubled as you feel. 

He looks like he’s about to cry. Sure, you’ve seen sleepy Yoongi, cranky Yoongi, even a little bit of earnest, pleading Yoongi. But whoever is in front of you is entirely different. He’s approaching the main theme again, hands jumping over the keys as if they were hot irons. You can see all the versions of him laid out before you. Younger Yoongi, hands too small to reach the tenths written in his score. Hungover Yoongi that shuffles into class a couple minutes late, remnants of a late night out drinking written all over his face. The Yoongi that holds your hands between his and tells you that everything is going to be okay. 

When he reaches the final cadence, he doesn’t look at you immediately, still trained on the keys. His hands are still placed in the final chord, lifting them off slowly so the sound doesn’t quite fade away yet. The both of you stay like that, in the aftermath of what he just played. You hear the click as he takes his foot off the pedal. The tension that he was churning out doesn’t fade away when the sound stops. If anything, it gets worse. Blood rushes to your cheeks, the room warmer than it was before. 

“So… that’s what I’ve been working on so far. I, uh, hope you liked it.” It’s shocking how that compelling spirit from just minutes ago dissipates into thin air. He looks vulnerable, naked despite the fact that he’s fully clothed. 

“You’ve been holding out on me, Min Yoongi.” You laugh in disbelief, blinking away tears. God, you are so fucked. Sure, you’ve heard him play before, practicing with him. But you’re not practicing with him now, you’re watching. You’ve become the audience, and the dynamic has changed once again. 

There’s been many a night where you googled his previous performances and competitions on Youtube, but this doesn’t compare. Not in the slightest. So this is what all your teachers were talking about when they were lecturing you about the importance of stage presence. 

“Uh, wow. Wow.” You’re still tearing up, no matter how much you try to will it away. 

You’re not even really sure why you’re tearing up or why you can’t stop. It’s usually difficult for music to elicit such a visceral reaction from you. Goosebumps, sure. That very specific thrill down your spine when you hear music that isn’t so much as something that you hear, but feel in your blood, thumping, alive, real. 

But tears, no. That doesn’t happen.

It feels like your body is reacting to something that isn’t tangible, that you can’t see with your eyes or hear with your ears. Like there’s something else in the room that you can’t quite register. Like you’re crying despite yourself. 

You desperately want to kiss him. You want to pull him close and breathe in his familar scent and feel him pull you closer. It feels like the only appropriate thing to do, rather than just say “wow” over and over, in that stupid longing voice because you don’t what else to say. This is too overwhelming. More overwhelming than what it feels like when he finally puts his hands on you. 

It’s the only thing you want to do. You can’t imagine the night ending in any other way. It seems like it was prewritten in the stars, like the universe came together to stitch this scene together. Like it was fate for you to find him here, long after the sun disappeared over the horizon, practicing just like you were.

But you can’t, so you hug him. Like an absolute idiot. 

You regret it as soon as your arms circle around his shoulders. Yoongi stiffens, as if startled, as if he wasn’t expecting the hug either. Then his hand come to awkwardly pat the space between your shoulder blades, as if this couldn’t get any worse. This feels like a consolation prize. 

He can’t see your face nestled against his shoulder, but you cringe. 

You feel the vibration of his laughter against you, his shoulders shaking, “You liked it that much?” You can feel the way his voice resonates in his chest, and like everything else about this ordeal, it’s overwhelming. 

“Yeah,” You pull back away from him, relieved that the moment is over, “Yeah, I liked it. Winter Wind, right?” 

“Yeah, fitting for this fucking weather.” 

You laugh. “Look, thanks. But I gotta go, it’s getting late and I have a paper due tonight. Thank you, again. It’s really good.” You pick up your case, “You have good start, but keep practicing. Can’t stop until you have it memorized, ha.” You try to force a laugh. 

You hope you don’t look like you’re fleeing the scene. (Except you are. You leave the building without even practicing. But you don’t tell him that.) 

As you stream down the steps leading to the music building, the cool night air blotting away the swelling tears in your eyes, there’s something else that takes up residence in your heart: jealousy, and initiative. 

You envy the lucky bitch that ends up with Min Yoongi. And if Yoongi won’t talk about it, then you will. You won’t let him drag you around on a whim without a real answer. You can’t bring yourself to wait any longer. 

~

Min Yoongi doesn’t like you back. 

At least, that’s what he tries to tell himself before he goes to sleep, as if lying to himself might make sleep come more easily. 

The truth is, you are Min Yoongi’s favorite bedtime story. Like many other nights before, Yoongi falls asleep thinking of you, hashing and rehashing all the little details and inside jokes and past conversations. It’s a small comfort during this semester, thoughts of you keeping him warm. 

Tonight, Yoongi is replaying the conversation from earlier, the way he saw you nervously rubbed at the tough calluses on your left hand while he was playing for you, out of the corner of his eye. It made Yoongi want to make you smile, laugh at his bad jokes, and maybe, if you’d let him, gasp against his lips. It’s been less than a day since he saw you and yet he misses your laugh. 

That morning after class, you had sat up, blinking away the sun filtering through his shades, or maybe trying to clear the post-orgasm fog. Post- orgasms fog. Then you mumbled something about being late for class, a thin layer of sweat shining down to your chest. 

You had thanked him, then laughed at the misstep. God, you were so dorky that you thanked him. How was he ever supposed to resist you? 

How had the two of you come so far? 

 And the guiltiest indulgences Yoongi would allow himself in the middle of the night were the things he hadn’t experienced with you. Like a kiss. He hasn’t gotten a chance to do that, not yet. Maybe not ever. Would it be chaste? Slow and romantic? Or would it be impassioned and angry? 

Yoongi is particularly fond of the image of taking you to the jazz cafe a little ways away from campus. Would you wear a dress, once the weather warms up a little bit? What kind of coffee would you order? Do you even like jazz? What would it feel like to feel your hand slotted against his? 

He definitely wasn’t been thinking about pushing you up against the mirror in the practice room and seeing if the soundproof padding was actually properly installed. Or about that morning after classes, and those little mewling noises you made to urge him on. You were so desperate. It was cute, to say the least. 

But Yoongi wasn’t trying to think about that right now. He was thinking more about your unwavering diligence. Or the merriment in your eyes despite the tired shadows that hung beneath them. Or the way you didn’t back down from the way that he was obviously flirting with him, fighting fire with fire.

How much longer can the both of you live in denial, waiting for the other to make a tentative step forward? 

The more he thinks about it–about you–the less he can comfortably stay in his little bubble of denial. Denial can only get him so far. He tells himself that whatever relationship between the two of you is inevitable, and someone is going to do something eventually, and that’s why he’s not making a move just yet. 

Much of your relationship (or lack thereof) has been stepwise progression, slow steps. Graduating slowly from classmate to study partners to friends and closer, still. And now Yoongi had made this great leap and it felt like the both of you were lost amid the signals and the truths neither of you knew how to broach. 

And no matter how brave he is on stage, it’s nothing compared to being up close and personal with you. Cheesily enough, it’s easy enough to show a crowd what he’s been working on for months, but with you, he has to improvise. 

Truth be told, Yoongi knew he was being idealistic. The space that you two existed in had become precious to him, and he didn’t want to do anything to upset the balance, until now. There’s no easy way to make this all go away. Both of you were in too deep now. 

He saw the way you sighed into his touch, the way your eyes would go unfocused when he said something that was even remotely flirtatious, then then snap back to reality, as if you were reminding yourself of something. He knew you wouldn’t do anything any time soon. The past evening had shown him that. 

  And how was he supposed to admit his feelings for you… when he could hardly admit them to himself, in the privacy of his own room? 

And now, how could Yoongi make sense of anything? Every quiet moment carried the ghost of your voice. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the way you had squeezed your eyes shut when he brought you to rapture. Even when you’re not with him, you’re filling up his senses. His thoughts. 

Am I in love with my friend? Are we friends because we’re in love? Am I feeling like this because of the way she says my name? Am I feeling like this because of the way she touches me? 

So those are all the reasons. To not talk to you. To talk to you. God, how the fuck was Yoongi supposed to know? 

~

You (5:03pm): hey, I think we should talk soon 

 The minutes tick by. Does the time always pass this slowly, you think to yourself. Your hand hovers over your phone keyboard. 

Fuck… what have I done. 

 You (5:15pm): that sounds sooo scary lol no pressure okay? 

 You grow desperate in the wake of his silence. Have you ruined it all?  

 Yoongi (5:30pm) yeah 

Yoongi (5:31pm): sorry I was practicing 

Yoongi (5:31pm): wasn’t looking at my phone  

Yoongi (5:31pm): let’s talk then 

Yoongi (5:32pm): where are you? 

 You find yourself at his apartment once again, the closed door spelling out all the possibilities in front of you. At least give him the benefit of the doubt, something reasons inside of you, but something darker says, think of what he’s put you through.  

Think of what you’ve put yourself through, you finally think. You’ve stood outside long enough. You’ve overwrought this, alone, long enough. 

Each knock that you rap against the door sounds like another nail in the coffin, but you still cling onto the last dregs of hope left in you. 

The door opens immediately, a rush of warm air enveloping you from outside. “Hey,” Yoongi says, shyly, almost demure in his lounge clothes and undone hair. 

You want to take him apart. 

“Hey,” You mirror, and try to pretend like Min Yoongi hasn’t stolen the breath out of you for what seems like the thousandth time. You hate that he has this effect on you. With nothing but a simple greeting, it seems like you’ve forgiven him for all your grief already. You try to push that feeling further down, trying to stay objective. 

Yoongi leads you to his couch. “Here… sit down. It’s cold outside, I made tea,” He says, padding into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything else, but it looks like he knows exactly what you want to talk about. There’s something in the little tick in his jaw that tells you he’s just as sure as you are, but you’re tired of guessing. Your eyes are blurring from looking in between the lines for so long. 

There’s a big difference between overt facts and implied certainties. Fact: You and Yoongi are friends who study together, and now, ex-hookups. Implied: There’s something more there, something between friend and one-time hookup. 

“Um, what did you want to talk about?” Yoongi says, setting down a steaming mug in front of you. You don’t reach for it. 

“I–” You steel yourself for the words to tumble out of your mouth, but you lose your nerve. You had prepared a whole monologue on the walk to his apartment, but it doesn’t seem right now. You sigh, loosening the tension in your shoulders. “I wanted to talk about… about the last time I was at your apartment.” You hope it’s enough for him to get your point, and you hope that he’ll be honest and direct. He owes at least that much to you. 

“What about last time? Like specifically, what about last time?” Yoongi says, not flippantly. Please, you silently plead, please… just say something good.  

“Yoongi,” You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come, “What happens now? What does it mean? Please, just be honest.” When you hear your voice leave your body, you can hear how pained you sound. It wasn’t something you intended. You match his gaze and his eyes are like mirrors. “Yoongi… whatever you say, I won’t be angry. I just–I just want to know how you feel.” Your voice trembles. You hope you don’t sound as pathetic and humiliated as you feel, the scorned hookup. 

Worse yet, the scorned hookup who didn’t get the hint the first time. 

“No, no. You deserve the truth.” He sets his mug on the table, and you bristle at the fact that he doesn’t use a coaster. “I’ll, um, tell you my side of the story. Just to be clear I’m not like, mad at you, or anything like that. I’m also not the type to fuck and go… even though it looks like that. And I’m not like, going to ghost you or anything. Unless you want me to do that. In that case,” Yoongi runs a hand through his hair, lingering on the nape of his neck, “I’ll do that.”  

“Can you do something for me, y/n? Can you just–” Yoongi holds his hands out in front of him, and he clasps his hands between yours. He always knows exactly how to comfort you, even now. 

He sighs. “I wasn’t… expecting everything to happen like this. y/n, I… Just let me think about what to say for a second. But I promise, you’ll get the explanation you’re owed.” Another deep breath in. Another deep breath out. 

You sit like that for what seems like a long, stretched out moment, your hands clasped in Yoongi’s, his brow furrowed. 

“Why didn’t you say something yesterday?” You burst out. 

Yoongi clears his throat. “Okay, look. I have… a lot of… okay, I just, I wasn’t sure how to go about this whole thing. And that morning in class, I rushed everything and after that I wasn’t sure how to approach you. Then when I saw you in the music building afterward, I just wanted to talk to you… to make sure you were okay. I saw you and I blanked. I didn’t know what to say, and I didn’t know what to do without making it weird. That’s a shitty reason, but I blanked and didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry.” 

“So,” You blink, frustrated, confused, flushed hot with embarrassment and maybe a little bit of arousal, “Okay,” You say. At least you’re getting somewhere. “So… why did it happen? Why… why did we…” 

Your eyes sting, and you breathe deeply, as if you might run out of words. “Was it all in my head?” 

Yoongi’s clammy hands tighten around yours, as if he’s afraid you’ll leave. 

“No,” Yoongi exhales, “No, it wasn’t.” 

Your body is running hot and cold. It feels like something in the air has been punctured, all the tension, all the doubts, rushing away. Something new rushes in. 

“I spent all this time guessing and wondering and hoping. I ran myself ragged with all my thinking. It’s not your fault, mostly, but I’m so tired. Of guessing.” 

He smiles. Well, smirks, in that Yoongi fashion that makes it feel like the top of your head is spinning. “Stop thinking so much then.” 

“It was–” Yoongi’s voice breaks, rips in half. “It was a mistake,” Yoongi lies. You know he’s lying. You can tell from the way his eyes are looking everywhere on your face but your eyes. You can tell from the way that he wrings his hands, like he’s reading a pre-written apology from behind the camera. “I’m so, so confused about everything. This isn’t going the way I thought it would–not that–it’s just my words aren’t coming out like I thought they would. I’m sorry. I don’t mean it like a bad thing.” 

Yoongi sighs, “I thought this would be easier.” And when you look at him again, you can see the pink on his cheeks. And how dilated his pupils are, and the decreasing proximity between his lips and your lips, because again Yoongi is still death-gripping your hands in his. If you could let yourself entertain the idea, he might be pulling you closer.  

“You’re going to need to be more specific,” You say. You lean away from him, hoping that the energy in the room will simmer down if you’re not centimeters away from falling into his arms. You need to hear him talk more, say everything, explain himself. You can’t leave this room without knowing more, you won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth and the full truth. You really don’t have the energy to wait more. 

“Well, even before everything–” And this is where Yoongi waves his hands in the air, gesticulating wildly. He doesn’t elaborate, although you suppose “before the almost-handjob in class and the whole mouth-fucking each other on your couch” is a bit of a mouthful. 

“Even before everything– I knew you liked me. Like, you can’t even be surprised that I knew. Because you were really obvious. Like so obvious. But yeah. I knew, and I thought it was cute, and it was super flattering.” 

You open your mouth for a response, but you concede that he’s right. You flush ever hotter. 

Yoongi’s voice drops a little lower, like he’s telling you a secret, “And it was so fun to mess with you. Like, I could make this cute fucking girl blush and giggle and squirm and it was all because of me, how can I not be flattered? How can I not want to spend more time with you, push all your buttons? I figured you’d eventually do something about it. But you never did, no matter how much I pushed it with you. I wanted you to make the first move. But we started getting closer, and I thought maybe you were never going to do anything about it. Like we agreed to be friends, but on the inside we both liked each other? I didn’t want that to happen, but I was too scared to just go and ask you out. So I was getting frustrated. So that morning, I was just messing around with you again. I wanted to annoy you during class, I wasn’t expecting anything to come out of it. But you–I guess you were frustrated too, because you called me on my bluff. And then, you know, one thing leads to another and we’re somehow at my apartment, which I barely remember how we got there in one piece before–” Yoongi stops, breathless and something tender sparkling in his eyes. His hands aren’t gripping you like you might run away, just resting on the tops of your knees. Reminding you that he’s there. 

“And now, in the present, I’m just confused? Did I like you before or after we…” He trails off, bashful still, even now. “Or do I feel like this now because we were together? And does that even matter now, because I like you regardless?”

All the blood has rushed away from your chest. It feels like someone has knocked all the air from you but also as if a winch has tightened ever-so around your heart. 

“Let’s take it slow, if that’s something you want. Nobody…” You grapple for something to say, after that hell of a fucking lovesick speech, “Nobody said that you needed all the answers now. Don’t rush.” You take his hands back into yours. 

The weight of it all hits you slowly, in successive waves. You don’t have to filter anything out, never have to make yourself feel appropriate for him. When you practice with him, study with him, eat with him… all the quiet spaces and body-wracking laughter just feel like a perfect fit. Nothing out of place. There’s never a conversation topic or something to stray away from, other than circumventing the feelings you have for him. Even then, it’s not like Yoongi pretends like the attraction isn’t there. He doesn’t skirt around it, avoid it like taboo conversation. It really only serves to amplify your conversations, a red thread pulled taut underneath everything else. 

And now, you can give into that? You can show him how you really feel, and there’s just one less thing to hide? 

“You know, you’re not blameless. I was super stressed out at the time, and with the Bach Festival and midterms and everything I guess… you gave me the opportunity to lessen that a little, so. I know, I know. It’s a shitty excuse. But I wanted things with you and with the way that things converged, it seemed like–” 

“Serendipity?”  

“A bit like that, yes.” You tighten your hands around his, and he pulls you a little closer. You’re leaning over his lap now. 

You can’t choose whether to look into his eyes or at his lips. It looks like Yoongi has the same problem. He pulls you imperceptibly closer. 

“Can I kiss you? If that’s not rushing, of course.” 

“Yeah. Yes, please.” You soften yourself into his lap, Yoongi pulling you closer by the shoulders, sliding down to rest on your arms. You relish in the sensation, knowing it’s something that you can enjoy with a reassured heart now. 

He plants a closed kiss against your lips, and somehow that makes your heart flutter more than anything else he’s ever done before. The pads of his fingertips are soft and gentle against your arms, pulling you closer by the bicep. 

“I like you… I like you a lot…” Yoongi whispers against your lips, laughing at the confession. So sweet, so soft. 

“I like you too…” You whisper, kissing back. Slow, chaste, if a bit restrained. The realization hits you again, slowly, like an ocean wave washing over wet sand. 

Yoongi likes you back. Yoongi wants you back. You laugh at how absurd it sounds, even in your own head, nipping at his lip. “Say it again, Yoongi.” 

“I like you…” Yoongi sounds coy. 

You smile against him, “Say it again,” You gasp, pushing him back on the couch, gentle but firm, “I like you too, in case you didn’t know.” You can’t help but laugh. Not at the absurdity at the situation, but just out of happy shock. 

“y/n, I like you…” Yoongi chuckles, deep in his chest, looking up at you. His hair falls out of his eyes. 

“Do you know how happy it makes me, to hear you say that?” 

You’re honestly surprised that you don’t have whiplash. Whiplash from the weeks of tension and denial, feeling like you would never get this relief, but now you have a whole new set of problems. Dating Min Yoongi. 

~

This whole “taking it slow” thing is fucking bullshit. The past couple weeks have been one long sustained effort, some kind of marathon in testing the waters, drawing back and then pushing forward. 

Maybe you spoke too soon. You have to admit that the slow build, chaste romantic courtship is nice . 

The study dates are more than nice. The coffee shop dates feel almost luxurious, expensive in time in the same way that the actual coffee is cheap. 

Actually, all of this is a lot nicer than having to guess his every intention, the message between the lines. But you already know what it’s like to have Min Yoongi. 

In fact, things have been largely the same for the past couple weeks, except now you can feel the weight of his flirtatious jokes. You can now confidently say that Yoongi says what he means. The more time you spend with Yoongi, the more liberated you feel in letting yourself delight in the feeling of being allowed to show your feelings for him, and having them be duly reciprocated. 

After the confessional evening the both of you had, Yoongi had agreed to take it slow. In your lovesick state, you probably would have said yes to anything that Min Yoongi put on the table. Which is probably why you agreed to the whole courtship thing. 

“y/n… think about it like this! If we take our time then when the time finally comes… to… uh, you know, then it’ll be so much more gratifying. And I want to be with you more, like this,” Yoongi says, as you lean against his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his words. 

“Delayed gratification, have you ever heard of that?” Yoongi had said, smiling wider than you’d ever seen. 

“Although from my experience with you, I think you like instant gratification more,” He said, a touch darker. Your memory blurs now, because that was about the time he started tickling you relentlessly. And then kissing you relentlessly.  

And at the time, you had agreed. The delayed gratification would make everything better, make the world a little more rose-colored than before. 

You don’t want to push his boundaries, he doesn’t want to push yours, but now it’s begun nearly feels both of you are so afraid of each other that you haven’t touched each other in what seems like fucking forever–and it’s reached a boiling point, from what you can gather this evening. 

The newfound tension between the two of you is new, maybe a day or two at most, but annoying nonetheless. 

 “Y/n, how many times have I told you? Stop rushing. Do you need me to count your part out? One, two, three, four.” He punctuates every count with a clap in your face, and a sneer to boot. 

Yoongi has been especially volatile this evening. His normal jokes and jabs at you fall just short of endearing. Your initial approach at remedying the situation by focusing on the music at hand has only seemed to make things worse, and you’ve given in to your slowly-growing temper. 

“I am fucking counting, and I’m not the one playing fucking half notes, okay? How about you just focus on making the harmony, I don’t know, harmonious ?” You lower your violin, face screwing up in anger, only you don’t know how much of it is joking anymore. 

You don’t know how much longer you can take this kind of tension in the air. It feels angry and red and biting, but you can’t help it. The stale air-conditioned air in the practice room only seems to make your face warmer and warmer as time passes. 

All this tension, and no release. That’s what music is all about. The build-up of musical intensity, the expectation and anticipation for resolution. It’s like you’ve been stuck on the same chord of a cadence, waiting for a release that feels like it isn’t coming anytime soon. 

You take a deep breath, the frustration tightening in your chest. “From measure eighty-four, and take the fucking repeat this time. Let’s just move onto the next section after this, we’ll just come back to it later.” 

You fight the urge to huff and sigh, knowing it would only earn you a comment from Yoongi about being, as he had put it, ‘wound up.’ Yeah, no shit, you’re wound up. Wound up is putting it lightly. Just last week Yoongi had made a mess of you at his apartment, teasing you apart and then stopping just short of an orgasm. And he said the same thing last week too: delayed gratification. 

You try again, cueing him in with a sharp breath and the uptake of your bow. 

And again, and again, and again. 

“This isn’t working.” You set your violin on the soft lining of your case and rub your temples, resting your upper body on the body of the piano. You swipe the back of your hand across your face, breathing in the clean smell of the hand soap from Yoongi’s apartment bathroom, from when you were there a couple hours ago. Warm. Brown sugar. It feels like his embrace–if only you’d ever feel it again. 

God, why did you let him push all your buttons? All evening–ever since the two of you left his apartment to come to the practice rooms–he’s been acting like this. You know it has something to do with you, another game. But you don’t have the energy to divine his ulterior motive, whatever it is. You shut your eyes to provide some reprieve from the strain of staring at the same phrase that you have been stuck on for what has felt like an eternity.

“Yeah, this isn’t fucking working,” He says. It reminds you of the way he talked to you when you found him practicing in the early morning that one Tuesday. You only open your eyes when you hear him get up from his bench. 

Min Yoongi is standing too close to you. His eyes are on your lips and not your eyes. Even in the dim light of the practice room, you can see how dilated his pupils are. 

You meet his eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” he says, more breathless than he’d like to admit, “You’re provoking me. Why?” 

“Who said I was trying to do that? I think you,” You point a finger at his chest, looking into his eyes, “Are provoking me.” You try to sound as petulant as possible, and it works. 

Yoongi’s lips meet yours before you can even take your hands off of him. 

In the best sense of the word, you are cornered. Backed up against the piano, enclosed by his arms. He slips his hands up underneath the cotton of your sweatshirt, pulling you flush against him. His cool fingertips grazing the small of your back have you gasping against his soft lips. 

“Tell me, why are you provoking me?” 

“I, well-” You don’t continue with an excuse, because you���re finally getting what you want. What you both want. 

He presses on. “Gonna answer my question, or are you just gonna keep being a little brat?”  He wedges his thigh between your legs, closer to where you need him most. You stifle a moan, it’s too soon to be making those kinds of sounds, but you grind down on him anyway. “What?” He laughs, the sound sitting deep in his chest. “Aren’t you going to say something?” 

You try to focus on the possessiveness in the way that he holds you by the waist, so you’re not thinking about how weak your knees are. 

He sighs, as if in disappointment. Only you’re not sure who it’s directed towards. 

“If I touch you right now, will you be wet?” He laughs. “I don’t even have to guess.” The ghost of his breath fans against your upper lip. “Is this what you want? Do you, do you, want to keep going?” Yoongi stops his ministrations. When you meet his eyes, both of you breathless, you can see the inquiring concern in his eyes again. 

“Yes, yes, don’t stop,” you say, trying, and failing, not to sound frantic, “Only if you’ll see it through to the end this time,” You bite. 

He laughs, devoid of mirth. “You say that like it’s not hard for me, either.” His hands trail down your torso to rest at the waist of your jeans. You don’t want to pseudo-argue with him anymore, so you just whine a little from the back of your throat, hoping he’ll get the point. 

You don’t want him to think that this isn’t what you want, because truth be told, it is exactly what you want. Your hands come to meet his when you reach to undo the button. 

“You know exactly what to do.” He laughs, lighter this time. He’s laughing like he’s not mad at you. He helps undo your jeans, pushing them and your panties just past your thighs. You gasp when he starts rubbing gentle circles on your clit. His fingers slip against your wet, slippery pussy. 

Yoongi is everywhere. He’s crowding your space against the wall, hand down your pants, the other holding your neck in place. It’s getting overwhelming with his beautiful hand rubbing little circles on your clit. So simple, and yet it feels like you’re breaking apart underneath him. It’s getting harder and harder to bite back the moans, stay in control. 

“You know, these rooms are soundproof. Let me hear you,” He murmurs, pulling you closer. “Stop hiding from me.” 

Yoongi shifts his attention from your wet cunt to the collar of your shirt. “What’s this? Getting busy without me?” Yoongi brushes his free hand over the circular dark mark coloring the crook of your jaw. You’re starting to get impatient with all this teasing, how much more can you take? 

“Haven’t you ever heard of a violin hickey?” You spit, grinding down on his hand, but it’s not enough. God, it really has been too long since he last touched you. He never stops the gentle advance he makes on your clit, never faster, never slower. Just barely enough. “We were just practicing, it gets darker when I play.” You try to explain yourself, as if that might make him show mercy later on. 

“You’re not in any position to talk back right now, don’t forget that.” He leaves open-mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking gently. “I’ll just help you add to your little collection.” Your eyes roll back, unable to help yourself. It’s been so long since anyone has touched you. It’s been so long since anyone has held you so closely. 

Your desperation is beginning to show. With every movement of his hands, Yoongi starts to lessen his touch, your hips dogging his hand. You come to the realization that you’re not above begging to get what you want. He doesn’t even have to ask. 

He continues his gentle assault on your clit. “Do you know what these mirrors are for? They’re for checking your posture as you practice, but I guess this is just a different kind of practice.” He turns you around, your hips digging into the wood panelling of the piano. You’re confronted by your own fucked-out reflection, flushed and panting. You’re still mostly clothed, and yet you look debaucherous, like some ancient painting of a study into the nuances of female pleasure. “Look at you. All messy. And for what? I’ve barely touched you.” 

The frustration is too much, reaching a boiling point. “Please, I swear to God.” You bury your hands in your head, wiping away frustrated tears. Your legs are trembling now, now that Yoongi is only using one of his arms to brace you against him. 

“Please, what?” He digs his nails into the soft skin of your hip, and you can’t help but like it. He lowers his head so it’s level with your ear, sultry, low. “Use your words.” 

“Can’t you just, just-” Again, you buck your hips against his hand, as if that might make him get the point, only for him to nip at your inner thigh with his hand. 

“Don’t rush me, babe.” Babe. Min Yoongi is calling you babe. Is the universe playing some trick on you? 

He takes advantage of your position and leverages his knee on the inside of yours, spreading your legs further. “That’s it, just take it. Take it.” Finally, he takes pity on you and slips a finger inside. He earns an answering gasp. You can tell he means business, because he doesn’t take it slow, he doesn’t let you adjust, going directly at that spot inside of you that makes you keen for him. 

You struggle to stay upright, eyes rolling back. Your fingers scrabble along the dark wood of the piano, struggling to find purchase. 

“Fuck, Yoongi…” 

“So needy, look at you, so fucking needy...” He drives his point home further by adding a second finger. 

“I’m sooooo sorry… how can I ever make it up to you…?” Even despite the mind-bending pleasure and the prospect of Min Yoongi blowing your back out this evening, you roll your eyes. 

“What if someone hears?” Your point is lost when Yoongi changes the angle of his hand, and you break off into a ragged whimper. It’s loud enough to make you embarrassed to have made that sound in the presence of another person.  

“Oh, so you care about that now?” “What about that one time in class,” Yoongi all but pants in your ear, digging his nails into your thigh, “That you were being a desperate little cocktease?” 

You don’t answer, shame stoking the embers in your belly, driving lower and lower. You hate, and love, that he can make you feel like this with only some stern wording and a firm hand. Because it feels that good. Because you like him that much. 

“What then, hmm?” Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response however, before he’s yanking your jeans and panties further down your thighs. “Do me a favor. Touch yourself for me. Show me.” 

“Why?” 

“Wanna see you all messy for me,” Yoongi says, voice silky soft, liquid sex. He guides your hand down to your pussy, and god, you realize just how embarrassingly wet you are for such little foreplay. “Please?” He presses his chest flush to your back, leaning his forehead into the crook of your neck. 

You oblige him. You’re wet to the point where it’s difficult to find purchase against your clit. “Okay… but you have to forgive me.” 

“Forgive you for what?” 

“For being needy…” You say, sweetly. 

“Sure. I’ll forgive anything you do if you do this every time.” He says it like it’s a matter of fact. 

You giggle, like a lovesick idiot. At the very least, you’re glad that Yoongi can make you laugh even when you’re half-play-fighting, half-on-the-verge-of-having-sex-in-your-favorite-practice room. 

The vibrations of your laughter traveling through your body have you moving in new, novel ways against your own hand, and you break off into a moan. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Yoongi murmurs, voice barely above a scratchy whisper. He sounds genuine, and the tenderness of the moment isn’t lost to you, even despite your pleasure. At least now that you’re touching yourself, you don’t have to suffer the patient wrath of Yoongi and can touch yourself the way that you see fit. 

You feel his free hand nudge against the back of your thigh and when you look, he’s dragging the heel of his hand across his pants. 

Fuck. Fuck, you are so wrecked for Min Yoongi. 

“No, you too,” you say, “Show me too.” 

Yoongi moves away from you, pushing his waistband past his hips. He’s gripping his cock in one hand. He’s reaching for your waist again, his hand traveling up to grasp your throat. He jerks your head back. “Look, look at yourself.” 

The combined sensation of his hand on your neck and own hand on your pussy is too much. Your eyes water. “Yoongi,” You gasp, “I’m going to come.” 

“No, not yet. Not yet.” He wrenches your hand away, and the sudden lack of touch is almost cruel. 

You buck against him, his back to you. “Please, please let me come, I can’t–you can’t do this again, fuck,” Your desperation comes out in whines, all shame lost. 

“Be patient, come here.” He turns you around again, your back against the wood of the piano. And you’re looking into his eyes, dark and filled with something like lust. Min Yoongi wants you. You reach up to brush his hair out of his eyes. 

Yoongi’s on your clit again, drawing light circles, testing the wetness before slipping a finger inside again. “I wanna hear you,” He says, adding another finger, more tenacity behind his strokes. He rocks his thumb against your clit. “I wasn’t asking.” 

Up until now you’ve been biting your lip, muffling your cries as best as you can. You look up at him again, drawing up your courage. You feel exposed–how can you not, half-naked in the practice room, when you’re not completely confident that the soundproof padding on the walls can contain the sounds of your rapture. 

“You-you fuck me so good Yoongi–” And you keen, just because he asked you to. 

He stops in his fucking tracks. Again. 

“Well. You fuck me so well. You can’t describe a verb with an adjective. God, I really shouldn’t let you come…” 

“Oh my God, are you really going to do this right now.” You bear down on his hand with your hips again, seeking more friction. “Please… please, I can’t wait anymore.” You can hardly finish your sentence, as Yoongi fucks into you with a particularly hard thrust. You’re finding it difficult to keep your eyes open, instead opting to rest your head on his shoulder. 

God, he smells so good. Like fresh laundry and the melting snow outside, warm and human and reassuring. 

You can feel his smile ghosting over your neck as he leans down to suck another mark into your collarbone. “Yes, yes, I am.” 

“I’m–I’m getting close again,” You say, fisting your hands in his shirt, “Just, ah–” It takes you by surprise, crashing over you. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to stay upright, pulling Yoongi against you. You can feel his satisfied smile, as he pants against the curve of your neck, hot and heady and everything you need. 

“Good?” He asks, after your breathing has calmed, even though you know that he knows that he’s done more than a good job. 

“Okay, okay, enough bragging,” You half-laugh, half-scoff, pulling your pants up past your hips again. 

“I wasn’t bragging,” He whines. It’s endearing, and you pepper his face with kisses before you get to business again. 

You sink to your knees before him, and his expression immediately softens. You try to bridge the gap between the two of you, placing the palm of your hand on his thigh. Asking for permission. 

“Are you sure?” He says, but the expression in his eyes saying something to the effect of “I really hope you’re sure.”  

“Yes, I’m sure,” You say, smiling as you tease the head of his cock with your parted lips. You replace his hand with yours. It’s barely any contact, really, but Yoongi closes his eyes in pleasure nonetheless, head tilted back. Normally, in any other situation like this, you’d be at least a little bit nervous. Or shy, hoping that Yoongi keeps his eyes closed so he’s not looking at you. But the absolute deprivation you’ve felt for the past couple weeks is enough for you to not care. 

You sink lower, in the wake of remembering how pent up and frustrated you’ve felt for the past couple weeks. You even, at least try to, bat your eyelashes at him. But like you guessed (or had hoped), his eyes are squeezed shut. You try not to delight in the sudden change of power too much, but it’s impossible not to. 

He tightens his grip on the back of your neck, groaning. “You’re so good to me.” You take him further in your mouth, eager to please. Eager to hear him make more of those sounds. Eager to take this further. 

You try your best to make it slick, flattening your tongue against him. You’re a little out of practice, after months of being alone, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to notice. And if he does, he’s still enjoying himself. Thoroughly. 

“Fuck, fuck,” He gasps, in hushed whispers. 

“What a mouth on you…” Yoongi moves stray hairs out of your face, surprisingly tender given the lewdness of the situation. The sounds of your mouth fill the practice room, although hopefully not loud enough to expose your vulnerable position. You truly hope that the soundproof padding lining the walls works as advertised. 

“Ah–ah wait, I’m getting close, wait–ah, y/n, fuck,” He rasps. You don’t let up quite yet, letting him sit in that in-between space between ‘on the edge’ and ‘letting go’. His free hand makes a weak fist against his leg. 

Someone knocks on the door. Your first thought is that it may be security wrapping up rounds for the night. 

Your eyes widen in shock as you stand upright and zip up your jeans. The surge from adrenaline at the prospect of getting caught in the act makes your head pulse and spin. Your heart seems to have fallen from the left side of your chest all the way into the pit of your stomach. 

It’s hard to remember how aroused you were, not thirty seconds ago. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” For someone who was quite literally about to be balls-deep inside you, Yoongi tucks his dick back inside his pants with a surprising amount of tact and speed. 

Yoongi is fixing his hair in the practice mirror as you cross the room at the piano bench, pulling out your phone to make it look like the two of you were just dawdling or taking a practice break. 

Maybe twenty seconds have elapsed since the first knock at the door, which you reason might be a reasonable time for someone to stop practicing, and walk to the door to answer it. You hope it might seem reasonable. 

You can feel the pulse in your neck moving as Yoongi opens the door. You train your eyes on your phone screen, as if that might make you more nonchalant.  

“Hey, Yoongi-hyung.” The voice at the door is youthful, and energetic. You can even hear the smile in his voice. “I didn’t know you were here this late. I was looking for you!” You finally muster up the courage to stop staring at your phone, your eyes venturing to the other side of the room. 

It’s… Jungkook?  

Jungkook, as in, the only bassoonist in the department, Jungkook? 

Jungkook must have had the same idea as you, because he looks over at you at the same time you do. 

His smile falters, albeit briefly. Whatever replaces it is something akin to a smirk. A knowing smirk. An accusatory smirk. A proud smirk. 

“Hyung, who’s that?”

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 14

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 14

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1976

Summary: Once more, a moment at the bar shifts the relationship between Sam and the reader irrevocably. 

Warnings: angst, FLUFF, swearing, s l o w  b u r n, this section has a little gentle smut 

           It was sweet, actually, taking things slowly enough that Sam didn’t feel an acute sense of betraying Dean. You started kissing in stolen moments like teenagers, accidentally honking the horn of the Impala before taking over from the day shift and walking in shyly with swollen lips and mussed hair, tasting the orange juice off of his lips after breakfast.

           Never more than that save a fumbled glancing grope here or there, Sam sometimes having to break away for a long walk in the brisk winter air before going to sleep with you at night, you taking extended showers to deal with the building tension. He simply wasn’t ready, and the additional closeness was already so much more than you’d had anyway, almost too much stimulation to handle. Not that it really made sense to you, that this was somehow different in his mind, but it didn’t matter.

           Dean came to you in your dreams with increasing regularity. He started teaching you how to go to places you hadn’t been, or hadn’t been with him, slowly reconstructing the bar and the cabin so you could show him around your new life. Sam had been right, of course, and Dean did love the bar as you showed it to him, scuffed floors and ever-present stickiness of the cash register included.

           It felt pretty real. And who’s to say it wasn’t, because it was really Dean and it was really you, the whiskey really poured and made his lips taste peaty like they always had. More than that, it was enough. You were able to relish your time together, drink Dean in while you slept feeling less desperate knowing that you’d see him again soon. The days got easier too, waking up warm inside from Dean and outside from the firm protection of Sam’s body. Neither Winchester ever told you what they did or talked about in their time together, but Sam got looser and looser. You had almost forgotten how goofy he could be, how enthusiastic and fun he was Before Everything, but the longer he spent dreaming with Dean the more he reminded you of that guy—the affectionate, quick-witted boy you’d split cans of Spaghetti-o’s with at Bobby’s a lifetime ago.  

           Going to work felt like a little game sometimes. Periodically one of the customers would comment on the way Sam always seemed to wait until you were right in front of the fruit before going to refill it so he had to press the length of his body against yours. Often you’d have to help him finish his side work before closing up together, having hung off him all night in a way that prevented him from getting everything done until it was just the two of you together in the darkened bar cutting up limes as your shoulders brushed against each other. The regulars thought you were finally comfortable enough to show them a little PDA, that you’d been secretly like this all along, and there was no other explanation you could give them. Like everything else, you rolled with their assumptions and got that same giddy-hot feeling in your chest and throat every time they said it—like you were being teased about some juvenile crush.

           The Wednesday it finally happened you were having a normal day at work, catching those little jabs after Sam snaked a bottle opener out of your back pocket while you rattled a shaker of martinis. He kissed your hair with a smirk when he passed by you, carefully not jostling your arms as you poured the drinks into chilled glassware. When you went to refill Joe’s pint of Spotted Cow, you noticed the tap start to stutter and foam the last dregs of an empty keg and raised your head to tell Sam it was out.

           He was leaning on his elbow, ankles crossed where the long stretch of his body met the floor and talking to Jake, clearly telling some joke from the way Jake cracked up and gave him that snapping handshake men often exchange instead of hugs. The smile on his face was just smug enough to show he knew whatever he’d said was funny, and more than anything he looked relaxed, looked comfortable. Looked like he belonged there, the reflection off green glassed whiskey bottles making his eyes seem lit from within. You decided to change the beer yourself and leave him in peace; the bar was slow enough that he could handle it alone for a few minutes, limited cocktail experience or not.

           Every time you went into the basement at work to change a keg you were amazed that Sam even fit in the room where they were stored; it was back at the end of the walk-in cooler with ceilings so low even you felt claustrophobic there. Aluminum kegs in varied states of fullness stacked by their respective lines, marked by stickers and tags of indeterminate ages, were in a sort of half-organization around the walls. Based on how fast Sam changed them when one went empty, you were pretty sure he would know instinctively which ones were which, but as it was you had to climb around the makeshift aluminum jungle gym to trace each looping hose back to its source. You finally found the empty Spotted Cow and the line that would tie it to its respective tap in the corner. To get there you’d had to hop on top of two others, one foot on a fresh Bud Light and the other on some Coors while your spine curved to avoid hitting your head on the ceiling. Unfastening the tap from the empty keg, you yanked back to tug it off and slipped on some extra moisture on top of the metal. It sent you off balance enough that you grabbed at the tubing at the end of the tap you were holding in an effort to stay on your feet.

           The hose pulled out of the line system and sprayed the rest of the beer within all over the room and you, brown ale getting in your mouth and eyes and sending you careening to the ground, tugging the empty keg on top of you with a huge clatter. You rolled it off of you, thanking God it was empty, and tried not to think too hard about the age of the beer remnant mixture leeching off the cement floor into your t shirt as you got up. By the time you got back to your feet, Sam was standing in the doorway, slightly out of breath with a look of concern on his face.

           “Are you okay? What happened?” he asked, surveying the scene.

           You still had the keg tap and hose in your hand, completely detached from the wall. “I was going to change the Spotted Cow but I couldn’t reach the back so I had to climb and then I…slipped.” Sam’s face smoothed in relief when he saw the smile spreading across your face. “And broke it.”

           “But you’re okay?”

           “Probably going to have a pretty kickass bruise tomorrow and I’m covered in beer but yeah, I’m okay. Sorry I pulled it out; do you know how to fix it?”

           Sam smiled, his dimples carving into his cheeks. “I’ll figure it out.”

           You pouted around your embarrassment and sheepishly handed him the tap. “I should probably get back upstairs,” you offered, shaking your wet shirt away from your body.

           “I’m, uh, I’m ready.” Sam murmured, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

           “Do you need me to go get tools or something?”

           “No—I mean, like, ready.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and the emphasis crashed into you hard enough that it almost sent you careening back into the kegs.

           “Ready ready?” you breathed, sounding stupid and not caring, wanting to bound over and leap into Sam’s arms.

           “Ready read—” and Sam was cut off by your lips on his, taking a sharp inhale against your cheek as he kissed you. After a beat of electric shock Sam twined into the hair at the nape of your neck, his fingers hot from washing dishes and soothing in the air of the cooler. You slid down the soft flannel of his shirt and wrapped up fistfuls of it, desperate to have him closer, closer, closer, feel the firm slopes of his body when you weren’t sleeping. He groaned into you and it sent a shudder down your spine as you slipped down the edge of his jaw to kiss along the broad expanse of his neck, tendons squirming under your lips and the thrum of his blood pumping fast and hard.

           Sam moved a hand to your lower back and bent down to scoop under a hamstring, gently but swiftly lifting and spinning so you were pressed up against the doorframe by his body, hitched up in the air to better reach his face. You gasped and felt Sam’s smile against your mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist and greedily roaming the muscles in his chest as they flexed to carry you. The way the wall pinned you to Sam made it so easy to rock into him, feel the metal of his belt buckle through the worn cotton of your jeans and the heat seep through his shirt into the sticky beer drying on yours. “I—oh fuck—” Sam stammered between kisses as you rolled your hips, trying to balance the need to catch his breath with the pent-up magnetism between you. “We have—Jesus Christ, ah—there are customers upstairs,” he finally spit out.

           That zapped you back to reality, finally breaking away to press your forehead against his. “Fuck,” you moaned. A long second passed, sharing air between you and Sam as he held you suspended. “Do we care?” you murmured hopefully against closed eyes, smiling.

           Sam chuckled, breathy and low as he lowered you to the ground softly. “Unless you have another way of paying rent.”

           You gently knocked your head into Sam’s chest. “Man, couldn’t sit on that for a few more hours? How am I supposed to work the rest of the night?”

           He ran his tongue over his molars as he grabbed the tap from where it had fallen to the ground, accepting the gentle teasing. “I just—I don’t know, you were just standing there and it all kind of—it just made sense all of a sudden.”

           “The stale beer did it for you? If I knew that I would’ve broken all of the lines ages ago.” You bit your lip against your smile, suddenly a little bashful and exposed and feeling every drying drop of beer across your chest.

           “I um, might have another t-shirt in the car if you want me to check.”

           “Thanks. I can get it though, can I have the keys?”

           Sam snaked a hand into his pocket and you could see the muscles in his forearm ripple as he grabbed them for you. He handed the keys over, his face open and vulnerable even with the hint of smirk. Tapping the keys against the doorframe you stalled for time, wanting more than anything to have even just an hour without responsibilities. You reached out and stroked his arm. “You’re sure about this? It’s okay if you’re—”

           Sam’s head bobbed quickly. “Yeah. Yes, I’m sure.” He looked solemn, resolute in a way that reassured you. “I’m sorry it took—”

           “Nothing to be sorry about. I just wanted to check.”

           He closed the step between you, tucking a chunk of hair behind your ear and gazing down into your eyes. “I know. And thank you for that.” He kissed you on the forehead, grinning into your hair. “Now go change, you smell like a frat party.”

           You pushed playfully against his chest and made your way upstairs, leaving him smiling at your back as you walked away.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 15

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[echo-hiraeth]

Chapter 6: “Te quiero”

Part of the “Illicit Limerence” series

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: Having her back in his arms, Javier needs to figure out what happened and more importantly what to do next.

Warnings: swearing, medical check-ups, angst, mentions of abusive household/parent, mentions of injury

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“¿Qué paso?”, he repeated, dashing his way over to you.

You opened your mouth but the only thing you managed to choke out was a loud sob. Protesting, aching muscles as you launched yourself into his arms, knees buckling as he grabbed a hold of you, entire body shaking with pent-up fear and emotion. He clung onto you, slowly sliding down the door to sit on the floor, keeping you pressed against his chest. Your cries sounded almost like screams, the intensity of it all causing Javier’s heart to go in a frenzy of trepidation and alarm. He’d never seen you like this, he knew what you were like when you were shaken or anxious, and this was anything but that. You were fucking hysterical, the way you ripped at the fabric of his shit not lost on him.

He stared straight ahead of him as he just held you, not bothering to say anything or try to touch you. It was best to let it all out now and God-fucking-damn was he happy he was here. When you hadn’t called him even once today, he grew a little worried, though not enough to do anything about it. It wasn’t until he’d talked to Steve about it, who revealed what had previously gone down in your childhood home, that he grew worried. By the time he’d gotten home from work, which was rather late, you still hadn’t called him. It was then Javier decided to call the hotel and after some light blackmailing the receptionist informed him that you’d left a couple hours ago. He’d fucking ran out of his apartment, not bothering to even tempt the hell that was evening traffic as he just sprinted through the familiar streets. By the time he was in front of your door, out of breath and soaked in sweat, it was about half past eleven. He knew there was a late flight and that you could be coming home any minute, so he decided to call Connie and Steve, informing them about what he’d discovered. They’d promised to call him if you showed up at their door, but just as he hung up the phone, disappearing in the bathroom to wash the sweat off of his face, he’d heard you come in.

 The poor man’s heart had crumbled at the sight. You were hunched over, eyes completely void of their usual light and joy, shirt torn and stretched out jeans not looking any better. Whether you’d been snatched by your father or a sicario was unclear to him – hell what happened was a complete fucking mystery. As your wailing diminished in volume and intensity, he carefully started scanning your face, scolding himself for not just being able to read you.

A black eye had begun to form, bottom lip busted and you had some smaller scratches scattered across the rest of your face. Your nose seemed to be somewhat askew as well, though that might’ve just been the lighting or even his paranoia. It was hard for him to be calm, anger and frustration fighting his self-discipline for the upper hand. But he wouldn’t allow it, you needed him to be there, you needed your Javi, not the vengeful, bloodthirsty agent. So he closed his eyes, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of your head as he counted to ten, taking a set of essential, deep breaths.

When the sobbing died down to sniffles and silent tears he slowly started to move, standing up with you in his arms. You were limp in his arms even though you were fully conscious and aware of your surroundings. He laid you down in the bed, slowly unlacing your tennis shoes as you looked up at the ceiling. You were usually very talkative so your lack of babbling was incredibly unsettling to Javier.

“I’m gonna take these clothes off, okay?”, he softly announced, searching you for any sign of protest.

He slowly got you out of your ripped jeans, shirt and underwear, only leaving the room to throw them into your laundry bin. While he was in the bathroom he wet a washcloth and grabbed a towel to help you wash up. As he sat back down next to you, he put a hand on your knee, to let you know that he was right there with you.

“Stop me if it hurts too much”, he whispered as he started dragging the cloth over your face.

You were still looking up at the ceiling, hands fisted in the sheets. Painfully aware of every sore spot as Javier carefully cleansed your skin. A hand found its way to your abdomen, slowly resting on the warm skin there, preventing him from touching you there.

He understood the message and left it alone, finishing up on your legs before chasing the wet skin with the soft towel. The chances of you speaking up about it tonight were low to non-existent, even he could figure that out for himself. So he decided to just help you into a fresh pair of underwear and a t-shirt, sliding the covers over your still form when he finished.

“I’ll be right with you baby, I’m just gonna give Murphy a call”, he promised, sat on his knees beside the bed. “If you need anything, just shout.”

When he left the bedroom he felt like screaming. He was fucking angry, enraged, livid. Who in their right mind would hurt his girl.. he wanted – needed answers. That’s when he dialled his best mate’s number, no matter the hour, he needed to figure this shit out, right this instant.

A groan was heard from the other side of the line, followed by some shuffling. “Murphy.”

“She’s in bed, battered and bruised”, Javi stated, voice completely monotone.

“Shit – do you need me to come over?”, Steve replied, sounding more awake already.

Javier rested a hand against his forehead. “I need some of my stuff, I’m staying with her but I don’t want to leave her alone.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course, I got that spare key around here somewhere. Fucking hell Peña… did she say anything?”

He sighed into the horn, feeling completely drained of any energy. “Not a single word, she was hysteric.”

“And the baby?”, he asked, tone changing.

“I-I don’t know.. didn’t really see any bruising but I don’t know.”

There was some more shuffling on the other end, the sound of metal hitting the floor. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

Hanging the phone back on the wall, he leaned over to glance into the room. You were still there, facing the door, eyes closed. He came back into the room, trying his best not to make any noise. As he got closer he could tell you were asleep, hands clutching onto the pillow next to yours, the one he slept on. He heaved another sigh, not entirely sure what to do now. He didn’t want to lay down next to you, reeking of sweat and knowing Murphy would be here soon. So he headed back into the other room, making his way over to the kitchen. Fuck he wanted a smoke, you probably had a pack around here somewhere. He started a frantic search, the urge to soothe the tension and panic growing stronger every passing moment. And there it was, a half empty pack of neatly rolled cigarettes, stowed away behind an empty cookie jar. He pulled the lighter from his back pocket, hands shaking with anticipation. The first drag felt like pure elation, so much so that he moaned at the sensation, his free hand tangling in his matted hair.

“Fuck baby, you’re breaking my heart”, he muttered with his eyes closed, bud pursed in-between his lips.

As soon as the smoke started curling towards the bedroom he stepped away from it, opening the windows in the living room. He smoked two more cigarettes and got your bag up off the floor before Steve arrived. The familiar knock making Javier jolt out of his slumber-like state. He opened the door, an overnight bag immediately pushed into his hands.

“She in there?”, Steve asked, already making too much noise for his liking.

“Yeah”, he put the duffel bag on the couch, “but keep it down.”

Steve rubbed a hand over his moustache, glancing into the room from where he stood. “Hysteric you said?”

“She was fucking weeping man”, he spat, lighting a fourth cigarette.

“Her dad?”, his friend asked, helping himself to a cig as well.

Javier let his head drop as he took a deep breath. “I don’t know, she’s been dead silent. Has he done this before? Is there a case against him in the States?”

“Not that I know of.. her mother just sorta made her promise never to get authorities involved, saying he’s still her dad and shit.”

“Bull fucking shit, a father doesn’t throw hands like that. You should’ve seen the state of her, jeans ripped to shreds, lip fucking busted open.. fucking repulsive.”

Steve put a hand on his shoulder, quirking an eyebrow towards the bedroom. “Watch the voice Javi, let’s just go outside.”

He shook his head, extinguishing the cigarette in the sink. “I wanna be here if she wakes up.”

“I understand, let’s just sit down, you need to settle down”, the blonde offered. “Let’s just have a beer and talk things through, yeah?”

The two men sat on the couch and shared a couple of drinks, talking everything over. When you were ready to talk they’d listen to you and if you’d be willing to file a case, then they’d fucking handle it for you. Steve had brought up the baby again, suggesting Javier take you to a hospital and get your injuries noted down. Javier had confided in Steve about how scared he’d been, frantic upon hearing you’d left the hotel. He’d listened to him, reassuring him you were a strong and smart woman and that you’d tell him if something was wrong. Furthermore Steve had promised to handle things at the embassy the next day, ensuring your boyfriend could stay with you all day. Javier had gratefully agreed, not wanting to so much as set a foot out of your apartment until you’d tell him you were okay.

“I should head back for the night, Con doesn’t like sleeping alone.”

He followed him to the door, clapping him on the back as he reached for the door handle. “Thanks, Steve, I appreciate it.”

“Just do us all a favour and take a shower, you fucking stink”, Steve teased, shaking his partner’s hand. With that he left the small apartment.

“Pendejo.”

But he was right. The bathroom sink and a hand-towel would have to do for now, the shower way too noisy at this hour. He slipped into a fresh pair of briefs, putting some cologne on before joining you in the bed. Your hand was still on his pillow, so he carefully pried it off, holding it in his as he scooted closer towards you.

 When you came to a couple hours later, all you could smell was him, your face nestled in the crook of his neck, a warm palm resting on your neck. By the light pouring in from the windows you could tell it was morning, but you felt completely exhausted still. As your brain slowly woke up as well you felt the way your body started quivering again. The man beneath you groaned lowly, nudging his chin against the top of your head as he changed positions. The more you focused on trying to make the trembling stop the worse it got, to a point where you just started crying out of frustration. Javier was quick to notice, rolling over onto his side, covering your body with his, ready to shield you from any harm. When he noticed what was going on he just laid back down, pulling you on top of him and securing you in a loving, comforting hold.

“S’okay, I gotchu, nothing’s gonna hurt you here”, he murmured into your hair.

The shaking got less and less severe the longer he held you, lips pressed to your forehead. You felt like you could finally breathe again, as if the heaviness within your chest had finally lifted, so that’s what you did. Javier’s ears perked out as he heard the shuddering breath.

“Need some fresh air?”

You looked up at him, eyes meeting his for the first time in ages. It took your breath away, suddenly very aware of your surroundings and what had occurred last night. The words left your lips before you could even comprehend it: “I love you.”

His eyes went wide with shock. “W-what?” It wasn’t that he hadn’t heard you, he just didn’t understand it. Well, he understood the semantic meaning of the phrase but he didn’t understand why you said it.. to him.. like now or at all. “Wait- shit, are you sure?”

It was your turn to just stare at him, not comprehending the situation yourself. “Huh?”

“I’m gonna kiss you, yeah?”

You closed your eyes, letting his lips slowly hit the space above your upper lip, strategically avoiding the injured one.

“Did you hit your head or something”, he softly joked, thumb tracing the outline of your cheek.

The tiniest smile formed on your lips, fingers lacing with his. “Thank you for being here.”

“Are you feeling up to eat something?”

You just nodded, not finding the energy to do much more. He got out of the bed, walking over to your side to help you stand. You braced your hands on his chest, forehead resting on his sternum. It wasn’t that you needed the support, you’d be fine walking on your own, you just wanted to be close to him a little longer.

“I-I’m scared”, you blurted out.

“Hmm?”, he questioned, tilting your chin up to look into your eyes.

“The baby- I-I haven’t felt… pregnant.. What if-“

He put a finger over your lips, encouraging you to stop talking. “We’ll go see a doctor after you’ve eaten something, I promise.”

You let out a shaky breath before cupping his jaw, giving him a half smile before walking out of your bedroom. The fact that he was here was beyond your comprehension. This was all you ever wanted and yet you couldn’t find it within yourself to be happy about it, the gnawing feeling of knowing the baby might not be okay eating away at you.

 After the two of you had eaten a small breakfast he drove you to the clinic as promised, his hand laced with yours the entire ride. He didn’t ask questions, instead respected your silence and didn’t push on it. His aviators rested on your nose, preventing the early sun from blinding you as you drove through the bustling streets of Bogotá.

“You want me to come with you?”, he asked, eyes squinted at the bright sunrays.

“Uh yeah, if you don’t mind..”, you shyly answered, raising a hand towards the window to provide some shade.

He pulled on the handbrake, turning his head to look at you. “I’ll only be there if you want me there, corazon.”

 The hospital was rather calm, aside from some emergency patients being rolled in. Javier had flashed them the good ole’ DEA badge, making you somewhat of a priority patient. He insisted you get some scans and x-rays done first, wanting to make sure none of the bruising and swelling was anything serious. Afterwards the two of you were put into a waiting room together, him with a coffee in his hands and you with your head on his shoulder, resting your eyes just a little while longer.

“Peña”, someone announced. Javi gave a nod, and the two of you followed a man into yet another room. “I hear baby needs a check-up too?”

“Uh yeah, we’re just a little worried”, he told the doctor, a protective hand on the small of your back.

The doctor gestured for you to take a seat in the medical chair, wheeling a cart carrying various equipment closer to it. “Well let’s have a quick look then. You can take a seat next to your wife.”

Javi sat down in the chair next to yours, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze as the doctor lifted your shirt. The gel was absolutely freezing, making you huff out an awkward chuckle. The applicator slid over your skin, the doctor trying to locate your baby as you looked over at Javier, who seemed to be entranced by it all. His brows were furrowed as he closely watched the doctor’s every movement, ready to step in if needed.

“There we go”, you both looked up at the screen, “baby looks good so far.”

“N-no complications?”, you squeaked out.

The doctor smiled at the two of you, flipping a switch on the cart to let the two of you hear a thumping sound. “Heartbeat is perfectly normal as well.”

You covered your eyes, letting out a sob as you listened to the rhythmic pulse. Javier was right there with you, eyes glossy with unshed tears. There was something so strange about it all, the stress and tension of the previous weeks suddenly just disappearing. It was peaceful, a moment nobody could intrude on or steal away. That was his baby right there, on that small screen. This was it, his everything, the woman he loved and the baby he never knew he wanted- needed. The doctor had stepped out, muttering something about giving you some time alone.

“I-I love you”, Javier expressed, bringing your free hand up to his lips and he’d never meant it more.

You dragged him down to you, crashing your sore lips on his. When you broke apart you wiped one of your tears off his face, slowly chuckling to yourself. “Te quiero Javi.”

 After your ultrasound finished up you got your results and when you were told there was nothing to worry about, the two of you set out on your way back to your apartment. Along the way you’d discussed filing for a restraining order and Javier had swerved the car back around, heading straight for the embassy.

“I-I don’t know if I should go inside”, you protested, suddenly feeling very nervous and self-aware.

“You’ll be fine, amor, it’s lunchtime anyway”, he assured you, pulling the keys from the engine.

You trailed behind him, clutching onto his hand as you walked into the building, looking down at the floor to avoid any and all stares. He swiftly pulled you into your shared office, where Steve sat in his chair, feet propped onto his desk. He promptly extinguished the cigarette in the ashtray on his desk, standing up to walk over to the two of you.

“I’m gonna start a case”, you announced, engulfing your friend in a lingering hug.

He patted your back, closing his eyes as he squeezed you a bit tighter. “I’m so proud of you, girly. We’ll get through this.”

The guys helped you set up your defence, Javi eventually taking one of the polaroid cameras to capture the evidence. He had you strip down to your undergarments, fixing the lighting to make sure the bruises and scratches were plenty visible. When he’d gathered images of your body be eventually got started on photographing your face, tilting your chin and adjusting his angles every so often. Steve had walked in, when you were once again fully dressed, staring into the lens.

“I take it baby’s good then?”, he asked, examining some of the developed polaroids.

“Yeah, don’t need to go back for another four weeks”, you’d replied, not wanting to overshare in the moment.

“This a maternity shoot or what?”, he joked, noticing the effort his colleague was putting in.

Javier put the camera down, ignoring Steve’s joke as he neatly stowed the images away in a brown envelope. “Let’s get some statements and then we can send this shit in.”

“Are you sure you want to be here for this?”, Steve asked so only him and Javi could hear.

“I need to know what that scumbag did to her.”

The blonde sighed, shaking his head: “This is about her, yeah? So keep your cool.”

He hit his partner on the head with the envelope. “I’ll go get the tape-recorder.”

You told the story just as it happened, sparing them no details. The urge to just get up and leave was there, but you wanted this all to done and dealt with. So you bit your tongue, answering Murphy’s questions one by one, taking five minute breaks after the really tough ones. By the end of it you were just about ready to get the fuck out of there.

“You got a good lawyer back home, in case he takes it to court?”

You looked up at Steve, lips pursed into a thin line as you impatiently tapped your fingertips against the table. “I’ve got some ideas, yeah. But if we’re done I’d really like to go home, I’m fucking bushed.”

He got up off his chair, stowing your signature and tape into the envelope containing the pictures. “’Course, you coming in on Monday then or?”

“Well I technically still have another week off, but I’ll see, I’ll give Con a call.”

“C’mon let’s go”, Javier intercepted, a hand on your upper back.

Once out of earshot you leaned into his side, whispering: “What was that about?”

“I want you all to myself tonight, amor, tonight is all about you.”

Taglist: @pedritomando @peterhollandkait @ophelia-ingenue @radiowallet @phoenixhalliwell @diogodxlot @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan​

[achliegh]

Golden

(Sorry if this Chapter is lack luster :/ )

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Ladies Love Country Boys

Bonfire Playlist: Spotify, Youtube

Watching Airplanes

Chapter 2:

Cowboy Sweet Ass sent you a Location

New Message from Cowboy Sweet Ass

See you there ;)

Finn was nervous, he wasn’t gonna lie, Logan and Him are leaving tomorrow for Gryff and this is the last night they can see Leo. Who, neither of them will admit this, has kindly wiggled his way into their brains for every minute of everyday. Sometimes to break a long silence between the two of them they will talk about Leo. How they were going to cope when they can’t see him again is unknown and something he didn’t want to think about.

They hadn’t actually seen Leo in the past five days, with their training schedule and Leo helping set up a charity arena for the thing they were supposed to meet him at tonight, it was just late night calls that were still kinda awkward at times. But always had them smiling as they fell asleep.

Walking up the dirt path, where the uber had dropped them off, Logan and Finn weren’t sure they were in the right place until they saw the huge crowd gathered around a tall metal fence with bleachers and an announcers corner that's up on a hydraulic lift, speakers set up so people can hear the quick talking of the men commenting on whatever was happening.

Horses and people on them were everywhere. This causes Logan a lot of stress, as someone who is terrified of horses… This is not ideal. Especially when one is trotting toward them at a scary fast speed.

Finn recognized Clayton immediately, trotting over at a leisurely pace on a cool looking horse he waves. He notices Logan hiding himself completely behind Finn’s back. Finn held his hand out for Logan to take and squeeze if everything got too much for him. Logan wasn’t good in big crowds.

“Well look who it is!” Clayton hops off his living vehicle and patting her neck. “Let me introduce you to my babe, This” He gestures towards the mare, “Is Leroy, she is a Blanket Appaloosa! Have you guys met Peanut yet? He’s chilling with Eloise, Leo’s mom, you better hope he likes you or else… yeah, or else.” Clay flashes them his slightly crooked but stupidly white smile as he absentmindedly pets Leroy’s neck.

Feeling a squeeze of his hand he looks back to see an absolutely terrified Logan, not knowing about his fear of horses Finn is just confused. So, he goes into a ‘ get Logan alone’ mind set.

“We will find you in a minute, we’re gonna explore!” Finn smiles back and Clayton nods as he swings his leg back over Leroy and clicks his tongue so she struts back towards the group of other yeehaws on their own horses, they all had numbers pinned to their backs which was weird but Finn guessed Leo would explain later. Claytons was CR243, and it looked like it was about to fall off. He notices how someone would go in real fast and then come out after a minute or two. The announcer talked too fast for him to catch.

Leading Logan to a more open area he turns to face him and raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, what's wrong?”

“Ummmm, J'ai peur des chevaux….” Logan isn’t looking him in the eyes and has an embarrassed flush to his face. Finn, having no clue what he said, gently grabs his chin to make him look at him, Lo hasn’t run his finger through his hair yet so that means he isn’t nervous around Finn at least. Fixing Logan with a slightly irritated but still worried look, Logan sighs and tries to say something but instead what comes out is a terrified yelp as something takes his hat off his head and pulls some of his hair at the same time, then drops it at his feet.

Whipping around and jumping into Finn’s arms bridal style Logan shrieks as he is met with a blonde horse that almost looks smug. The little splotchy white stripes on its snoot may make it look kinda cute but Logan knows what can happen if you get on a horse's bad side. It happened to Sydney, he didn’t need it to happen to him too.

“Peanut!” A very tall and beautiful older woman walks over to them laughing a little, she has a hearing aid in her left ear and soft blue eyes bright with amusement stare them down. “Sorry Y’all, he likes to find new people to mess with.” She smiles and there is just something so familiar about those deep dimples and sharp cheekbones. She is wearing tight jeans with knee high army green cowboy boots, a white button up with a black cowboy hat contrasting the golden curls falling out from under it. She is wearing a sash with the words ‘Miss Louisiana 1971’ the wrinkles on her face didn’t make her look old and crinkly like people like to think, but more like a gracefully aging woman. She holds her hand out to Finn for him to shake, Logan is still in his arms so it is as much of an invitation to him as Finn. “I’m Eloise, this is my son’s horse.” She looks them up and down after shaking both their hands. “He would like you two.” She smiles one last time, giving them a giant wink and leads Peanut away from them back to the bullpens where they spot Leo sitting on the top of a fence talking to a couple of people.

Finn looks at Logan and sets him down.

“So.. horses?”

“Shut up”

“You go for a cowboy and are afraid of horses!” Finn is bent over laughing and clutching his stomach while Logan crosses his arms and looks around annoyed after he dusted off his hat and put it back on his head.

“What’s so funny?” they look over to see Leo in full get up. Smiling bright, showing off his chipped tooth. His hair was flattened by a black sturdy cowboy hat, his blue button up vibrant under his black vest. The vest had a couple of logos stitched into it for Absolut Vodka, Mt. Dew, and Ariat…. Leo was sponsored? He was also wearing some jeans that fit him just right around his booty that they could see through his assless black chaps that had iridescent tassels on them, with his black boots and belt to match. His silver buckle stood out with the light reflecting off it.

“Wow… you look great.” Logan just melts into Leo’s side when Leo wraps an arm around his shoulders. “But tell Finn to stop being a jerk.” Logan put on his best pout when looking up at the taller man, who looked at him with a look that made his heart feel like it was about to jump out of his chest. It didn’t alarm him though, it was nice to feel like this. But it can’t last forever.

“What's he doing that's so mean.” Leo turns his attention to Finn who is smiling at them like he's watching two kittens cuddle into each other. His eyes bright with happiness, his smiles wide.

“He’s making fun of me because I’m scared of horses.” Logan wraps his arms around Leo’s waist and squishes his cheek into his chest to look as cute as possible, so Leo will be on his side. Which… fails.

“You’re afraid of horses!” Leo hugs Logan as he starts laughing, smacking a kiss on the top of Logan’s annoyed forehead and squeezes him. “You’re so cute.” Suddenly they hear numbers coming over other speakers and Leo perks up. “Oh I’m up soon! I hope y’all are gonna stay and watch because I would love to take you to the bonfire tonight.” He pulls Finn into the embrace and gives them both a quick peck on the lips, smiling when they chase his lips. “There should be an open spot in the bleachers or, you could watch from Peanut.”

“Bleachers!” Logan gets out of Leo’s arms and starts pulling both the boys towards the crowd without horses. Leo helps them find a spot next to some girls who flirt with Leo but he has no fucking clue. He is just focused on getting Finn and Logan a good spot.

“Alright, my number is BR11710, so when you hear that you’ll know I’m up! I think Clay might come and find you, he had a good run earlier wrangling those troublemaking claves, so keep an eye out for him.” He smiles and climbs down the bleachers gracefully until the last small step where his spur gets caught and he has to yank it out of the cevous it got stuck in. Looking back up at Finn and Logan his cheeks were red as he shrugged and sauntered off towards the chutes.

“Hola losers!” Clayton plops down above with and slaps a hand on their shoulders. “Excited to see him ride? Or have you already? Actually I would know because we overshare way too much.” Smiling, Clayton is covered in dirt and his cowboy hat has been traded out for a ball cap and his button up taken off to be just a white tank top. A tall pale girl sat down with Clayton and was scrolling on her phone looking uninterested. Clayton sits up and wraps an arm around her waist. “Oh this is Ashley, my girlfriend.” She looks up and gives them an irritated wave before going back to her phone.

“Ride? What’s he doing?” Finn looks at him confused after sharing a look with Logan about the irritated girlfriend, then they hear the announcers call Leo's number.

“Alrighty ladies and gentlefolk! We have something special for y’all! One of our very own PBR riders is here to ride the roughest toughest bull of the day! Ole Forty Days!” The crowd cheers as a confused Finn and Logan look at Clayton who whoops and hollers for his bestie. Whistling with his thumb and forefinger in his mouth.

“Alright Jimmy lets get in some commentary before the ride starts, Leo Knut is a 19 year old Professional Bull Rider, his Mother is Eloise Knut also known as Miss Rodeo of 1970 and Miss Louisiana of 1971. His father was Wyatt Knut, Air Force Veteran who was also Leo’s biggest role model.”

“Was?” Logan whispers and gives a sad look to Finn who is busy watching Leo, he is on this tank of an animal, large, white, horns the size of his whole forearm. Leo was adjusting the way he is sitting and has an underside grip on the rope around the bull, wrapping it around his palm to make sure there isn’t a tether that can be stepped on and yank him off.

“Ole Forty Days is the only PBR bull here today, worth millions he is undefeated 32-0 in his career this year. Will Leo who is 30-2 this year be able to stay on those eight seconds.”

Leo hits the challenge button and the gate flies open, Ole Forte days is wild! Finn is automatically on his feet as he watches Leo with his hand up in the air, eyes hard from focusing and counting in his head. Forte turns a 45 degree buck and just about tosses Leo but his grip is so tight that he lasts those eight seconds. The announcers went crazy the entire time.

As he dismounts the still bucking bull his wrist gets caught in the rope he was holding earlier because of the way his glove is falling apart. The rodeo clowns distract the bull fast enough for Leo to get himself detached, falling on the ground. The bull tosses Leo onto the ground and just misses stomping on his ankles. Leo hops onto the fence, the adrenaline is pumping through his veins and his eyes are bright as he searches for the boys in the stand watching him with fear etched into their faces. When his eyes met Logan’s the fear turned into relief and Leo felt the adrenaline making his heart beat even faster.

After Forte is corralled back into the pen to have the rope around his hips removed Leo jumps off the fence and takes his hat off bowing to the crowd, and they love it, whistling and whoops are heard. He points to Finn, Logan and Clayton. Clayton is so excited and starts dragging the other two down the bleachers leaving Ashley behind. Leo doesn’t like her at all so it's fine. Leo turns around and walks towards sports medicine and lets them take a look at his wrist. As his adrenaline starts to fade away the tweak in his wrist starts to bother him as the medic wraps it up.

“You just ruined Forte’s career!” Clay hugs him from the side and picks him up all excited, his girlfriend who decided to join looks at them unapprovingly. Finn and Logan basically tackle Leo to the ground once Clay puts him down. One on each side of him, balanced.

“Are you insane! That could have killed you!” Finn is shaking a laughing Leo by his collar as Logan examines the way his wrist is wrapped.

“I know, I technically wrecked at the end but I still got my eight seconds!” He smiles and takes his hand from Logan, cupping his cheek and rubbing his thumb over the soft skin.

“You never told us you rode bulls! Leo, a little heads up would have been appreciated!” Logan whacks him on the back of the head after they stand up.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?” Leo puts an arm around them and kisses their temples. They had an idea. Where to do it was the question.

The rodeo ended not long after Leo’s ride, the charities the winners chose would be given a five thousand dollar check courtesy of the Knut’s. After Leo was done taking down the arena, a large pile of wood was set up with large equipment. Leo pulled a Clayton and took off his chaps, vest, button down, and hat off so he was wearing a white shirt and a ball cap.

Leo made up for scaring Finn and Logan by pulling them into the back seat of his truck. Leo sitting in the middle of the seat with Finn straddling one leg, hunched over and sucking on Leo’s neck. Logan straddled Leo’s other leg and kissed him with a ferocity that made them both groan. Leo rested his hands in Finn’s hair and on Logan’s hip. Pulling away Leo turns his head to face Finn, guiding him from his neck to lips. He feels Logan push his hand underneath his shirt and smirks into his kiss with Finn. Moving his hands to squeeze both of their asses, causing Logan’s breath to hitch and Finn to moan. He is about to suggest something spicy when a knock on the window alerts them that the party has started.

Why does Clay always have to stick to his word? Leo asked him to let them know when it was time to move his truck to have the tailgate facing the fire, and now was that time. Leo’s head thumps back onto the seat as he lets out an annoyed sigh.

“Well, I guess we have a party to attend… I’m gonna get so drunk.” He smiles and gives his boys one last kiss before he ushers them out of the truck so he can get out of the backseat to move it.

Finn wanders over to Clayton who has Ashley under his arm, she is tall and very skinny. Her long brown hair was in a French braid, she was wearing short shorts, boots and a crop top. He has a very sour look on her face as Finn walks over to them. Logan on the other hand, goes to take a piss in the porta potty. Something he is not fond of doing.

Leo moves his truck and gets out to put the tailgate down so people can sit on it, climbing into the bed of the truck he opens the cooler in the back and takes out two budlights, Leo doesn't really care for budlight but they need to be drunk.

“CLAYTON!” He shouts as the three walk over to the truck, chucking the beer at his friend; they both take out their keys, puncturing the cans and shotgunning the beers.

A few hours and a lot of drinks later Leo was singing to Finn, standing between his legs as Finn sat on the tailgate next to Logan who was filming.

“You can train 'em, You can try to teach 'em right from wrong. But it's still gonna turn 'em on!” Finn can’t help but laugh and wrap his arms around Leo’s necklaces he sang, every once in while facing Logan's phone and singing into the camera as he filmed. Taking a drink of his beer he smacks a sloppy kiss on Finn's cheek and skips away to Clayton to dance like idiots as Luke Bryan sang about shaking it for birds and bees.

The two drunken best friends wrap and arm around each other hips with their drinks in the other hand, putting left side to right side they swing back and forth to the beat as they scream out the music.

Later on Leo picks Logan up so his arms are around his neck and his legs are around his waist and spins around while humming to a song about wheels and Finn looks so smitten that clayton takes a picture to show him and laughs as he send it to Leo, who has managed to misplace his phone… for the millionth time.

Setting Logan down he wraps his arms around the shorter man's shoulders and rests his chin on top of his head as he bounces to the beat. Logan leans his forehead to rest on Leo’s chest and uses his hand that isn’t holding his water to loop his finger into one of Leo’s belt loops he wishes he could take a screenshot in his brain.

Hours passed, singing and horrible dancing, more drinking for Clay and Leo until it sounded like a good idea to see who could crush a folding table by jumping off Clayton’s truck. Finn managed to lead them away before they actually tried it by telling them’ Leo could def dance better than Clayton’. Which turned into the worst dance battle ever seen. Two drunk teenagers and country music make for terrible dancing but a lot of laughs. Eventually, the fire dies down, the drinks run out and the boys get tired. Finn wrangles Leo into the back seat of the truck after lifting the tailgate, moving to go to the drivers seat because Logan might be to short to drive and they are to dumb to figure out how to move the seats, Leo latches onto him and pulls him into the backseat with him.

“Hey! How do you expect me to drive back here!” Finn pokes Leo’s nose and Leo catches his finger in his mouth biting him. Finn squawks and pulls his finger away. Looking at Leo offended, laughing a little as Leo is looking at him with this tiny smirk. “That was rude.” Leo narrows his eyes playfully and flips them so Finn is laying on his back with Leo snuggling into his chest.

Logan gets in on the passenger side and looks up to see Finn in the back seat being snuggled by an oddly cat like Leo who is rubbing his face on Finn’s soft t shirt, when his eyes meet Logans he blushes so vibrantly pink and has the shyest smiles as he hides his face in Finn’s chest again. Logan looks at Finn who looks like he's dying from cuteness overload. Logan moves over to the driver's seat and sits all the way on the edge of the seat to be able to touch the petals. Logan doesn’t have a clue where Leo lives… but he does remember how to get back to the hotel.

Trying to get a clingy 6’3” cowboy into a hotel room while he is intoxicated is a lot easier than you would think. He was tired, stripping down the second they walk into the door he lands on the bed in his boxer briefs and spoons Logan and grips Finn’s arm as he falls asleep.

They all slept incredibly well that night, warm, close, and together.

The next morning was the morning The Lions leave to go back to Gryffindor. Leo was up before the other two, showered and dressed when he woke them up with peppering kisses all over their faces.

“Good morning, Honey Bees. Y’all need to get up and get ready to leave, you go home today.” Leo runs his hand through Finn’s hair as he greets them with a sad smile. He doesn’t want them to leave, but he knows that this isn’t some fairytale where two princes will give up their dreams to be with him. That’s not what he wants anyway. The other two finally get up, Finn goes to shower as Logan changes and packs his bag. Glancing at Leo every once in a while, like he wants to say something.

“Leo, what are you still doing here?” Logan drops his bag by the door and turns around to face the taller man, crossing his arms and giving Leo a cold look. Leo is a little taken back by this, Logan has never looked at him like that, and he wasn’t expecting it from how nice yesterday was.

“I was to see you two off… is that okay?” Leo starts to feel uncomfortable under the harsh eyes he found so pretty, he starts picking at the wrap around his wrist, breaking eye contact with Logan as a sinking feeling seeps into his chest. He never expected anything to actually come from this but he ached for it.

He knows where this is going.

“I don’t know what you think is going to happen after we leave, but we aren’t going to be fawning over you when we are busy with our own careers. You are just… a guy who we had a fling with. Finn and I aren’t even together so don’t expect anything.” Logan's voice stayed low in volume but echoed in Leo’s ears.

“I wasn’t expecting anything. I just wanted to see you guys leave, say goodbye, maybe…” Leo didn’t finish his sentence when he looked up at an annoyed and frustrated Logan. “What did I do?” He hears the bathroom door open and Finn walks into the room whistling in fresh clothes as he dries his hair with a towel.

“You don’t mean anything to us Leo'' Finn hears Logan and knows exactly what’s going on, Logan has done this to him many times. This is Logan’s way of cutting off something he wants in a way he knows won't bring the person back, even though he always feels horrible eventually. Finn has been a victim of Logan’s lashing out many times, and he hasn’t left, because he loves Logan. He really really likes Leo, he gives his heart a similar jolt that Logan does. From what they have discussed, Logan felt the same. Logan doesn’t allow himself the luxury of feeling like this though.

Leo looks absolutely shattered after Logan’s words sank in. He looks over to Finn who looks like he’s in his own head, then back to Logan. “I really really like you guys-”

“Stop being a fucking child Leo! This isn’t something we can continue after we leave, we would get torn to shreds by the league! Not everything is about you and we don’t want you! So just go back to your fucking farm and forget us.” Logan grabs his bag and walks out the door slamming it shut, going to be the first one on the bus that just pulled up to take the team to the airport.

Leo stares at where Logan was when red catches his eye, Finn stops and gives Leo a sad smile, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear. Finn then turns his back to Leo and follows Logan out the door. Leaving Leo alone in the hotel room… He reaches in his pocket and pulls out the hotel keycard, standing up he goes to leave it on the table of the room, he stops just before he sets the key down.

He takes the card and walks out of the room, Climbing into his truck that was horribly parked, he finds his phone on the floor of the passenger side. Picking up his phone, he calls up the only person he knows who would be willing to hang out even if he was sick from last night.

“Clay? Can you meet me somewhere?”

A half hour and some McDonald's hash browns later. Clayton and Leo were sitting on top of Leo’s truck hood watching the airplanes take off, sipping on soda they got with their food. They watched in a comfortable silence as planes brought people in and took people away.

Logan and Finn were on one of those.

[armandclocksitall]

Watch The Night Go Up In Smoke (Chapter 2)

Paul(The Lost Boys) x Frog! Reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: underage drinking, some mind control, puking, driving under the influence

So you get to see the guys in this chapter, very little Marko which is sad but he’ll definitely play a bigger part once the story gets rolling so don’t worry, it’s coming.

>Previous Chapter<

Mikayla and (Y/N) climbed out of the vehicle and made their way to the beach where a giant bonfire was roaring away as teenagers and 20-somethings raged around it already completely wasted and ready to have the best night of their lives.

It was well past midnight when (Y/N) was sipping on only their second drink of the night, they were buzzed but still very much coherent and aware of their surroundings. Mikayla was a completely different story, she had jumped straight into drinking as soon as they reached the party. She had absolutely no issue socializing with complete strangers either. It was like she was a magnet for attention.

(Y/N) had prayed that tonight would change their social status but with every person that walked up and sparked a conversation with their cousin, they reverted further into their shell. Nobody even took notice of them and they had to admit, it kinda hurt.

(Y/N) had almost completely lost hope when a group of four boys approached them. They walked with such an air of confidence, (Y/N) begged whatever higher power there was for them to at least acknowledge them and it seemed that that plea might’ve been answered.

“Hey, you two look like you’re having fun,” the biker with the fluffed blonde hair said. Mikayla giggled drunkenly as her eyes wandered to the tallest of the group with the flowing dark tresses.

(Y/N) stood shocked, he was speaking directly to them. They quickly unfroze and stuttered out awkwardly, “Yeah, we’re having the absolute time of our lives right now.” The teenager cringed in embarrassment as the Twisted Sister look-alike laughed.

Mikayla, who was previously leaning on her cousin’s shoulder to stop herself from face-planting in the sand strutted up to the boy she was previously eyeing and wrapped a piece of his hair around her pointer finger flirtily, “I could think of something more fun that you and I could do. My name’s Mikayla.”

(Y/N)’s face lit up bright red at their cousin’s words as they rushed over to her and tugged her away from the leather-clad biker. “I am so sorry about her, she’s definitely drunk enough for tonight,” they apologized quickly.

The four boys laughed at the two of them, amused by their dynamic. The biker who stood closest to them smiled at (Y/N), “Don’t worry about it, at least you know she has taste.” (Y/N) laughed lightly at his statement.

The first boy walked up to (Y/N) and threw an arm over their shoulder, “I don’t know about that, Dwayne. I mean how could she possibly have taste if she didn’t even throw herself at me?” he laughed before turning to (Y/N), their faces only inches away from one another. “You get what I mean, right?”

(Y/N)’s face flushed as another member of the group, this one with a platinum blonde mullet and completely clad in black, spoke up, “Leave the poor kid alone, Paul. We don’t need them fainting on us.” He gazed at (Y/N), his bright blue eyes seemed to pierce into their very soul, “You two do seem like a good time though and you don’t seem to be having the most fun here. I know a place we could all go and let loose, just a little intimate party for the six of us if you’re down for it.”

(Y/N) felt their mind go fuzzy for a few seconds as they actually considered leaving with this group of boys but those thoughts were quickly torn away as they felt Mikayla’s body next to them start to fold in on itself. She heaved over and let loose the contents of her stomach all over the sand at their feet.

The four bikers all looked shocked at the scene in front of them as (Y/N) went into protective mode over their cousin. They held her hair back and held her up by the waist as she continued to gag.

The teenager looked up at the boys, “Sorry but we’re gonna have to pass up that offer, I really should get my cousin home. Maybe we can hang out some other time?”

They all nodded as Mikayla finally managed to get a hold of herself and (Y/N) began to usher her away from the party.

David spoke before they were able to completely get away, “Nice jacket by the way.”

(Y/N) nodded, confused as to why he’d bring up their jacket at such a random time, “Uh, thanks, I guess.”

“Aww come on, (Y/N), I wanna hang out with them,” Mikayla whined as (Y/N) readjusted the girl on their shoulder and continued the walk towards the girl’s jeep.

Mikayla was leaned up against the vehicle as (Y/N) searched her pockets for the keys to the car. Finally fishing them out, they unlocked the car and (Y/N) helped their cousin into the passenger side. They walked around the front and hopped into the driver’s side as Mikayla was struggling to buckle her seatbelt.

Her head lolled to the side as she looked at her cousin pathetically while holding out the buckle of her seatbelt, “Please help.”

(Y/N) rolled their eyes and buckled Mikayla’s seatbelt and then their own and started the car.

“We totally should’ve gone with them,” she pouted looking out the window towards the boardwalk.

“Kay, you literally hit on one of them and then proceeded to vomit all over the place. I’m taking you home for a reason.” (Y/N) said incredulously.

“Well yeah, my chances were completely blown, but I brought you here so that you could get a social life. The pretty one was totally hitting on you, what was his name again? Saul?”

“Paul. His name was Paul.”

“See you care enough about him that you bothered to actually remember his name. If you two don’t hang out soon, I’ll scream. You two would be so cute together, with him being all outgoing and flirty and with you being more introverted and shy. He could finally pull you out of your shell,” she rambled obviously still under the influence. (Y/N) shook their head, letting silence fill the vehicle.

“Where did you say we were going again?” Mikayla slurred, looking at her cousin.

“I’m taking you home, your dad would kill us if he found out we both snuck out and never came back home.”

Mikayla gasped, shooting up in her seat, “No! You can’t take me home, he’ll kill me for being drunk!”

“I think he’d prefer seeing you drunk than seeing you on a missing person’s poster. He might be mad but at least he’ll know that you made it home safe, I’m trying to be responsible here, Mikayla.”

The girl slumped in her seat, scowling at her cousin and their stupid moral compass. They had pulled into the driveway of the Emerson house as (Y/N) noticed the living room light on, “Looks like you’re busted either way.” Mikayla groaned.

The two of them hopped out of the vehicle, (Y/N) passing the keys to their cousin which she fumbled terribly. They walked up to the front door which was unlocked and made their walk of shame into the living room where Sam Emerson was lounged on a recliner watching reruns on the TV. He glanced up at his daughter noticing the kid of his best friend next to her.

He spoke to his daughter in a stern voice, “You had your mother and I worried sick when we found your bed empty and window open. We’ll talk about this in the morning, now go to your room.” He didn’t give her the opportunity to explain herself. She nodded her head solemnly and stumbled up the steps up to her room.

Sam turned his head to (Y/N), “Does your father know where you are?” They shook their head. Sam nodded in understanding, “Let me get my shoes and jacket, I’ll give you a ride home.”

They were driving through the streets back to the Frog household when Sam spoke up, “Mind telling me what tonight was all about?”

(Y/N), not used to being in trouble, immediately spilled the beans, “Mikayla wanted to help me sneak out so we could go to this party on the beach so I could meet people and become more social. Everything was going fine until she accidentally drank too much. Then she hit on this guy and ended up puking in front of him so I took her home.”

Sam looked at (Y/N) with wide eyes, surprised at how easy it was to get the full story out of them. He sighed and turned his eyes back to the road before stopping at the end of (Y/N)’s street, “I appreciate you telling me the truth, so for that, I won’t be telling Edgar what happened tonight. While I don’t approve of the way you went about things, I’m glad that you’re trying to open yourself to other people. Just be careful around people around the beach and boardwalk, there’s a lot of weirdos in Santa Carla that you don’t need to get wrapped up in okay?”

(Y/N) nodded quickly before throwing themself over the center console and hugging their uncle around the neck tightly, “Thank you so much, Uncle Sam. I promise I’ll be careful and hopefully, this never happens again.”

He smiled softly at the teenager, “Good, now you better get home before your dad realizes you’re gone.”

(Y/N) quickly hopped out of the car and waved goodbye to their uncle before walking down the street and creeping back in through their window into their bedroom where the lights were still off and the door still locked. They had made it back and nothing bad happened.

It was 3 am when (Y/N) finally settled into bed. Just as they shut their eyes, their imagination began to act up. What might’ve happened if they had gone with those boys. The thought made them queasy. They were so willing to go before Mikayla got sick, (Y/N) felt like their thoughts were completely out of control. Thinking of David made their stomach churn with uneasiness. Something about him seemed dangerous, even deadly. Then (Y/N) remember him, Paul.

His hand around their shoulder, the look in his eyes, everything about him seemed to reel (Y/N). It took everything in them to not lean in further when their faces were so close together.

(Y/N) felt their stomach flutter at the thought. Maybe Mikayla was right, they could be good together.

>Next Chapter<

[colormeyondublue]

Chapter 4: First Date

Chapter 3 Here - Chapter 5 Here

The next morning came and you went about your business as usual, making sure everything was in top shape in your office. If your work was coming in slow without much needing done, you often just checked to see if anyone needed help with anything, played games, or jammed out to whatever music was on. This time, you found yourself getting lost in your thoughts. It had been a long time since you were home. You found yourself not thinking much about your family or old friends recently. But somehow, it didn’t bother you. You felt like you were home. You couldn’t tell if you should feel guilty for feeling that way…but it was the truth. Although you definitely missed your family at times, this whole journey seemed to change who you were as a person.

Meanwhile, Yondu was pacing in his cabin. He asked you on a date, and he had no idea what to do. He hasn’t really dated, or courted, in years. Besides that, he’s never taken a terran out before! He decided to call someone for help. The last thing he wanted to do was get anyone else involved, but Tullk was someone he could trust. He picked up his communicator and pressed a few buttons. The comm beeped and he heard Tullk’s voice. “Yeah, Cap’n? What canneh dae fer ya?” “Uhh, this might sound strange, but could ya come to ma quarters? I need your help with somethin’.” He could hear Tullk hesitate. But then he said, “Ya, sure boss. I’ll be up in just a bit.” The comm clicked off, and Yondu walked to his desk chair and sat down with a huff. He was asking for help. This was unbelievable. “I can’t believe this girl has gotten into my head already.” He muttered to himself. A little while later, there was a loud knock at his door. “Get in here Tullk!” Tullk walked in the room and closed the door behind him. “What did ya need, sir?” He asked nonchalantly. “Well, this ain't easy to ask but, ya got any datin’ advice?” “Datin’ advice? Ya got a lass yer interested in?” “Well, yeah! Otherwise, I wouldn’t have asked!” “Well…its been quite a while since I took a nice lass out. She’s nice is she?” Tulk asked. “Of course she’s nice! She’s damn near perfect. She’s sweet and funny…and smart, and I just wanna show her a good time.” Tullk was surprised to hear his Captain use words like that. He was typically crass, rude, and a straight forward kind of guy. But everyone deserves to be loved, or at least have a chance at love, right? “So you wanna know what to do? On this date? Well…I only know about terran dates. I’m not sure what other races might do fer that kinda’ thing.” The Captain glared at him. “She IS terran ya idiot. That’s why I asked for yer help!” “Yer goin out with a terran lass? But, how? Where did ya meet a -… OH!” A devious grin appeared on Tullk’s face at the realization. “Choose yer next words carefully.” Yondu growled. Tullk let out a boisterous laugh. “You’re takin y/n out on a date? I can’t believe it!” Yondu began to grow an odd mixture of embarrassed and angry. “Yeah! I’m takin y/n out. Ya got a problem with that?!” “No, no, sir. I just honestly didn’t think she’d go for any of us. I’m not laughin’ atcha. I’m just…surprised – is all.” Tullk said with a shrug. “Well, believe it. So shut up and tell me what I need to do fer this to go right.” “Well, it’s pretty simple really. What I always keep in mind, as a Terran man, is to just be maself. Don’t try to be something you’re not, because them Terran lasses will see right through it. Trust me. Terran girls like to go out and just have a nice time. Food, drink, and good company. Don’t be lookin’ or flirtin’ with other women, or she’ll walk right outta there. Think ya can handle that?” He asked with one eyebrow raised. “Yeah, yeah, I figured that much. Is that all?” “That’s about all the advice I have. Just relax and have a nice time.” Tullk stands upright from where he was leaning on the wall by the door. “Need anything else Cap’n? He asks. “Nah, just don’t say a word to the crew!”

"Ah never do!" Tullk shouted back toward the door as he walked away.

___ The ship begins to near it’s destination, Johpar. Yondu is dressed in relaxed black leather pants, with his usual maroon long coat. The handkerchief tucked in his collar is a dark black, to match his matte black boots. The boots are adorned with a narrow gold metal strip at the edge of his toe. The gold matches his belt buckle and ravager badge. He made sure to trim and shape his beard nicely before heading down to the docking bay to meet you. As he comes in, he looks around to see if you had arrived yet. To his surprise, you weren’t there. “She’s probably just gettin’ dolled up is all.” He mutters to himself. The thought of you getting all dressed up for him makes his heart do a little backflip. “The hell?” He whispers as he lifts a hand to his chest. “That’s new.” Just as the words left his lips, he sees you. You cautiously walk into the docking bay. You were wearing a casual tan and black patterned dress, quarter sleeves, that tapers at your waist, and comes down mid thigh. You’re also wearing knee high lace up high heel boots with some black laced stockings just barely visible between the bottom of your dress and the tops of your boots. Your hair is done in a half updo. You’re holding a black leather jacket over your shoulder and glance around the room. The last thing you want is a bunch of grimy ravagers sneering at you. To your relief, there was no one around – but Yondu. You lock eyes with him and your step falters.  Wow, as if I wasn’t nervous before. You try to keep your composure as you approach him. He looks you up and down and visibly swallows. “Ya look real nice.” He said. “Thank you.” You answered with a slight blush. “You clean up pretty nice yourself.” “Well thanks, sweetheart. If yer ready, we’ll head out.” and jabs a thumb toward the bay door. The two of you walk together off the ship and quietly chit chat until you reach the rows of shops and bars. You both walk into the bar and notice it isn’t particularly busy. Yondu offers to get you a drink. “What’ll ya have darlin’”? You think about it for a moment, and realize you have no idea. Last time you ordered a drink was back on Earth. Sure, there was always beer and whiskey on the ship, but that was getting old. You decide to play it safe with a glass of wine. “Any kind of sweet wine. I’m not picky.” You smile up at him and he gives you a polite nod. “Go have a seat there in that booth, and I’ll meet you over there.”

“Okay!” You respond with a sweet smile.

He watches you make your way to the booth, noting the way your hips move as you walk. His mind goes blank for a few seconds, your legs and ass are hypnotizing. You turn to seat yourself in the booth and notice that he’s staring. You blush and smile at him. With a small wave of your hand, he snaps out his trance, and heads to the bar. His cheeks are flushed.

Upon getting drinks for the two of you, Yondu plops down in the booth across the table from you. He slides your wine to you, and you take it from him with a gentle, “Thank you.”

“So,” Yondu begins. “You been on my ship for a couple a month’s now, how’s Ravager life treatin’ ya? Better than you thought I hope?”

You take a sip of your wine and shrug timidly, “It’s definitely better than where I came from. But, my story is pretty much the same as any terran or human that ends up way out here.” “Traffickers?” Yondu says with what looks like a little sadness in his eyes. “Yeah, traffickers.” “How old were ya?” He asks. “Honestly, it wasn’t too long ago. Few years maybe? I was on a camping trip with my family. We were way out in the Ozarks when they took me. We were camped in the mountains, a fairly thick wooded place surrounded by rivers and glens. My family used to camp there every summer and I always got up with the sun when we would camp. I’ll never forget it…I got up that morning, put on a tank top, shorts, and my hiking boots and went down to the river just to breathe in the morning. I thought I was completely alone until I heard some gravel on the bank crunch behind me. I turned and expected to see a deer or another hiker or something. But I saw a strange figure. Next thing I know, everything is black. I woke up on a strange ship hearing voices that didn’t make sense. Eventually I put two and two together.” “I’m sorry.” Is all Yondu could say. He understood how horrible that might have been. He recalls his years aboard slave ships. “It’s okay. I think I was on that ship for about 6 months before they sold me to someone else. The ones who gave me a translator implant had green skin and pointed ears. Skrull maybe? I don’t know. Then they stopped on Krylor one day. I saw it as a window of opportunity, so I took it. The Skrull were a bit more flexible or lenient than the ones who took me, so I had a chance to run. I hid for 3 days before coming across that pawn shop. Worked there as cheap labor for a few years. Then I met you.” You smile at the memory of first seeing Yondu at your old job. “And then you met me.” Yondu returned your smile. Although he hasn’t mentioned it, he thinks you have the most adorable smile. The way it makes your eyes sparkle and come to life is something he’s never seen in any other woman. He continued, “Well, I’m sure glad yer here…despite what ya been through.” “Honestly, me too. I mean sure, I miss my family. I hate to think that they’re heartbroken over me. I’m sure they are. Especially my mom and sister. I don’t even want to imagine how they felt when I disappeared.” Your face turned solemn. “What about yer daddy?” Yondy asked quietly. "Oh, he died. He passed away about a year before I was taken. It makes me sick to think to think about how much my family has lost. Dad…then me. Problem is, they know what happened to dad. He got cancer...but I just vanished.” You dropped your gaze to the table. The date started to take a really depressing turn. Yondu thought quickly to change the subject. He wanted you to have a good time, after all. Yondu reached out across the table and gently placed a couple fingers under your chin. He lifts your gaze to meet his and said, “You ain’t alone. Most of us on this crew have a similar story. We been stolen, sold, lost people, seen death…we got each other though. You’re in good company.” His gentle and genuine smile spreads to your face and you simply nod without another word. “You hungry? We could get somethin’ here or we could swing by another place.” “Honestly, unless you are….I’m really not that hungry. But I would like to take a walk and look around this place a little bit?” “Sure thing darlin’. Anything you want.” As you get up and leave the bar, Yondu leaves a stack of units at the table. You walk out of the bar with your Captain in toe behind you. “Besides, I can’t really eat much when I’m nervous anyway.” Nervous?  Yondu thought. Why is she nervous? She ain’t scared of me is she? “Nervous?” He asked warily. “Well, not like a bad nervous. Like a good nervous.” You assure him. “There such a thing as ‘good nervous’”? He laughs. “Well, yeah.” You said shyly. “There’s good nervous and bad nervous. Bad nervous is self-explanatory. But good nervous is…well…” You trailed off as you walked through the brightly lit streets with Yondu. There were colorful shops everywhere. Stores were selling various items like clothing, food, jewelry and gifts from various planets. “Oh, I got it! Okay, there is a creature on my planet called a butterfly. They’re hard to describe unless I could draw you a picture of one, but they have wings. They’re very gentle and delicate. Good nervous feels like having butterflies in your stomach. It’s like a fluttery feeling. It’s a good thing!” You smile at him. Yondu just smiles to himself and looks down toward his boots while shaking his head. This girl is somethin’ else. The rest of your evening is spent wandering around the shops looking at interesting items and relishing in sights you’ve never seen before. Eventually, you end up in a part of the district that is pretty quiet. You find a bench near a fountain and sit together looking out at Krylor. “It’s so beautiful. I’ve never been on a moon before…this really is amazing. I never thought all this could be on a moon. Our moon back home is small and desolate. My people have visited it a few times, but there’s nothing up there.” “Ya know, yer really pretty when yer face lights up like that. I been a lotta places and met a lotta different people, and nobody cares about stuff like you do. I hafta say, I really like that about ya.” He says quietly. You smile, and blush lightly at his comment. You both continue talking about nothing in particular for a while. Yondu loves listening to you talk about your home, or anything you find interesting. You’re so bright and happy when you speak. You carry a light with you wherever you go. A light that, he now realizes, he would follow anywhere. As you arrive back to the ship later that night, Yondu walks you back to your cabin with your jacket slung over his shoulder. As you tell him goodnight and thank him for a wonderful evening, he says he had a great time too. He takes your hand and leans in to gently kiss the top of it. “Goodnight, y/n.” He hands you your jacket, smiles at you one last time, and casually swaggers toward his quarters.

You’ve kept your composure until now. You scurry into your cabin, slam the door shut behind you and lean up against it – breathing heavily. “Ohh my gosh. Ohh my gosh okay. OOHkay. Wow…that just happened.” You can’t stop smiling and get ready for bed. Finally, you throw yourself into your bed with a long sigh. You fall asleep almost immediately, only to find your Captain in your dreams. Yondu enters his quarters and just stands there, staring off into space. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, his breathing is heavy. After what feels like ages, he finally begins to undress himself for bed. He can’t get you off his mind. Your smile, that dress, your voice, your eyes…all flicker through his mind. “So, this is love. Huh. Ain’t so bad.” He smiles and snuggles down into his furs and blankets and drifts into a peaceful sleep.

[dancingthesambaa]

The Smell of Plum Blossom Tea Ch 6

Summary: Just like a butterfly wing, a single act of kindness can change the course of the future, it certainly did for MK as a black-furred monkey put out a hand towards him.

Rating: Teen and up

Chapter 6: And So It Begins

“I’m back,” MK tiredly said as he dragged his form out of the blazing sun and into the cool restaurant, “orders delivered, traffic long and people angry, but food is delivered.”

“Great, but you still have another delivery,” Pigsy replied as his back was turned.

“Just one,” he grinned, “compared to the other ten this will be a piece-,”

He slammed down 30 orders down in front of him on the already bustling counter.

“Of cake,” he deflated as he saw the monumental amount of food. “What the-Are we feeding an entire town?!”

“Close. Party, though I should have charged their ungrateful asses extra for the rush order,” he growled out, “who gives an hour warning Huh?!”

“Apparently them,” he groaned as he picked up and carried the whole load into the car.

“And when you get back, there are a dozen more orders to take care of,” Pigsy called out.

“Got it bossman,” he yelled out, then he slammed the door closed and he sat up straight with a grin, “alright this won’t be so bad.”

“BEEF? BEEF?!! I WANTED MISO! GET IT RIGHT YOU STUPID DRIVER! The voice yelled out at MK as the two stood at the doorway.

“I’m sorry but-,” he winced as he was cut off by the rude woman screech.

“You better be sorry! I could have your job for this big of a screw up! You are nothing!”

“Technically I just delivered your food,” he whispered to himself.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing!” He put on his best service smile, “I’m very sorry about this, how about I take your food back so that I can-.”

Splat

MK watched as the woman threw down her food in a fit of rage.

“There’s your damn food, now pick it up and get me a new one,” she spat out.

MK looked down at the pile of food that Pigsy put his sweat and blood into slowly dripping off the stone stairs. He took a deep breath as he put his hand in his pocket to subtly squeeze the stress ball and looked at the woman.

“I’m not cleaning that up,” he deadpans and walks back to the car.

“What?!”

“Also,” he rolled down his window when he got in the car, “if you would like to order for a party, next time call ahead of time.” He then quickly drove off until he could no longer hear the yells of the angry woman.

He rode until he reached the grocery store, parked at the edges of the lot where there were barely any cars, unbuckled his seat belt, and laid his head on top of the wheel.

“I. Hate. People. Sometimes.” He lightly banged his head with each word then he leaned back and took out the ball and squeezed it a few times. “I really do.”

He likes to think of himself as a pretty optimistic person, after having his whole life turned around and learning things can get better, he likes to think that the world can be good. But days like these, people like those, make him really put that side of him to the test and today he very much failed that. He should be glad that he didn’t go off on her, like what Pigsy did when some dude tried to scam him or Mei when she is feeling very competitive over some a-holes, but at the same time that sounds amazing.

He squeezed the ball a little tighter.

“I really want to see Dad right now,” he muttered to himself. It would be so easy, just one yell to him and he would be over in less than a second. “I really want him right now…but I made a promise to myself that I would do this without him.”

So he took a deep breath, lifted his head, put on his music, put away his rainbow stress ball, and slowly began his drive back to Pigsy restaurant.

It was during that drive back that he got a call, “Hello?”

“Hey MK, it’s me,” he stopped as he heard Pigsy's voice, he had a feeling he knows what this is about.

“Heyyy Pigsy, I’m almost at the store,” he tried and failed, to sound casual.

“I just got off a call with a very rude customer who said that you threw down her food when she was being oh so kind,” he bluntly said, “even mentioned about assaulting her.”

“That is so not how any of that went down!” He immediately said, “she yelled at me for saying that I made her food wrong and I told her that it can be redone, but she decided to instead throw down all of that food herself and told me to clean it up! Who does that?! And all of this was after she put her hand all through that food, which is so gross by the way, I mean other people are eating that, cause I know she ain’t-,” he was cut off by Pigsy chuckles.

“You don’t need to explain anything, I know you for far too long to even think that you would put too much salt in someone's food let alone throwing it down on the ground.”

“Oh,” he calmed down as he released the tension from the wheel, “that’s good.”

“Yeah, I told it to her straight just exactly how I felt about her being an utter ass to not only myself but my employees. Let’s just say that she was not happy about that and threaten to sue,” he could almost hear him shrug.

“What no!” He tried to stand up, only to realize he was still in the car and he was still buckled up. “I am so sorry!”

“Don’t be, cause jokes on her the world we live in has become pretty up to date with security and, more importantly, security cameras,” he said with a grin, “I don’t think she’s gonna get a single cent when everything that went down was all on video.”

MK let a smile spread across his face, bless technology and all its glory. “That’s good.”

“It sure is. Do you want to take a breather when you come back? I know that woman was more than a handful that what you're used to,” he asked in concern.

“Nope,” he cheerfully said, “I am A-Ok! Just get those next orders ready for me so I can deliver!”

“Well if you're certain, get your ass back here on the double,” he said, but the teenager could tell it was more playful, “we got orders waiting to be delivered.”

“On my way!” He saluted to no one and hung up. “Alright! Let’s get a move on!”

‘Make sure to add the cohesive before the mixing,’ the voice silently thought to himself.

“It would be so easy just to make that jump, hell my youngest kit sister can make that and she’s not even a month old,” a voice bragged.

‘Combine the Feins roots with the Elia petals first to dilute the solution.’

“All I’m saying is that if you try to jump off the cliff of perils then I sure as hell am not catching you,” another voice deadpanned.

“Nahhh I would be fine.”

‘…dice the Oran berries and Pecha then add when the next stage is ready.’

“If you count being splattered into tiny little pieces fine, then, by all means, go ahead,” another voice sighed.

‘Make sure that the color is a deep orange hue and not dark yellow, that can-,’

“Ye o little faith.”

“No, you are of little sanity. Even my younger gremlins know better,” she shot back.

‘That can easily violate the substance,’

“But they don’t have the certain skills like I do,” they bragged.

‘…leading to a-,’

“It still wouldn’t be a wise thing to do,” a deep voice pointed out.

‘Leads to a-,’ his vial cracked in his hands as he was once again interrupted.

“No, but it would be fun-.”

“I swear,” everyone turned to face the irritated monkey, “to all things good in this world and the next, if you dumbasses don’t shut the fuck up in the next five seconds I will make the Piñata fiasco at the Boiling Isles look like a god damn nap compared to what I’m gonna do to you.”

“Sorry, were we disturbing you,” Yanyu cheekily said.

“You little-”

“Awwww I’m soo sorry,” Daiyu mocked.

“I swear-”

“We didn’t mean to interrupt your monologue,” Minsheng smirked, “you know it kinda reminds me of Flicker when you do that.”

“That’s it!” He slammed down his ingredients, opened his drawers, and took out a roll of duct tape, “come here you little bastards!” He yelled out as he began to chase down the three annoyances.

“Same as usual,” Bohai sighed as he drank his tea.

“One would think not to mess with Mac when he’s like this,” Ahmed commented.

“Especially when he’s in his mood.”

“Especially that.”

“Now shut it,” he proudly said as he sat on top of his third victim.

“Hey hey!” Daiyu struggled to break free, “we were trying to lighten your mood fuzzball.”

“By annoying the shit out of me,” he growled as he taped her beak shut. “Fat chance, anyone else,” he looks over to his other two remaking friends.

“I say nothing,” the jellyfish put his tentacles up in surrender.

“While they may have been a bit well-,”

“Fucking annoying,” the monkey bluntly said.

“Yes that, they did have a purpose to their madness,” the lion pointed out.

“What? What could they possibly want badly enough to annoy the absolute fuck out of me?!”

“You have empty bird nest syndrome.”

“…what?”

“I said-”

“I heard you the first time!” Macaque interrupted, “I do not have that! I am use to MK not being home day to day, so why the hell would you thi-,”

“For days,” Yanyu said once she ripped the tape off her mouth, “but not for longer than a week.”

“Same difference!”

“Nah pal it ain’t,” the bunny demon said as they chewed on their own tape, “I can see it as bright as day, you have been extra moody and hella sad these past couple of days. It’s just like mum, whenever one decides to leave the warren, she gets all glum and broody for days.”

“I am not broody!” His tail swished violently.

“But you do miss him,” Ahmed stated.

“I don’t-”

“And it’s okay if you do.”

“I don’t miss him, I can visit anytime,” he stated.

“You still miss him being there, being next to you,” the lone human gave his ponytail a playful tug and sat next to Mac, who was still sitting on top of the tied-up vulture. “Take it from a big sister, when Shu moved out to live in the dorms I was so happy for him, but as time went on I noticed that I didn’t hear his off pitch singing in the afternoon nor did I hear his voice amongst my gremlins over who gets the last brownie. I didn’t miss him, hell I could video chat with him anytime, but I missed his presence, you know.”

Macaque just gave her a hard look before sighing, “He used to hum to himself whenever he was bored,” he admitted as he got off his friend and slumped down next to her.

Yanyu just patted his shoulder as he continued.

“I know I can just visit him, but my kid is growing up, he’s learning to stand on his own and he should have his own life separate from me.”

“Yeah imma stop you there,” Sheng rolled his eyes, “you are being one over dramatic monkey right now if you think that just because he’s doing his own thing, doesn’t mean that he doesn't have time for you. Hell, you are the one demon he will always have time for no matter what.”

“But-”

“Ain’t no buts about it fuzzbrain,” Daiyu squawked out once she feared the tape off, “your hatching adores the shit out of you and if you don’t think he won’t spend time with you then you are dead wrong.”

“He should have that time to himself, he is just starting out all on his own…without me…,” he slumped in depression, but quickly shot up due to a shocking touch, “OW! FUCKING WHY BOHAI!”

“You're being an idiot,” he smugly said as he lowered his tendril.

“Thanks,” Yanyu nodded to him, “and he’s right. I know that this whole thing won’t end with this so here’s what we’re gonna do. The six of us are going to go to Qián city.”

“…why the fuck are we going to the underwater city of Shanghai?” He incredulously looked at her.

“Cause you seriously need to relax.”

“I don’t-”

“You spent most of your time in the garden or prepping medicine that you don’t need,” Ahmed calmly said as he cleaned up the mess that Mac made.

“…you may have a point, but I don’t really feel like I should leave, what if MK or Mei happens to call?” He said.

“Well one, I know damn well that your hearing exceeds that city's borders,” Sheng points out.

“Okay true.”

“And second, we have the beauty of phones, which allows people to fall from far away,” Yanyu slowly told him as if he was a child, “I taught you this in one of our first lessons.”

“Don’t patronize me,” he muttered, “but I don’t-”

“You either go willingly or Kit Kat over here is going to drag you,” she pointed to Ahmed.

“He wouldn’t-”

“I really would,” he had to stop a smile at the utter betrayal in the monkey's face.

“I could beat your ass again,” he grumbled.

“You very well could,” he agreed, “but then you would also have to go against everyone else and they will happily drag both you and me off.”

“Fine!” He throws his hand in the air.

“Got ‘em!” Sheng high-fived Yanyu.

“Told you he would cave in eventually,” the vulture grinned.

“But we are going there to strictly relax, that means no explosions, arsons, paralyzing, hacking, or prison riots.”

“What about stealing and graffitiing,” the bluenette raised her hand.

“If there assholes, be my fucking guest, but your ass better not get caught.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be more stealthy than sneaking into the police hub to get rid of the evidence,” she cockily stated.

“What?”

“What.”

“…you know what the less I know the better.”

“Good choice, so let’s get packing!” She excitedly said as she, Daiyu, Minsheng, and Bohai exited the infirmary.

“So are you gonna tell them that the game dealers there are more than likely to scam them before or after they get robbed?” Ahmed curiously asked.

“After, they need a lesson on not annoying the fuck out of me when I’m working,” he gave a mischievous grin.

“Quite rude of you,” he grinned.

“But you're smiling too.”

Ahmed chuckled lightly as the two left the infirmary.

It was a quiet day at the restaurant, the dinner rush had just ended and all that was really left to do was wait for the store to close and clean up what’s left. The only customers inside were Mei and Tang, both of whom have long since finished eating and are currently just chatting, or laying down, with MK over the counter.

“So how’re your online classes treating you?” Mei asked.

“Great!” He perked up as he took his eyes off the creepy butterfly in the corner of the restaurant, “I’m just about finished with my general study.”

“Ooo, does that mean you finally have a major in mind,” Mei leaned in.

“No I do not.” He cheerfully stated.

All of them, including Pigsy who was listening in, facepalmed.

“Mkkk,” the nineteen year old groaned.

“I knowww,” he slumped down, “but it’s hard deciding what to do for the rest of your life.”

“Well that is okay,” the historian softly said, “you're still young, you have your whole life ahead of you. Besides, college is not for everyone.”

“Yeahhh, so how’re your classes going Mei Mei?” MK turned to his friend, “I know you been taking some of the engineering courses.”

“Ugghhh, don’t get me started,” she slumped down in her seat, “I love it, but that is seriously kicking my ass right now. If I didn’t like to make sweet ass rides then I would have totally just dropped it.”

“Let me guess, for racing,” MK said as he sprayed down the counter.

“Duh, I’m gonna be so fast that when they're only halfway, I've already passed that finish line baby!” Mei screamed.

“Shhhhh,” Tang hushed as he held his head against the cool counter, “not so loud please.”

“You okay there Tang?” Pigsy asked as he moved closer to his friend, “you’ve been like that ever since you got in.”

“Yeah, it’s just this headache has been killing me and my usual medicine isn’t doing a thing,” sighed as he leaned into the warm hand touching his head.

“Doesn’t seem like you have a fever at least,” the pig mutters.

“Do you have any coughing, sneezing, nausea, or any other symptoms?” MK curiously asked as he sat up.

“I have been feeling a bit nauseous,” he murmured.

“Sharp ringing in your ears on and off?”

“Yesss,” he groaned out.

“Hmm hold on,” MK quickly went upstairs, everyone heard faint shuffling noises before he came back down as fast as he was carrying a small baggie, “Can I use your stove and teapot?”

“Go right ahead,” Pigsy agreed.

MK gave a quick smile and they all watched him make a pot of tea, but instead of teabags, he added some of the plants that were inside the bag.

“Here you go,” MK presented the tea to the historian once it was done.

Tang hesitated for a moment before accepting the cup, “…what is it?”

“Medicine. Drink,” he gave him a wide-eyed look.

“...alright,” he shrugged his shoulders and joked, “if this kills me, just burn my corpse.”

“Drink,” MK commanded once more.

Tang drank his tea instead of retorting back and his eyes widen at the taste of it.

“Are ya dead?” Mei asked.

“Feel the poison seeping in,” the pig demon joked.

“This is really good,” he complimented MK and he began to drink more.

“Thanks, it’s Dad’s special recipe diluted when it comes to dealing with migraines,” he happily announced.

“Diluted? I can already feel my migraine already going away, how bad is his if this is diluted?” Tang asked with much concern.

MK grimace as he shared a look with Mei. He can’t help the memories all filtering in of his father lying in bed clutching onto the headphones as it tightly covered all six of his ears. There is never a pattern to when this happens, but he knew to keep a pot of tea hot and a bowl of mango or other non-citrusy fruit available on those days.

“It’s pretty bad,” was all he said.

“Oh,” both adults shared a look before Tang put on a grin as he slurped down his tea, “well this really works, what in it?”

“It’s Feverfew Tea with some Pika berries,” said MK.

“I’ve heard of Feverfew, but I don’t think Pika rings a bell,” Pigsy hummed totally missing Mei’s shocked face.

“Why I never-,”

“No, it’s not pokemon,” MK quickly shut that down before she got to her rant.

‘’Awww,” she deflated.

“It’s from Kunlun peak.”

Tang immediately choked on his tea, “AK! Did you just say Kunlun peak!”

“Yep!”

“What’s so special about that,” she glumly asks.

“Mount Kunlun is known to be a mythical mountain that hikers and historians have been searching for centuries,” Tang began, “It’s said to hold both mythical animals and plants, each having extraordinary potential within them as even the Gods from above go down there for certain herbs and items needed for their potions. It just lays there on top of the highest peak, but no person nor demon has ever had a straight map leading there and you’re telling me your Dad, Macaque, went there?!”

“He goes there a few times a year,” the teenager proudly says.

He looks down at his tea with sparkles in his eyes, “I’m drinking magic tea made from the legendary mountain,” he gave a big slurp as he inhaled it and stood up.

Pigsy eyed the drink, neither teenager knew if it was in envy or jealousy.

“But I’m impressed MK,” Mei playfully punched his shoulder, “look at you being all smart about medicine.”

“Well I hear Dad mutter on and on about different types of herbs and their properties on a day to day basis, that it eventually gets stuck in my head you know,” he joked then he paused as an interesting thought occurred to him, “wait a moment.”

They all watch MK have a silent conversation to himself, complete with waving hands, multiple facial expressions, draw a few sketches on his notepad, and finish with a final glow of his eyes as he leaped up in the air.

“That’s it!”

“What’s it?” The owner said.

“Why didn’t I think of this before!”

“Think of what before?” The historian asked.

“It was seriously in front of me this entire time!”

“MK, I swear if you don’t tell us what’s up right now I am not liable to my next actions,” Mei threatened.

“I can be a Doctor!” He leaned forward in excitement, “or at least something along those lines!”

“You can be pop’s assistant!” Mei started to get excited alongside him, “how the hell did I not think of it either?!”

“I don’t know!”

“It does suit you,” the demon agreed. He knows the kid is smart, he has seen his grades, so it’s not far fetched to assume that he can do this rigorous task. “Hope you have good study habits, I know mines was absolute garbage back in school.”

“With notecards and all,” MK hates studying, his brain goes brrr during those times, but he can’t thank Yanyu and Bohai enough for teaching him different tricks to help keep focus. “Now I’m thinking maybe of being a pharmacist, cause I don’t think I do well with surgery.”

“There are also the ones who diagnose the disease using the X-ray thingie,” she snapped her finger as she tried to remember.

“Radiologist,” Tang called out.

“Yeah that!” She pointed to him.

“Ooo that also sounds interesting,” MK and Mei continued their animated talk as both adults watched.

“It’s nice to see them so happy,” the noodle lover let out a content smile as he drank some more of his tea.

“I hear that,” Pigsy then looked at the man cup in confusion, “by the way you’ve been drinking, I thought you would have already been finished by now.”

“With my first cup yes, I’m on my third one now.”

“How in the-I didn’t even see you leave this area!”

“Magic tea is magic,” was all Tang said.

Pigsy exploded, “That doesn’t explain shit!”

“Well too bad,” he gave a loud slurp once more.

SLURPPP

“You know what, two can play that game,” the human was confused when the pig demon got up and left the room. He was no longer confused as he came back with a cup of tea in hand.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Tang threatened the pig.

The pig looked him straight in the eye and, with a sly smirk, drank down the tea.

SLURRPP

“You heathen!” He shrieked as he banged his hands on the counter and stood up, “how dare you drink my magic tea!”

“Well next time don’t be rude as fuck!” He shot back and got in his face as well.

“That’s rich coming from you!”

“Says the freeloader!”

“Oh here we go again! You know, if you wanted some tea you could have asked!”

“My stove, my cups, my pot, mine.”

“But it was made for me!”

“Yeah well-wait hold up, you feel better right,” Pigsy dropped his screaming as he softly asked his friend, “no drill pounding in your head?”

“Yeah I’m fine now, it really does work miracles,” Tang also lowered his voice.

“That’s good.”

“…they really do act like an old married couple,” Mei announces, MK facepalmed as both adults separated from each other and yelled.

“WE ARE NOT!”

“I’m really sorry about such short notice,” the panda bear demon on call apologized once more to Macaque as he was quickly gathering his ingredients.

“Don’t apologize, shit like this happens,” he waved him off, “I’ll take me a couple of days, a week at max, but I’ll be there before the poison reaches its peak.”

“Thank you,” the panda bowed to him.

“Make sure to store away any semblance of caffeine, alcohol, or anything high in potassium, those are the fastest ways to speed up the process,” he instructed him.

“I’ve been meaning to take away Mink coffee stash, now I have a reason,” he chuckled, “I’ll see you soon.”

“Will do bossman,” he hung up the call and called another number as he continued to pack. Once it picked up he put a smile on his face, “Hey Comet, how’s it going?”

“Good!” The twenty year old happily responded. “You wouldn’t believe it, but the classes are actually kinda easy to understand. They’re still tricky, especially the tests, but Yanyu was right about you teaching this. It made almost all my classes so much easier thanks to you.”

“Aww, that’s another one for my ego,” he joked then he put on a more serious tone, “but I didn’t just call you here for a chat kiddo.”

“Why what’s up? Is there something wrong?” MK suddenly asked as he leaned in, “Do I have to get Mei here and help kick some asses?!”

“Snrk, no nothing like that,” he let out a snort, “you know Po right?”

“Yeah, he’s the panda demon who comes in to get pain relief, muscle relaxants, and other types of medicine for his students? Does this have something to do with him?”

“Close, his disciples messed up big time and accidentally inhaled a bunch of toxic fog when they faced off against an elephant demon.”

“How can an elephant make poison?” MK questioned.

“Magic can do the weirdest of things, I mean I’m a monkey that can do shadow magic,” he pointed out.

“True, okay so he’s gonna come over to pick up the antidote? I don’t see what’s the big problem?”

“Here’s the bad part, Po can’t make a round trip, cause the time he gets back, all of his students…might not be alive,” he gently told him.

“…oh, so what’s gonna happen?”

“Well, I’m going to have to make a house call, which means I'm gonna have to go away for a bit and it’s pretty far, so I won’t be able to hear you.”

“…okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay!” MK gave a big grin to him, “Don’t you worry bout a thing! I’m an adult now Dad, I will be just fine!”

“You have grown up,” he gave a gentle smile, “I’m glad to hear that, but remember to call if there’s any trouble. I may be far, but I will come running if you need it.”

“I will! Now finish packing and save some lives!”

“I will, I’ll see you in two weeks shooting star.”

“See ya later old man!”

Macaque hung up the call with a smile as he resumed his packing. He wished he could have hugged his kid goodbye, but he was in a time crunch as he zipped everything up and quickly jumped out of the treehouse and began to move within the shadows of the trees.

He really does love his shadow powers during these times.

“Duh du Duh,” MK hummed out as he danced his way over to the food delivery destination with the headphones blaring in his ears. He then lifted it to call out the order name when he heard a silky voice interrupt.

“It feels like I waited for an eternity for this moment, is everything in order?”

“Just making the final adjustment mother,” another voice replied and this is when he opened his eyes to see that this was no ordinary food order as an ominous group stood before him.

“Nope,” he immediately whispered as he silently jetted off to hide behind a pile of rocks, but he peaked his head carefully out to see and his eyes widened.

“Finally after all this time,” the woman continued.

‘No way.’

“We have the means to lift Monkey King staff.”

‘It is!’

Standing before them all, wrapped in vibrant viridian vines and burrowed underneath a garden left untouched by the destruction laid around it, was the legendary Monkey King staff.

Things were about to get interesting.

No joke, the delivery scene with the lady is something I had to experience before. There are people who truly treat food workers lower than dirt, which is stupid to me cause why would you disrespect the people making your food? It’s like insulting the people who manage your money.

[sweetchup]

A Helping Hand 4: Ghosts of Past // Day 2

Type: Shalnark x reader

Au?: Savior Au

Word Count: 1,700+

Warnings: Trauma, Airplanes

Author Note: I hope people enjoy!! I planning on Part 3 coming out tomorrow but I’m struggling a little on the chapter and I have some Headcanons to get through so it might come out Sunday instead.

<—(Pt.4.1) / (Pt.4.3☀️)—>

A Helping Hand Masterlist

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?

In the lane, snow is glistening

A beautiful sight

We're happy tonight

Walking in a winter wonderland…

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Thank you for flying with Amazon Aircrafts this afternoon. We will be landing in York New in about 5 minutes. If you would please, buckle up your—“

Suddenly as the Flight Attendant was announcing your descent, you feel your shoulder being tapped at.

“In a second…” You murmur out, too absorbed in the book you were reading. You were hoping to finish this last chapter before you got off the plane but as you feel another nudge at your shoulder, it is now highly unlikely you will.

“What do you— Shal!”  You gasped out, quickly shutting your book with a thud once you saw what he was doing. “You can’t take Chloe out of her crate on the aircraft!”

“But (Y/nnnnn),” Shalnark whines out, cradling Chloe closer to him so you couldn’t take her away, “I just want her to watch the aircraft landing with me.”

“Shal. You can’t be serious.” You deadpanned at him. You can’t believe Shalnark has only known this cat for less than a day and he is already so attached to her. Hell, he even whined for a whole hour when you thought about allowing a friend to babysit Chloe instead of bringing her on the trip.

“Fine. Fine. Just don’t get us caught please?” You sighed out, giving up on convincing the childish man next to you.

“Thank you (y/n)!” Shalnark shouts out gleefully, “By the way, you should watch the landing with us. York New City is amazing at sunrise.”

“Uh…” You look down awkwardly at the middle seat—currently holding Chloe’s crate—in between you two. “There’s not much room— oof!”

Suddenly, before you can even finish your sentence, Shalnark grabs your arm and pulls you towards him. For a man that is injured, he sure had amazing strength. Then again, he was able to break your hand the first time you two met when he was in a way worse condition.

“(Y/n) Are you listening?” Shalnark calls out to you, his voice right next to your ear surprising you.

“Uh. N-no sorry,” You choked out. Your head feeling like it was spinning once you noticed that you were basically being cradled to his side; With one hand pressed against the small of your back to keep you still.

“I was saying look at the clouds. They are so pink, they almost look like cotton candy.” Shalnark murmurs out, his minty breath fanning at your face. However, even though you should probably look at the clouds like Shalnark said, you can’t bring yourself to look. Your attention was trapped on Shalnark’s piercing aquamarine blue eyes that were staring down at you. Honestly, in your opinion, getting to see his eyes up so close was much better than any natural view that he could show you. “(Y/n)...?”

Startled by his sudden call, you feel yourself snap out of the trance you were in.

“O-oh yeah they are.” You stutter out turning your attention away from Shalnark. Also missing how he was leaning in towards you as you pull away.

That would prove to be the longest aircraft descendent of both of yours entire life.

—.—.—.—.—.—

“Ah finally here!” You yell out, dropping your bags down on the hotel room floor and flopping onto the bed. You hear Shalnark chuckle at your silliness before dropping his bags as well.

At the sound of his racing feet, you let out a yelp in surprise as you see him jump at you. His arms and legs bent so he doesn’t land on top of you and crush you as he falls.

“Shal!” You yell out, slapping his chest playfully. “You shouldn’t do that sort of thing. Especially with those injuries.”

“Sorry Doc.” Shalnark teases out before flopping over next to you, causing you to giggle as the bed springs up and down. As you stare up at the ceiling, you think how you were just glad Shalnark was getting back to his old self again. Getting out of that stuffy hospital definitely helped him. Though…

You turn your head to look at Shalnark. A question still on your mind ever since late last night when he spontaneously suggested this trip.

“Hey Shal.”

“Yeah?”

The bed squeaks underneath you as you shift your body, now laying on your side to look at him. “Why did you want to go to York New of all places?”

There is a silent pause that drifts through the air. You watch as Shalnark lifts himself up from the bed to lean back on his elbows, seeming to think about what to answer.

“I…” Shalnark’s words seem to die in his throat. It takes him a couple of seconds before he can start again, “It just felt right coming here… It was the final place the troupe went before everything went to shit.”

As you look up at Shalnark, his face has turned away from your gaze, making you unable to read his expression. Carefully, you shift closer to him; offering him some comfort as you wrap a single arm over his elevated waist.

As you feel his larger hand come over to cover your own, his thumb caressing at your knuckles in a silent reassurance that he was okay, you couldn’t help but wonder what you would uncover about Shalnark on this trip. Likely a side you’ve never seen before.

—.—.—.—.—.—.—

“Are you sure Chloe is going to be okay being left alone in the hotel room?” You ask Shalnark for the fifteenth time since you've left the hotel. Your eyes looking around at the many neon signs that lit up the night sky as you two walked through the bustling streets of York New.

“Positive. … Ah! Here it is,” Shalnark calls out, causing you to turn to look at the place he had taken you.

“The York New Auction Hall?” You mutter out confused,

looking at the elegant building in front of you. Why had Shalnark taken you here of all places? You understood he was a thief and all but…

“Shal.” You whispered to the male next to you as he was typing something into his phone. “You do realize I’m not going to steal anything on this trip, right?”

Shalnark looks up from his phone to give you an amused look; slightly chuckling to himself before grabbing your hand and dragging you into the building with him. All the while getting confused looks by the guest inside as you enter; all of whom wore formal outfits that looked like they cost more than your entire fortune.

“Shal—“ You are stopped short of completing what you are saying as, all of a sudden, two ladys hook their arms around yours and drag you off somewhere. “Woah! Hey!”

You look at Shalnark for help but he only gives you a grin before following two other gentlemen nearby.

After a couple of minutes of being dragged, you are finally placed into a room, stumbling slightly over your feet as you enter. As you look around the room, you find it very hard to see from how dark it is. However, before you can even straighten yourself out and take a closer look, you feel a pair of hands grab at your shirt and yank it over your head.

“H-hey I—“ You are cut off yet again as you feel another pair of hands unzip your pants. After a lot more yelps of surprise from your end and touching from the strangers, you are suddenly let go and pushed out of the room. “H-hey wait I don’t have any clothes… on…”

You don’t finish your sentence as you look agape at the reflection in front of you. Hesitantly, you turn yourself around and do a twirl, slowly taking in yourself. Dressed in a sparkling velvet dress with your makeup lightly done; You could hardly recognize yourself.

“Oh wow.”

And, it seemed as though you weren’t the only one impressed by your own beauty.

Quickly turning yourself at the sudden voice, you see Shalnark standing there; dressed in a classic black suit. With his hair lightly gelled back—except for a couple of blonde strands that couldn’t seem to stay put—you could get a clear look at the red blush that covered his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“U-uh.. umm..” Shalnark stumbles over his words for a couple of minutes as he stares at you before suddenly getting a hold of himself and clearing his throat, “H-here.”

Swiftly, Shalnark pulls out a bouquet of red roses behind his back and extends them out to you. As you take the flowers from his hold, your fingers ever so slightly graze his, causing his blush to only worsen.

“Shal—“ “(Y/n)—“

You both paused for a second, staring at each other owlishly before trying again.

“You first—“ “You first—“

This time you can’t hold back the giggle that escapes from your lips, “You first, Shal.”

Shalnark quickly nods his head at your words, ever so slightly fidgeting with his tie as he suddenly feels as if it was strangling him. With blood rushing to his ears and a nervousness he hasn’t experienced since he was a kid, Shalnark takes a shaky deep breath.

“You don’t have to answer me right now. I don’t actually expect you to. I J-just…” Shalnark lets out a sigh, frustrated with how nervous he suddenly was. “Just… let me have you for tonight.”

“Only for tonight?” You questioned out loud, bashfully playing with the petals of one of the roses as you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Well, I’ve never felt this way about anyone else so I wanna do it right.” Shalnark rubs the back of his neck as he looks away, “... Not too fast, no pressure…”

Lightly, you stuff your face into the flowers to hold back the grin that has etched its way onto your face as Shalnark encases his hand in yours. Even though you have held his hand many times before, this time feels different.

“...just going with what happens.”

Taglist: @meromelodi, @quartetstarheaven , @yumezai, @lvndrhwis, @writtenappreciation, @jojo-sinner, @pastelbear12, @aly-kurta, @bbunnycore , @feifood, @akobere7u7, @aleksa784

[primasveraas-writing]

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 3

Kallus’ leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1 2 3 4  5

3. The Ghost

The day of reckoning arrives.

Thrawn appears in the doorway, and Kallus knows that it is over. The Admiral taunts Kallus with the jamming device, the Fulcrum symbol flashing across the small screen. He has failed, and at best, he will die quickly for this discovery.

But Kallus is not one to resign himself to whatever miserable fate lies ahead. He will go down fighting, and there remains a chance to warn the rebels of the danger, as cryptic and brief as the fragment of his message is.

Kallus surges forward, attacking Thrawn with all his might. The blows are rapid and unforgiving. Thrawn targets his bad leg, yet the adrenaline overpowers the pain. Still, it is not enough to overcome Thrawn.

“Your technique is good. But… limited by your training in the Imperial Academy. Predictable.”

Thrawn is quick, strong, precise. More so than Kallus, but he does not need to win and he does not need to escape.

He throws the helmet first, which Thrawn catches easily. But the blow to his legs knocks the jammer out of his hands, and Kallus crushes it beneath his boot.

It is like clockwork, what happens next. He stands his ground, he is overpowered.

Thrawn is observant, a tactical master. He knows the weaknesses of everyone around him, and how to use them to ensure that he is the most powerful in the room.

It’s no surprise, really, that a series of swift kicks are delivered to Kallus’ right leg, which is healed but not correctly, functional, but not without pain.

Kallus lands on his back and is about to rise again when Thrawn looms over him, and brings his heel down on the barely-fixed bone. 

His vision goes white instantly; he’s pretty sure he screams, but that fact matters less than the poison in every cell in his body, than the agony worse than death as the bone shatters.

It is worse than ever before. It is worse than the first break and the flare-ups, and the burning sensation after field missions. It is worse than the night he couldn’t sleep, overcome by the need for more bacta, convinced that he would be better off without the leg, when he desperately wished he had just sucked it up and gone to the medbay after Bahryn.

But here he is. He cannot even think to get to his feet, then Thrawn lifts Kallus by the front of his shirt and delivers a punch to his chest, sending him flying into the night air, where he collides with the durasteel railing.

That might have hurt, he registers dully, but it is insignificant compared to the agony in his leg.

He loses.

But the message got through. He has not failed in totality, and the rebels have a chance.

-

That he lives is cruel. Thrawn tortures Kallus, hangs him up by his wrists like a slab of meat, and beats him. He asks no questions, and Kallus knows he would not break, but the lack of interrogation is still a relief.

This, he deserves. Under Imperial law, it is only fair that a traitor is punished. Kallus would take this over an interrogation, which is sure to follow after the assault on the rebels, and he can only hope that Thrawn doesn’t deign to do so personally.

He does not want to break. He hopes he dies before he reveals any secrets of the rebellion- not that they trusted their spy with much, in the first place.

At the end of the day, the rebels prevail, as is so ingrained in their nature to succeed against impossible odds. What’s more is that he apparently does have the heart of a rebel- some of their lucky nature passes to him, and he finds himself safely aboard the Ghost, thanked by Kanan Jarrus and Hera Syndulla alike. It is surreal, and strange, but for the first time in months, he is safe. At peace, even, at least for now.

But he is left alone. The rebels are making do with what little they have. They are busy, and Kallus, who once wished for the end of the entire movement and every being involved, remains in a corner of the ship that rescued him, his mind racing.

That is one benefit to it all. He’s particularly sharp now, going over what Imperial Intelligence he has memorized and can share with the rebellion. He feels little pain and can even stand, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins fuels him until the Ghost rendezvous with a rebel command ship.

He’s the last to embark, hanging back until Hera claps him on the shoulder, nearly pushing him out the door.

“Come on,” she says, nodding towards the bustling hallway. If she’s tired, she doesn’t show it, and a small smile pulls at her lips. “I’ll take you to medical.”

“I’m fine,” Kallus insists, because he feels so. “It looks worse than it is, Captain.”

“Hera,” she corrects him instantly. “And I chose to believe that if you come with me to Command then go to the medbay straight after.”

Kallus nods, because he has confronted Hera’s will a great many times and seldom triumphed. They trudge through the unfamiliar halls together, Kallus bowing his head to avoid the stares of those passing or congratulating Hera, who promises a quick debriefing then rest before reorganizing in the morning. He doesn’t imagine it will be as easily delivered to him as it will be for her, but he thinks of sleeping in a room surrounded by people he isn’t actively betraying, and perhaps talking to Garazeb soon, and the thought calms him.

A spike of pain shoots through him with his next step forward. Kallus falters, then grits his teeth and presses forward.

“Agent- Kallus,” Hera says, frowning at him. She touches his arm, gently, and Kallus is surprised at the care. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he promises. Every step hurts progressively more.

She regards him, wary, and Kallus pretends he does not see the concern painted across her face. However, she continues to lead him towards the command center once he takes another step without wincing.

The pain is too familiar, and logically, Kallus knows that it will overcome him soon. But if he can suppress it for now, if he can confront the Rebellion's leadership first, then he can deal with the injury, once placated by an understanding of his future with the Alliance.

Hera indicates that they're close, her montrals swishing as she peers around the next corner. Kallus inhales sharply once her attention diverts from him, suddenly aware that he'd forgotten to breathe.

She waves him on. Kallus' leg feels like lead. He tries to go through the door, and stumbles, lightheaded.

"Kallus, are you sure-"

"Yes," he wheezes, bracing himself in the doorway. Officials in the command center look up at him- he recognizes faces but can recall no names.

"Kallus-"

He stands straight up, preparing to look Hera in the eye, but his leg buckles under the weight, and he cries out in pain. She's supporting him now, her hands under his arms, and she's saying something, her green eyes filled with alarm.

Kallus tries to look up at her, assure her that he’s fine, but the hurt widens and spreads until it is burning at him yet again and Kallus cannot remember a single word he was going to say. He’s doubled over, and he can’t speak, nor see, and the agony consumes him, and he’s falling, falling- then all goes black.

-

Kallus opens his eyes slowly. His eyelids are heavy, and his exhausted body begs him to go back to sleep, But he’s here, in the Chimera’s medbay, and he’s not sure if he’s yet safe-

He blinks again. Someone is next to his cot- someone- Zeb.

The Lasat is slumped over, clasping Kallus’ hand. Kallus stirs, reaching for Zeb, and croaks out his name.

Instantly, Zeb wakes, sitting up straight. “Kal,” he gasps, leaning forward. “You’re up.”

Kallus nods, too tired to speak. His brow furrows, but two questions come to mind, and he can’t decide which to ask first.

He doesn’t know where he is, but Zeb is here, so he must be safe. That issue is resolved then, so:

“‘s my leg still there?”

Zeb looks confused, glancing from Kallus to his legs beneath the sheets. Then, he huffs out a laugh and takes Kallus’ hand again.

“Yeah, Kal, it’s alright. You’re gonna be okay, you hear me?”

Kallus nods again, satisfied. That is enough for now, and he lets his eyes slide shut.

-

He is alone when he wakes again, save for the meddroid fiddling with the tubes in his arm. Kallus groans- his head hurts, and he still feels tired, but other than that, the pain is not bad.

“Kallus,” the droid says, its overly-large eyes peering at him. “You are awake.”

“Yes,” he agrees, then groans as he stretches, running a hand over his face. There’s stubble on his chin and his beard. He’s been out for most of a day, then, possibly longer. And he’s here, on some Rebel ship, and not the Chimera. This explains the droid, which looks ancient, scratched and dented. It appears to have been taped together in more than one place, and Kallus smiles to himself.

“We know nothing of your medical history.” The droid tells him. “Although I have conducted many tests, there are still questions.”

“Okay.” Kallus is pretty sure that his questions (where is he, what day is it, where is Zeb) should have higher priority, but he is too out of it to protest, so he nods. “You may ask them.”

“Excellent.” A beat. “What is your first name?”

He laughs, a deep, rumbling sound emitting from deep in his throat. It’s been a long time since he’s laughed like that, and his voice was already scratchy from underuse. “Alexsandr,” he says, then spells it. Perhaps he is a good spy, after all. He doubts that anyone in Imperial Command knows his first name, either, though this is attributed to a lack of care rather than insufficient information.

There are a few more basic questions about his background and history. Kallus realizes that he’s in the Rebellion’s system now, and he wonders what his file says. Alexsandr Kallus. Coruscanti. Previously Agent Kallus, ISB, Fulcrum. Wanted by the Empire for ten counts of treason; wanted by the Rebel Alliance for one hundred crimes against humanity.

He snorts. The meddroid, which was turning away from him, pauses. “Can I help you, Alexsandr?”

“No,” Kallus says quickly. “I mean- yes. Do you know where Garazeb Orrelios is?”

“The Lasat? He has been here for the last twenty-four standard hours. I do not know where he went.”

Oh. Kallus feels heat flame his cheeks, and a monitor next to him beeps. His blush deepens when he realizes that his heart monitor made the sound; his heartbeat has just spiked.

“I will get a medic to speak with you about your leg.” The droid looks at the monitor, then back at him. “Do not excite yourself further.”

Kallus coughs, unable to look at the droid. “Yes,” he mutters, ashamed. “I will do that.”

The medic is a Rodian, who speaks in a soft tone and seems to barely remember where she is. This fact isn’t particularly comforting, but she is kind enough and patient with all his questions.

His right leg had a severe initial break that never healed correctly, causing weakness in his tibia and impeding the muscles and tendons in his entire leg. The strain that later followed only made this worse, and almost two days ago, the leg was shattered again- he broke both his tibia and his fibula. Bone fragments have punctured both his muscle and his flesh, but in short- it will never heal right, and Kallus will be affected for the rest of his life.

She explains that they operated on him, once Hera and two other rebels dragged him into the infirmary. It was easier to keep him under after he had passed out, and they did the best they could trying to prevent infection and further blood loss. He’s also covered in extensive bruises, including on his ribs.

“How do you feel?” The Rodian concludes, fiddling with one of the machines next to him.

“Like I could run forty klicks,” he mutters, staring down at his leg. Right now, it’s wrapped in bandages and some sort of brace.

She brustles, looking shocked. “I thought I made it clear that wasn’t possible-”

“It’s-” he sighs. “I understand.”

“Well, I-”

“Kal!” The budding argument is halted in its tracks; Zeb stands in the doorway, disheveled but grinning. “You’re awake!”

“I am.” He’s not, technically- he’s hasn’t yet attempted to sit up, but Kallus cares very little about the nuance, and Zeb makes his way over to Kallus’ bedside. 

“Good.” Zeb scans him with barely-suppressed joy. “You scared us,” he admits. “Hera says you just collapsed.”

“Yes, well, the adrenaline wore off.” Kallus doesn’t look at Zeb. “I’m recovered now.”

“I know.” A smile creeps back into Zeb’s tone. “I don’t believe you can be kept down for long.”

“I can’t,” Kallus agrees, echoing Zeb’s humor.

“Do you remember anything?” Zeb stops fiddling with his pants and instead smooths out Kallus’ blanket.

“A little.” His brow furrows. “I remember that you were there for me.”

“I was.”

“The meddroid says you were with me for a full rotation.”

Zeb is suddenly very interested in a spare thread on his pants. “I was,” he mumbles, and Alexsandr suppresses another smile, glancing away so that Zeb doesn’t see.

“I didn’t want you to be alone,” Zeb continues, his shoulders slouching. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up.”

“It’s okay.” Alexsandr didn’t know his voice could go this soft, but Zeb’s next words distract him from this point, his tone just as gentle.

“I’m sorry about your leg.”

“Don’t be.” It comes out flat, and Kallus looks away from Zeb.

It will heal. He’ll walk again, but he’ll be limping and limited. He’s going to have a cane adjusted to him tomorrow. He may never do fieldwork again.

“I am.” And Zeb sounds like it too, though his expression is devoid of pity. “Still, I thought you’d like to know that everyone in command is excited to have you here. It’s all anyone can talk about.”

“Really?” A jolt of surprise travels through him. “They don’t hate me?”

He sounds sarcastic, but Zeb looks back at him, completely serious. “You saved our necks more times than we can count. And you’re a goldmine for Imperial information.”

Right. His expression falls before he can help it. “You’re a badass ‘n a hero, Kal. That’s what they care about.”

“I’m not sure if I am. Or that I will be.” Kallus gestures to his leg, bound and immobile before them both.

Zeb’s expression softens, and he rests his hand on Kallus’ arm. “Right. I’m sure that will stop you.”

“It’s different. How can I help that?”

“So are you gonna retire? Hide in the medbay or go to the Outer Rim until the war is over?”

Frustration builds in Kallus, and he sits completely upright, clenching the sheets in his hands. “It’s not that simple! Of course I’m not going to- to kriff off and die- but I can’t walk!”

“Not forever.” Zeb amends. “And you’re one of the greatest minds we have.” Zeb glances around the empty room. “Don’t tell anybody I said that.”

“I’m a former Imperial, a spy and I have months of recovery ahead. I’m not entirely convinced people want me here.”

“I do,” Zeb says immediately, then glances away, scratching the back of his head. “I, er- well, I do. And so do a lot of other people.”

Kallus looks up at him, and Zeb meets his eyes again after a long moment. “Do you want to be here?” He asks softly.

“Yes, I do.”

“Good.” Zeb grins, but there is tenderness in his gaze. “Then you’ll put your mind to it and everything will work out.”

“You sound very confident in this fact.”

“I’m confident in you.”

---

I am distinctly aware of the lack of research that I’ve done. I’m doing my best to be canon-compliant here but sometimes I don’t have the energy to remember that a shower is a sonic and not a shower… so here we are.

Additionally, please take any medical jargon with a grain of salt. I am not a doctor, and I’m mostly going with “yeah that seems like it could happen” as far as realism goes. Nevertheless, thank you for the warmth with which this story has been received, and thank you all for your support!