#were they attempting to rush for their code business meeting! were they late for their code flight?

[whitmore]

it isn’t that etoiles lost it’s abt HOW he lost, like they really could have just thrown code after code after him for two hours straight and used up all his gapples and potions and he STILL would have lost and it would have been more satisfying; it would have been a long, arduous and well-fought battle that etoiles would have adored every moment of despite the grim ending. but the way he lost was fighting a code whose health bar didn’t even move and who then proceeded to borderline metagame in order to win the fight quickly, taking away two of qetoiles most prized possessions resulting in a hollow victory. narratively i get etoiles needed to lose at some point but it should not have been like that

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 16}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorain x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Three planets allow for you to make good memories with your newly establish clan. And one that rips it all away.

Word Count: 10.5k

Warnings: reader has an official name used for plot points, nicknames and pet names(all in Mando'a), canon typical violence, canon typical language, canon typical fighting and conflict, star wars and basic swear words (we use them like sprinkles here), mando'a language, mentions of self-harm scars, angst, emotional conversations, confessions, unwanted advances, creepy guys being creepy guys, fighting, threatening language, attempted kidnapping, stalking, fleeing from officers, resisting arrest, reader and din are wanted criminals y'all, sexual content, adult content, description of the male body (ahem), slight body worship, fingering, oral (m receiving), feelings, so many feelings, argumentative language, miscommunication, perceived rejection, fear of intimacy, abandonment trauma, sa trauma, ptsd trauma,. if i missed any please let me know and i'll add them!

A/N: a huge thank you to everyone who participated in this poll to theorize what the next arc holds in store for your lil clan! from here on out, the next 3-5 (ish chapters) will be an all-original arc. this one ends...um, yeah, please don't me mad at me, it's all for a good reason *literally runs away after posting and hides under her bed covers

ao3 || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

‘Your eyes were heavy with sleep, the bunk dark in the late hour of the day. You roused yourself from the blankets at the sounds of chatter outside the door of your shared room. You were feeling trembles in the Force, which had jolted you awake despite your body demanding to rest for longer. Your mind was foggy as you pulled on your tan coat over your simple black attire of a loose shirt and slim pants, the soles of your boots silent on the floor as you padded carefully to the door. You didn’t recognize the voices, but you were sure there were plenty of individuals you hadn’t had the chance to meet yet. You had only been here in the city for a few years, having been found to be in touch with the Force at the age of five, your mother sending you off with the nice man who had kept watching you while you helped to sell baked goods and local harvest back on K’ath.

You had been idly moving seashells about the stall, garnering the attention of a few Jedi visiting there on business and the course of your life was determined from there.

The sound of blasters, of gunfire, of explosions and the combatant sounds of light sabers was a cacophony of noise the closer you got to the door. Shouts and orders were being yelled, and it spiked anxiety in you. You quickly backed from the door and gathered your pack you had brought with you all those years ago. You shoved a second set of clothes, your pouch of credits you used sparingly, and the photo of your mother you had kept underneath your pillow. You had just received your official saber after spending the last week mining your crystal, when it was announced that you were to become a padawan come the end of the month, waiting for your assignment and master for training.’

The city was crowded, people rushing all around, running from the Temple and the surrounding gardens, outdoor training areas, and meditation spaces. It was loud, the sound of blasters and shouting a  roar in your ears as you tried to hide wherever you could squeeze yourself into, rushing off in sprints the second the coast was clear. Reaching up for the communication cuff you had stolen off of one of the dead bodies in the hall, you scrambled to punch in the chain code given to you back on your home planet.

It was silent as you requested a call, hope plummeting as it dropped. Once. Twice, three times.

But then it pinged, far too loudly and you heard a shout to search the gardens.

“How did you get this contact?” His voice sounded exactly the same and you thanked the Maker you had remembered his code correctly. He was your only hope, he was the only person you knew outside of those whose bodies you had seen laying all over the Temple. Taking a breath, you tried to talk as clearly as you could, brain scrambling to remember how the grammar worked for his language.

“Nuhunla jag, bic's ni.  Teh K'ath. Te kih beskar'gam adiik. Ni linibar gar gaa'tayl, gedet’ye.”

Funny man, it’s me. From K’ath. The little armor girl. I need your help, please.’

The ship was silent.

Din was seated at the makeshift table in the hold space, helmet placed on the top of it, amid the open med pack. Bandages and bacta spray cannisters spread out before him. He had finally managed to rid himself of the throbbing headache that had grown since yesterday. He had tended to you first, after getting the ship back on route, running at half power due to the engine you had blown in the wake of your emotional outburst. It was set on course toward a mid-rim planet where he could get the engine repaired. Toward Tatooine.

The door to his personal quarters was cracked open, allowing for the hush of blankets shifting to whisper out into the open space he occupied. Soft padding of your bare feet on the floor urged him into a too fast motion to reach for his helmet. But his body complained about the reach, head throbbing harshly despite the application of bacta he had just finished on his tender head. The back of it was sensitive to the touch, thick scab underneath his gently probing fingers.

“Wait.” He called out, hoping you could hear him as he gasped it out.

All movement on the other side of the door stopped. You would’ve listened to him even if he wasn’t about to announce that he was without his helmet. But he decided to be honest with you, to take the opportunity to bear his injuries with humility rather than hubris. To admit that he wasn’t well.

“My helmet, I removed it to tend to my injury.”

“I…don’t think I can put it back on just yet. Too painful.”

“…okay.”

“Do you need to…use the fresher?”

“No, I just…I was going to look for you. To…apologize.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“I yelled at you.” You admitted quietly, ashamed that you had, though in the moment it felt justified. It felt like it was the only way to get your voice to work through the tumultuous offense of emotions from the day’s events. From what they meant.

“And I yelled back.”

“Are we….okay?”

“…yes. I want us to be, mesh’la.”

The ship was silent. His ears straining to hear any sound you might make as you stay motionless just on the other side of the door. You had rested your forehead against the metal of it, hands curled just below, supporting yourself on sore legs. Sighing, you opted for an easy question to bridge the weird silence.

“H-how long was I out for?”

“Two days, I tended to your smaller wounds when I changed you into clean clothes.”

“Thank you….”

“I have your armor out here, I cleaned the blaster powder off of it. Shined it for you, too.”

When you didn’t respond, a deep sigh bridged the gap.

“I know we need to talk about what happened. But…mesh’la you got so upset so quickly. And I know you didn’t meant to….but you threw me across the hold. And-“

“Did I hurt you? Did I scare you?” The words rushed from you, thoughts swirling l as you tried to recall those last moments of consciousness. But you couldn’t, they were a blur, all cloaked in emotions too intense and a surge of energy ran through you. Shuddering, you tried to tamp them down, not wanting to repeat the charged display.

“Yes, a little. To both.” The rasp of his voice confessed, stilling your heart as you realized you had done the one thing you were worried about. Especially in the wake of his injuries, his willingness to sacrifice himself for even a chance of everyone getting away safely.

You clenched your eyes shut tight, face feeling like it had been exposed to the cold for too long. Prickly and numb all at the same time.

“I know it wasn’t intentional.”

“That doesn’t matter. I still-“ A sob burst from your chest, masking the sound of Din getting up from where he had been. One of his hands snuck through the space of the cracked door, long fingers reaching for you. They brushed against your bare arm, circling around it and holding on in the only way he could a the moment.

“Please don’t cry, mesh’la. I’m okay.”

“Din…” You warbled, tears flowing and regret warming you from the inside out. Through a hiccup, you voiced your remorse. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s…it’s okay. I swear to you. We’re okay.” His hand squeezed your arm and you wanted nothing more than to curl into his chest and bury your face into his neck.

But for the time being, you gave the man his space, his privacy. Knowing the conversation to be had would be in small pockets, a lot for both of you to get into at all once.

Tatooine was the obvious choice for the repairs, you had agreed when Din told you of the route he had calculated. Requesting the hanger that Pelli resided in upon entering the atmosphere and talking with the dispatch team for air control. She was already waiting before the ramp had completely leveled out and settled, recognizing the ship. It took more concentration from Din to land the Crest, manually controlling every aspect as the landing gear had gone offline as one of the engines faltered and then failed. Another ramification of your outburst.

“Well, if it isn’t Mando! What did you do this time, you’ve got an entire engine out!”

“Doesn’t matter, will you be able to fix it?”

“Why, of course!” Her voice was loud, booming in the space of her hangar. Moving at a slightly slower pace, you walked down the ramp. A gasp falling from her lips as she noticed the beskar you now donned, the matching signets attached to the pauldrons.

“I was just jokin’ around last time, but the matching do-hickeys gotta mean she’s your girl, right?”

Helmet turning, the dark visor looked you over. Taking in the full visage of you in the armor that had been a gift, the shining metal making pride swell in his sternum. Neither of you responded to her teasing, opting to distract her with the presence of ad’ika. He was taking big, swinging steps down the ramp, looking adorable in his newly stitched outfit. Din had surprised you one morning, seated at the table with the child dressed in nothing but his underwear as his fingers worked a thread and needle through the burlap tunic. He had taken the time after some consideration and decided to turn the open ended tunic into a jumpsuit, allowing for ad’ika’s legs to move easier. He had tripped over the loose, open hem one too many times in an attempt to run from the running water in the fresher sink that signaled a bath for him.

It had both you and Din suppressing laughter, much to the pouting of the child.

“Oh Maker, there he is!” Pelli was respectful enough not to board the ramp, crouching down at the end of it and making grabby hands with her arms reaching out.

After a rather entertaining attempt at pleading her case for babysitting, your trio set off into town. You had a large pack secure on your shoulders, full of pieces to sell to pay for the repairs needed on the Crest. Din had been in no condition to take any jobs from Karga upon departure, nor had he wanted to immediately jump back into the time-consuming hunting in wake of his responsibility to find an appropriate guardian for ad’ika.

“Patu!” Ad’ika exclaimed from his snug position in the canvas bag around your shoulders. He was resting against your hip, hands reaching for a brightly colored gelatine…thing displayed on a vendors table amid a variety of local fruit.

“Patu? Ad’ika, what in the- is that a word?” Side-eyeing Din, you gathered a few fruits as well, making sure to get the ones a small claw pointed to along with some that looked interesting to you. Plus the one he already had picked up and taken a bite out of.

“Not that I know of.”

“How many languages can you speak, while we’re on the subject?”

“We weren’t, really. But it would be…quite a few.”

“Except for Jawa.” You snorted, recalling the broken words he tried to exchange with the scavenging people what seemed like so long ago now. But you were beginning to look back on that time of your life not with an air of frustration but consideration. The compound you had been stolen away to leading you to the life you currently led. Maybe there was still an echo of frustration, of personal failure for not being aware that day in town. Of having let your guard down while on a rare supply run into one of the few cities scattered within the vast sands of Tatooine.

But….for all the bad that had occurred from that one instance of capture, the things you had to endure and the feeling of losing all hope for a life of even moderate freedom. Of life itself. For everything that had happened to you while at that compound, it was a chapter of your life. You could let it taint you, poison you. And you had, for so long.

Now…now there was hope and the notion that it had all led to the present. Aboard a ship with two people you trusted and cared for. And it was all you could do, to not be consumed by it.

“Jawa is pointless, speaking to them in their native language or another yields the same results.” He turned the question on you, his curiosity peaked just as yours had been.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Attention only half on the wall of armor he made, you turned with a handful of credits to the man keeping watch over his wares. He passed back the difference with a frown, eyes trailing over you in an uncomfortable manner.

“A kid with me would look better than whatever type of creature that is.” A suggestive grin broke out across his face. His hand snatching out in an attempt to grab at your own. “Should ditch the suit and spend some time with me.”

Before you could even think of a response other than to take an offended and disgusted step back, Din was blocking your line of sight. His fist was around the vendor’s neck, lifting him from the ground a few inches as he leaned in threateningly.

“My helmet must be malfunctioning, because I’m pretty sure you didn’t just insult my vencuyot riduur right in front of me.” He didn’t so much say the words as growled them, pleasure blooming between your legs at the implication of his words and his instant defensiveness. You were more than capable of handling yourself and had proven as such to him, but for Din to raise his hackles and snap at this man was…endearing in the filthiest of ways.

Future wife.

“Since we’re on the subject, your pronunciation is very good. But some words seem to have slightly different meanings almost.” Shoving the vendor away from him, the man stumbled down, disappearing from view. It took your brain a second to catch up and realize that Din had been speaking to you. When he tilted his helmet to the side a bit, you mimicked him. With a modulated chuckle, he guided you with a hand on the small of your back further into the marketplace and repeated his words.

“We weren’t really.” You stuck your tongue out at him, prompting the child to imitate you with an adorable giggle. Din altered his next step to brush his shoulder against yours, pauldrons clinking softly and jostling you. When your foot faltered, he used the hand still around you to pull you close. “You grew up on Concordia, no?”

“Correct.”

“Well, Mando’a is an agglutinative language. It’s built on itself, two words becoming one over time, helping to bridge the different dialects, or simply to condense the language. So you speak Concordian, which is a different dialect than what I leaned from Akiz. He had been raised on Mandalore and that’s where we spent a few years hidden from the Empire’s forces.”

“You- you lived on Mandalore?” Static over the modulator relayed the force of his words, taken off guard by your casual revelation about your past. You paused, turning to face him fully, eyes focusing on the visor with a furrowed brow.  

“Y-yeah, is that…I thought I told you?”

“No…that’s- mesh’la, that’s-“ You swore you could hear the swallow he took to compose himself, words jumbled in his mind and in his mouth. “New.”

“Wait, did you never-?”

“The fighting corps were on Concordia. I didn’t leave unless it was for training and then we had to flee, go into hiding.”

“Ner kar’ta, I’m so sorry. It was such a beautiful planet. And you- you’re one of the most devout Mandalorian’s I’ve ever met, you deserved to have seen it in its prime.”

After a few more shared streets, looking over the things offered by the local vendors, you parted ways.

You set off in the direction of an armory you had once sold to, run out of someone’s personal abode, attached to a warehouse that allowed them to house a kiln, forge, and space for a considerable collection of wares for sale. The armored man going off to search for any signs of Mandalorians that had fled Navarro.

Now making your way slowly through the town, walking through the door streets the way you had come with your escort earlier, a successful sale of the pieces you had crafted during the time it took to travel here under your belt.

An apple rolled over the toes of your boots, garnering your attention. Following the path it must’ve taken with your eyes and then seeing a few more bouncing and rolling away in other directions, you noticed a woman struggling to get her hand back from the same vendor who had tried to do the exact thing to you.

“Hey! Leave her alone, creep!” Swift steps and you were prying the young woman’s arm from the vendors crushing grip. Maker, she couldn’t have been much older than her teens. The blaster holstered to the back of your hips was raised and pointed at the man, his hands reaching for his own but far too slow.

“Did you pay him?” You asked her over your shoulder, seeing the fruit that had flown from her basket at the man’s advances.

“N-no, I was about to when he grabbed me.”

“Gather what you want and then go home.”

“You don’t get to decide that!”

“I think you’ve done enough to her, the least you could do is take the loss of a single transaction.”

“You didn’t pay either, your Mando,” He spat the word out. “Took the payment back for your stuff as well.”

“Then maybe you should stop harassing your customers.”

Suddenly, a woman appeared behind him and knocked the blaster from where he had been reaching for it, frozen over the holster at the sight of yours already raised.

“Alright, let’s break it up.” She was tall and held the air of someone with authority. The shine of the sun on a badge pinned to her front had you lowering your weapon. Not wanting to complicate things further, you holstered it and turned to help the poor woman who had been harassed. She was scurrying around and picking up the fallen fruit.

The vendor slinked back behind his tables, beginning to gather all of his stuff up. Closing shop for the day and cutting his losses.

Once both were gone from the busy street, the woman approached you with a hand held out in greeting.

“Sioban, local official.”

“Sarad. Just passing through.”

“Oh don’t be that way, I’m not going to arrest you. C’mon let’s go grab a drink, you can tell me more about that Mandalorian armor you’re wearing. I’ve never seen such pure beskar.”

That’s how you found yourself opposite the friendly woman, pink drinks in both your hands and sharing traveling stories. She was kind, told you they didn’t have any signs of the type of struggle rumored to have occurred on the nearby planets. But she must’ve been a newly instated official, having no recollection of her from your past time spent on the dessert planet. You felt at ease with her, so alike to how you had been before, when you had traveled with Akiz. Curious, excited, wanting to know all there was to know. Even in wake of the knowledge and reality that you were on the run, but allowed the chance to be a child with a guardian to look after you and ensure your safety.

You must’ve lost track of time, because the quiet hush of the bar’s patrons silenced as a tall, broad figure appeared in the doorway. Visor scanning the crowd. It picked back up once he didn’t immediately stalk toward someone he was in search of, the patrons deeming him a visitor just like themselves. Upon seeing you, his steps picked up and he was beside the table you were seated at. The slight crook of his helmet beckoning you and calling you silently back to the ship.

“Indulge me, ner kar’ta.” You whispered into the side of his helmet, body leaning in close. The woman on the other side of the booth let a knowing smile overtake her delicate features as she realized who this man was to you. Not a controlling father or partner coming to fetch you, but a loved one simply catching up with you after an afternoon apart. “Just one more drink, then back to the ship.”

“Fine. But then we depart.”

“Sioban, this is…um, Mando-“ You looked to him, unsure if he was okay with you introducing him as such, at the nod of his helmet, you continued on. “Ner kar’ta, this is Sioban. She was kind enough to get me out of some potential trouble.”

“Thank you, for looking out for her.”

“You’re very welcome, Mando. She looked about ready to pummel the man, but he’s known for being involved with a local gang and I didn’t want her to have a mark on her back.”

“What happened?”

“That vendor from earlier was harassing a young girl, so I stepped in to intervene.”

A gurgling laugh burst into the air as ad’ika’s small head popped up from the bag around his shoulders.

“Oh! A baby!” Sioban squealed, leaning over the table to wiggle her fingers at him, prompting more carefree laughter. “I didn’t know you had a baby.”

“He’s cute, no?” You carefully wrangled him from the canvas and handed him to her, trusting that she wasn’t a threat. Ad’ika was a wiggling bundle in her arms, cooing and gurgling as he lavished the attention she was dotting on him. You moved aside for Din to settle into the booth, cramping you in the small space.

The walk from the bar in the city center back to the hangers in the outskirts was quiet, but comfortable. Ad’ika was on your shoulders, pointing his little claws up at the shooting stars streaking through the sky. You were both munching on a sweet hand pie from the bar, offering the small child bites you tore from the wrapping. A bite handed to him and then one for you, but the next one about to be popped from your mouth was stolen midair by a quick hand.

The hiss of the seal on Din’s helmet took you by surprise, the glimpse of his stubbled jaw even more so as he popped the bite of the pie into his own mouth. The flash of a plush bottom lip stole your attention, hidden away as quickly as it had been exposed, but even so a bloom of desire flared to life in your gut. A claw tangling tight in your hair as you delayed the next bite pulled your attention away, a grunt of discomfort loud as you gently reprimanded him to be kind.

Feeling his own eyes sweep over you made it hard to concentrate on carefully tearing another bite from the pastry.

Future wife. Vencuyot riduur. Riduur.

Riduur.

Riduur.

For the rest of the trip back to the ship, you couldn’t quell the prickling of desire all over your body, arousal pooling between your legs. Fueled by the two drinks you had deemed an appropriate treat for the day. Once putting the passed out child in the hammock in the larger part of the hull space, Din joined you in the small cabin that was his personal quarters.

Din’s hands were soft over your thighs, fingers caressing the old scars born of anger and desperation set into your skin. The clothes you were wearing were too hot all of a sudden, heat and the prickling desire flaring all over. But you were so tired and all you could do was let out an appreciative groan as your lashes fluttered closed and your head lolled to the side atop your pillow.

“Din, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” The words were mumbled, slurred into the air on a puff of breath. A confession and an apology rolled into one sleepy sentiment. “Vencuyot riddur.”

I love you. Future husband.

Fingers stilling, they pressed to you, palms wide and gripping tight over your thighs, a hitch of breath given life through his helmet. Then his hands were moving up up up, over your middle, your chest, your neck. They were gentle as they cupped your face, but you didn’t move, allowing him to press the forehead of his helmet to your temple. The heat of his body hovering so close above you had your legs moving to wrap around his waist.

Insistent prodding of him hard and wanting against your hip ignited a strike of excitement through your middle to settle low in your stomach. Through the fog of fast approaching sleep, you tried to roll your hips against his, but you were suddenly tilting, body manipulated on your side and back pulled to his chest.

A rumble of a chuckle filled the small space was the last thing you remembered as sleep finally won over.

“We need to be quick, just a supply run and to see if there’s a covert on world.” Din’s words were quiet, mumbled. You only hummed in response, not even stirring when the man’s arms wrapped around your body and pulled you flush against him. The hard line of him in his underwear gently prodded at the small of your back.

That sent a bolt of pleasure down your stomach, his hand chasing it as he rested his palm against the skin of your navel. Before his fingers could delve underneath the waistband of your shorts, you were shifting in his grip to face him. You didn’t say anything as you began to place open mouthed kisses along his chest, his hands gripping you tight. His chest was so firm, the muscles of endless training molding him and tempting you to lavish attention.

You certainly weren’t too tired now, to indulge.

Hands ghosting up, you placed them flat and pushed. And it shouldn’t have sparked pleasure laced with an unbearable heat straight to your core as he allowed you to urge him on his back, but it did. The heady notion that he was allowing you to move him how you pleased lighting you up and desire pool low. You threw a leg over his thighs, straddling them low and leaned down to attach your lips to the column of his neck. He groaned out, crackling the speaker in his helmet and you smirked against his skin. Parting your lips, you licked a line up to the bottom of it before you sunk your teeth into the side of his throat. He jolted, entire body convulsing at the nip you were bold enough to place.

“Mesh’la-“

You shushed him with a puff of hot air, soothing the bite with your tongue before moving down down down.

Hands firm on his ribs, you nipped at each of his nipples, getting rewarded with twin grunts and a harsh jerk of his cock against your stomach. His thick fingers moved to tangle through your hair, before they were pulled suddenly away.

“Sorry, I didn’t-“

“Do not apologize,” You kissed into the skin of his stomach, reaching up for his hands that hovered just shy of touching. Moving them back to where they had been, you squeezed his wrists in a reassuring motion. “Din, if I don’t want you to do something or I’m uncomfortable, I will tell you.”

“Just…don’t want to be too forward…or rough.”

“You’re gonna need to hold onto something,” Mouth still trailing over him, you swirled your tongue around his belly button, stomach muscles twitching and he bucked up at the sensation of the heat that began to simmer just below. “When I get my mouth around your cock.”

“Shit, you have a mouth on you, huh? We ah really should –“ His words morphed into a low moan as your lips kissed the tip of him through the fabric. Mouthing gently at him, you felt your own body begin to spark. The thought of taking him fully in your mouth too temping to ignore. He had felt so delicious against you the two times you’d been intimate with him and you wanted to give him everything.

Mouth, indeed, you thought as you continued to mouth at him through the fabric, a wet spot sprouting.

Fingers locking in your hair, his head knocked back as you slid your hands around your face to hook fingers into the band of his underwear and pulled. His cock bobbed up, a quiet slap against his stomach, slick at the tip and hard.

Flattening your tongue, you dragged it up the underside of him, flicking it against the tip as you lifted your head. The visor was aimed down at you, but you could barely glimpse it in the shine of faint lights along the walls.

“This okay?”

“Fuck, it’s more than okay, mesh’la.”

Ducking back down, you felt his fingers clench in your hair. Breath ghosting over him before you took him in your hand, fisting him at the base. You knew he was big from feeling him against you, as he glided through your folds and rutted. But to have him in your hand, the heat of him, the pulsing felt against your palm, the musky scent of him. It was all so much and you wanted to take your time. But there was a niggling question in the back of your mind. Contemplating voicing it, you placed chaste kisses all along the length, you took a breath, feeling the weight of his tip against your bottom lip.

“Has-“

“No,” He growled out at the sight of you draped over his legs, mouthing at the most precious part of him. “You’re the only one, will be the only one.”

Your response was to wrap your lips around him, tongue collecting the shine of his arousal that was dribbling from his tip. Knuckles popping with the force of his grip, you swallowed him down with a hum.

Bubbling laughter and then a muted crash of something through the door broke the moment, attention pulled from him slowly as you ran your hands down his twitching stomach. Releasing him with a pop, you brushed tingling fingers against him, cupping his cock gently before you were gone completely from the bed.

“I’ll get him, ner kar’ta.” Your voice was smug, knowing he was internally battling two very different sets of instincts. “Hop in the fresher and take care of yourself.”

“He has the worst timing.”

“We can pick this up once he goes down for his nap later.” Were your parting words before the door hushed open and closed, leaving him alone in the darkness.

You pulled your hair up away from your face, face still heated from being pressed so closely to the furnace that Din was. But you masked it well, searching all around the ship for the little figure of ad’ika.

The clink of you lining up rings on the makeshift table roused him from his light slumber. Metallic sound prickling across his temples and stirring the low-grade headache he had laid down with last night into something stronger. Something that made it hard to focus. The scab was gone completely, in the weeks it took to stay on the move, traveling through hyperspace more often than being stationary on land these days. It had healed with the aid of routine bacta treatments and more time without his helmet. He had taken to spending nights up in the room he had se up for you, the hatch to the ladder securely closed to ensure his privacy up on the smaller second story of the ship.

You didn’t mind, wanting to respect his need for privacy. For a safe space to heal and take care of himself in a way that he hadn’t had to as of yet. His injury had been severe, almost stealing him away from you and it remained in the back of your mind. Remorse for having agitated it in a fit of emotion the very same day it occurred. Even with his reassurances that you hadn’t done too much to worsen it.

Seated at the makeshift table, you were finishing up the newest piece of chainmail for the small collection to be sold on the next planet. For fuel, for food, for more supplies. It didn’t matter what you needed, you wanted to ensure that there was a small build-up of credits for whatever your little trio might need. Your clan, now. The Armorer’s words stitched through your mind, through your heart.

“Meshla, I think I need to remain on the ship this time.” He was without his armor, dressed only in trousers and a long-sleeved shirt similar to the one you often slept in. All back and well worn, boots adorning his feet though he was slow in his movements. One look at him, the black visor, and you could tell by the stillness he had adopted since sitting opposite you. He wasn’t feeling well, something he wasn’t used to voicing.

“I don’t mind refueling and getting supplies.” You carefully began to put your tools away, wrapping them up in the cloth you had laid out atop the makeshift table to avoid making too much noise while he slept.

“The route says another couple of hours, you don’t have to put up your stuff just yet.”

“It’s okay, if your head is hurting, I don’t want to make it worse with constant noise.” Contemplating your next words, you didn’t want to offend the man across from you, but you worried…And you recalled the signets that had been worn by those injured in battle. To display the difficulty they might have with communication or mobility, for other Mandalorian’s to show they respects and act accordingly should the individuals need aid.

“Do we need to consider finding a welder?”

“Something for your armor? Or to sell to?”

“No, ner kar’ta, for… um a mir’shupur sigil for your armor?”

Brain injury. Disabled.

“No.” It was gruff, his voice holding none of the softness it adopted when speaking to you. He leaned his hands atop the makeshift table to stand.

“O-okay, I was just-“

“You should be as quick as possible, once we land.” His broad back was to you, muscles tense and steps slow as he walked away, shutting the conversation in more ways than one. You stayed in your seat well after he had disappeared. The tightness in your throat hurting as you tried to will the tears that had sprung up away. He wasn’t mad, you tried to reassure yourself. You had just spoken out of term, unthinkingly. That’s all, just a miscommunication. They were bound to happen.

You were halfway down the street when you heard a low murmur of chatter, turning slightly to feign interest in the food stall beside you, you caught a glimpse of orange and yellow. Officers. From the New Republic. Two of them were entering the storefront you had just left. Where you had just conducted business with the owners. They hadn’t asked after your name nor of where you had learned your skills, but they would most likely give a description if prompted.

Barely turning the corner to another street, is when a voice shouted aloud for you to stop.

Your quick steps broke out into a sprint, trying to put as much space between you and them before they gave chase.

“Hey! We’ve got a warrant out for you, stop!”

“Kriff.” You cursed, ducking beneath a pair of Verpine aliens as they carried beams of wood through the street. Dirt kicking up as you skidded to take a sudden turn down a narrow alley. Jumping onto the speeder parked in the small space, you reached for the roof and pulled yourself up. Breath huffing, you laid flat on your back, ears straining to listen for the officers.

“She must’ve gone this way, there’s a den known for housing criminals.”

“Alright, let’s go. Quick, before she gets off world.”

Their steps didn’t follow down the alley you had all but hurt your back to turn into, continuing on down the street until you couldn’t hear them anymore.

As you began to briskly walk through the residential streets, you sensed the attention of someone else focused on you. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It was more concentrated than when Din had been a formidable figure at your side on previous planets. But you were more concerned with getting back to the ship, the officers only a few streets behind. Most likely still in pursuit.

Ignoring it since you didn’t have the time to turn the tables and stalk them in return, ambushing them and demanding to know why they were following you, you continued on. Thoughts focused on getting back to the outskirts of the small city where Din had opted to land the ship. The docking hangers sparse and spread out around the dense city.

“Ner kar’ta!” You called out as soon as the ramp to the ship was down, the hissing of the hydraulics sending a chill through you as you rushed up. You worried for a second you were being too loud, but you had picked up on the way the man was slower to respond since removing his helmet for long periods of time over travel. You suspected he was hard of hearing in one of his ears, a result of the charges he favored but definitely a side effect of his more recent injuries. “Ner kar’ta, can we run my chain code? I almost just got arrested and I wanna know why. I haven’t done anything the last six years except for travel with you.”

You didn’t hear any response, instead the ramp closed and the ship started up. Only when it was safely out of the planets atmosphere and a flight plan coordinated for hyperspace, did Din’s form appear as it came down the ladder.

Listening as he explained the puck he had received with information of you when he took the job of hunting you down so long ago had updated. Just as there was a warrant out for his arrest, there was one for you as well. For aiding in the escape of Qin, the job that Ran had set up and into motion. It wasn’t surprising, you had both been aboard the prisoner ship, abundant with cameras and security droids. But it was still worrying to have been noticed so closely.

That it would be easy for any bounty hunter or local official or officer to be able to recognize you now.

Din retreated to the cot, leaving you in the hold space once you assured him you were okay and nothing had happened in the city beyond the quick errands and resupply of fuel. You told him of the expenses and he waved a hand as you listed them off. Citing that it was your credits covering everything and he wasn’t concerned with them if you weren’t.

Days passed, much the same. You spent time entertaining and caring for ad’ika. Din joining you in the same bed some nights, others he slept alone. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just an understanding of him needing space and you respected that. You needed it too, thoughts of being wanted publicly and officially not sitting well with you. You had done a good job of staying below the radar until now, and it was hard to adjust to the notion that you could be recognized while out and about.

The ship was stationary, docked at a hangar on some plush planet, a sight of tourism and capitalism. A collection of casinos and gambling rings, race tracks and so many other things for people to lose countless hours and credits indulging in. Din had deemed it a safe enough environment to rest for the morning before disembarking. He had returned to bed after securing the ship and asked you to pay the docking fee.

You had, a quick transaction, reassurance that you were protected here even so deep in the city from the droid who registered the ship. Making a pod of caf, you checked on a deeply sleeping child up in what was considered your bunk. He had practiced with the Force some early this morning, a way to distract him from the nightmares that woke him at too early of an hour. You had left the tangle of limbs and blankets that had been you and Din down in the hold space to tend to the child. He had been slumbering ever since, successful in manipulating a snack toward him, not once but twice with gently and steady encouragement from you.

“Hey,” You broke the silence of the hull. Leaning against the doorway to the small cabin. You were cradling a steaming mug in your hands, stripped down to your socked feet, trousers, and tank top. Din hummed, letting you know he was awake. “I wanted to apologize for earlier, when I asked after a mir’shupur signet. I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t recovering.”

“I know.”

“I’m just worried, you’ve been doing the bacta treatments and you say the scabbing is mostly gone. But I see the way you’ve slowed down, how delayed you are to respond when you don’t have your helmet on.”

“I’ll be fine, mesh’la.” His baritone voice was soft, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as yourself. But he was improving, it was just slow going, as with all head injuries. Bacta or not, and if there was the luxury of time, of endless credits and the ability for him to, you would’ve suggested a bacta tank.

It was just too unrealistic a notion with the current predicament. Lack of time, lack of resources, lack of privacy that would allow for it to be possible. If you could take his pain and discomfort, you would do so in a heartbeat. But you didn’t dare voice that sentiment, knowing he would argue that he would take the consequences of his actions, because he stood by them and that was the way things were.

“I know, I just…I care for you and I want to help, I just…I spoke out of term and I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“….you didn’t.” A sigh. “I considered it as well, back on Nevarro, just…just in case it was that serious.”

“I just want you to be okay and if I-“ A hiccup bubbled up, tears hot and spilling through your lashes, “If I made it worse even just a little when I threw you across the hull, I-“

Din was suddenly pushing up from the bed, gloved hands coming up to wipe away the tears trailing down your cheeks. The mug was gently pried from your hands, placed atop the makeshift table before he engulfed you in a comforting embrace.

“Fuck, take what you need, take what you want.” Din’s voice was deliciously low and desperate as he felt the way you moved against his hand. The modulator crackled slightly with the timbre of his words, the force of them on a heavy exhale. Your skin was so hot, and your pleasure was obvious as slick coated his hand, he was trying not to let his instincts and past experiences take over. Not wanting to ruin this for you, not wanting to scare you off or trigger you into a silent episode as he had so stupidly done far too many times before. “You deserve to feel good, mesh’la.”

He crooked his fingers, pads gliding over something deep in you that hitched your breath. He did it again and pressed deliberately, a loud moan tearing itself from your throat as your back arched. Wide eyes were trained on him when he looked up from where his hand was encompassing you, pushing into your core. His eyes trailed up the sweat slick expanse of your skin through the visor, up your stomach to your breasts that were rocking with the movements you had begun to instinctually make. Your peaked nipples looking like too much of a temptation atop the soft flesh, your neck was flushed dark, the heat encompassing you obvious on your sun-kissed skin, craning as you tried to fight the urge to give into your pleasure completely.

Your expression was wrecked. Your eyes were blown out to leave only a sliver of their true color. Your plush lips were swollen from biting into them as his hands had brought you to the precipice. They were parted as you tried to catch your breath but all that was falling from them were moans that went straight through him, igniting the blood in his veins and settling low where he was hard and straining against his trousers.

Din was tempted to darken the room and remove his helmet to trail his lips over everything he was seeing right now. As if reading his thoughts, you licked your lips before speaking in a desperate tone, panting slightly with the effort to get the words out around your pleasure.

“I want to kiss you.”

His fingers stilled inside you, his thumb atop the bundle of nerves that had you gasping just a second ago freezing. You whimpered at the stillness, his hands still on you. You felt your hips undulate still, desperately searching for the friction that had pleasure rolling over you just a second ago.

“I want to feel your face in my hands even if I can’t see it, to feel your lips trail down my body.” You keened, the words falling unbidden from your mouth as you writhed underneath and against him. “I’d let you, I’d let you touch me, mark me.”

They must’ve been the wrong words, the wrong thing to say because the energy in the room shifted from charged and sensual to stiff and uncomfortable. Fear trickled down your spine, making you shudder. You had never wanted someone to touch you the way you were asking, begging for. Never. And you had felt so safe, so sure he would want the same that you blurted out your desires as the haze of pleasure had overtaken you.

You had messed up, if the complete rigid form of Din in front of you was any indication. Spoken too honestly and too selfishly. Insultingly, of his Creed.

“We can’t…I-I don’t...” Din slowly removed his hand from in and around you, placing it on the bed near your hip. He ignored the way it seemed a shame to waste the taste of you on the fabric when his mouth was such a better home for it. He moved his weight around slightly, so he wasn’t hovering over you as you spoke, but was perched near your legs. You sat up a little as well, bringing your arms that had been grasping at his biceps and shoulders underneath you to push up. Bottom lip coming between your teeth, and you worried the skin, emotions spiking and trying to keep them at bay.

Despite your efforts, you felt a lump form in your throat, the hot shame of speaking such things lighting up your body from the inside out in a rather unpleasant way. Replacing the heat of desire that had been flooding you just seconds ago. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to try and center yourself.

When you opened them back up, you had reverted back to the neutral expression you would hold around him when you first met and all those weeks after. The tightening of his shoulders told you as much.

“You don’t want to kiss me.” Your voice was small, taking on the void of emotion it had for most of your life. You were shrinking into yourself, bringing your limbs close and making the space you took up as small as possible, a far cry from how you had just been stretched out across the entire bed. His bed. Your bed. The bed you shared.

You had made an absolute fool of yourself, writhing around and begging for him in a way that was too uninhibited. You knew that it was a serious thing, for him to even consider removing his helmet.

Firsthand, you had seen how he refused to remove it even in the face of death, in the case of extreme injury that needed to be tended to. Feeling small, insignificant, foolish for asking after such a thing from a man sworn to do nothing of the sort. He undressed, he allowed you to see and feel his body, a test to the boundaries and meaning of his faith already. Selfish, the word rang loud in your head, you were selfish. And you had no right to be. “You don’t want to kiss me.”

“It’s….it’s an intimate thing…I don’t…I have…” He didn’t know how to get the words out even as they all rushed around his head, overlapping with each other. He watched the way your face composed into a mask, an unreadable cover that didn’t give way the crush his words were causing.

It didn’t matter the commitment he made to you, his actions now stung, his lack of a response as to why hurting like a blade imbedded in your chest. He would touch you, he would rock against your body with his own, but he didn’t want to kiss you. Stupid, you thought, how stupid it was to want to kiss someone. Such a dumb, adolescent thing to yearn for.

With a blink your eyes cleared of any pleasure you had lingering on your skin, in your very nerves from him. You calmly reached out across the bed to pull your bandeau top back on before slipping the discarded tank top back over your shoulders.

“You don’t want to be intimate with me in that way….it’s- it’s not just your Creed. You don’t- you don’t want me physically the same way I want you. I’m- Maker, I am so stupid.”

Your words might as well have come from a droid for all the emotion they were devoid of. You reached further to retrieve your underwear and stood, your legs a little shaky from the magic that Din’s fingers had been casting on you, had used to distract you from the truth of the situation. That you would never get to feel all of him, that he would never give you all of himself. You felt his reach to help steady you, but you stepped further away, closer to the door of the cabin as you stepped into the fabric and tugged it up hastily.

“No, no, that’s not! It’s…you’re so… just…” He wanted to ask if you were sure, if your words were real and not just you getting lost in the pleasure of the moment. His helmet coming off was something that needed to be planned, needed to be wanted, by everyone involved. He’d never…he had never removed it to be with someone and Maker, he wanted to so with you, but he hadn’t wanted to overwhelm you.

He hadn’t wanted to scare you off with the meaning behind it, the undermining breach of the Creed he devoted himself to.

But you couldn’t know that, because he hadn’t voiced it. Nor the dreams he awoke from in the night of your lips on his. It didn’t matter if he had made a commitment to you, had even uttered a loving decree, he didn’t want to remove his helmet and it hurt.

“I asked too much of you, I apologize. I didn’t mean to overstep my place, jatne vod.” You bowed your head slightly, brain shutting back down in the face of daring to ask for something once in your life only to be turned down so quickly. It shouldn’t feel like your heart was being impaled, but your breath was shallowing out as it did so, your chest aching in a way you weren’t familiar with. Rejection, it stung like nothing you had ever experienced, not even akin to the blade of your saber during training drills. And then: heartache, your mind betrayed you as it gave word to it.

Of course he wouldn’t want to remove his helmet for you, he hadn’t even wanted to remove it on the brink of death. He was already cruising the line of his Creed by allowing you to see his body, to share in pleasure with him in that way, and you felt shame, disappointment, greedy. And you didn’t like it.

He was motionless, the stab of the term you called him harsh in his chest. Piercing him and stinging far worse than any injury he could have sustained.

Din stood, grabbing his shirt from where it lay on the floor, he tugged it over his helmet, only to hear the door to the cabin hush as it opened the second the fabric was blocking his visor. When he pulled the collar down to rest along his neck, you were gone from the space in front of him, the door left open. The rustling of fabric and the clinking of your pauldrons had his skin buzzing.

“San?” Din’s voice was frantic as he tried to pull the flight suit top closed quickly over his shirt, his fingers not quite able to grasp at the zipper for a second. He reached for his gloves as his head swiveled as he searched for where you ran off to in the hold. The sound of the ramp door opening and lowering settled heavy in his middle as he finally managed to pull his gloves on, still wet with the tears that had fallen from your eyes. He didn’t see any shadows or movement about the ship, crazed energy began to wash over him. You had run. You had run from him. You had run from him and left the ship.

He repeated it louder as he marched down the ramp, he reached up to press the side of his helmet to activate the heat sensor. He followed your steps down the ramp with the visor, his own quiet beneath him despite the flood of emotions overwhelming him and urging him to run. To chase. He followed the trail through the landing pads of the docking area before they were lost in the dozens and dozens that led into the hectic streets of the city.

It was after an hour he realized he hadn’t put on any of his armor, essentially walking into the dense city streets naked. His flight suit pants, separate top zipped up over an undershirt, boots and gloves. He suddenly felt worried for you, donned only in your clothing, no armor either. He knew you could hold your own but that didn’t do much to help ease his mind as he realized he had eyes tracking his every movement. His helmet garnering unwanted attention.

He needed to regroup, if he had any chance at tracking you. He knew you, knew how well you could hide and stay hidden from those searching for you. But he also knew you. That you liked the fancier places to eat, the fresher food served in such places, the colored drinks they offered. That you liked the comfort of a soft bed, the security of a hotel, to look out the windows at the ever-bustling city even well into the night as sleep pulled at you and made you lethargic. Despite not liking crowds, you flourished in the busy marketplaces, making idle chit chat with the vendors, asking after local fruits and wanting to try each one.

Sighing, he scanned the street he was on one last time, visor unable to pick up on your trail. Turning, he vowed to get dressed properly and find you. He needed to. He needed to swallow the self consciousness that had taken over him in that moment and still was. He needed to tell you that he wanted to kiss you too, more than anything. But that he hadn’t kissed anyone. You would be the first, the only. But he had to find you. You had to know.

But come nightfall, he hadn’t been able to find any leads. Having secured his armor and weapons before securing ad’ika in the bunk of the hull, with a promise to return with you in his arms. Even when he had ducked into a bar whose sign surely called you toward it. Asking the guard at the door if he had seen someone of your description, but they had claimed not to. Even when he had scoured the marketplace, hoping to pick up any signs of you purchasing a replacement cloak or a new pack of cigarras that you were so fond of.

It was like you had vanished, no trace of you to be found.

Din doesn’t think his heart had stopped thudding heavily in his chest the whole time he searched.

You tried to keep the tears at bay, but they stung in the column of your throat, they stung behind your cheeks. Your head was throbbing with the effort to focus on things in front of you. The waning pleasure thrumming in your body no longer welcome as shame overrode it. The suns were too bright, and the crowd was too large. But you continued to walk, continued to put distance between you and the one place you thought you had been safe to ask for things. To be yourself.

Ignoring the concerned and wary glances of onlookers around the busy streets, you pushed on. No destination in mind other than to get as far away from the docking station set up in the middle of the city.

Catching sight of a flashing neon sign, you turned, coming face to face with a man standing guard at the door to a bar. Trying your best to smile, to appear put together, you greeted him in Basic. He stepped aside, allowing you to enter. Thankful for the simple clothing you preferred to appear classy enough to allow you admittance. Though you did regret not thinking to grab your cape or armor in the quick rush away from the embarrassing disaster that was now your afternoon. You had only managed to grab your saber handle and the pouch you kept attached to your thigh in your haste.

At least you had a way to protect yourself, at least you had credits.

But even the attempt at seeking peace to calm down and gather your thoughts seemed to be a mistake on your part.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ all alone?” A twi-lek approached you, broad in the shoulders and donned in all black. The leather of his headdress was stitched with yellow, complimenting the tone of his skin. Lekku draped over his shoulders. He didn’t sit, which you were thankful for, but he did hover directly in front of your small booth, a drink in his hand.

“Just having a moment alone,” You didn’t look up from your meal, not wanting to entertain the man even the slightest. Even if it didn’t feel like it at the moment, you were committed to another. And you would never betray Din’s trust. Even… even if it meant you would never get to experience the feel of his lips on your own.

The announcement of his commitment to you, his intention of courtship. It had been a lot, but you were okay with things being an eventuality. Or at least, you had thought that you were. But you had failed to express yourself properly…or you had done so correctly but in the wrong circumstance, with the wrong words. Still unaccustomed to feeling such strong physical emotions and urges, still unaccustomed to the ways in which you were both discovering each other’s bodies in such a safe space.

It was a confusing thing, due to the instances he would disengage the seal on his helmet and allow you a glimpse. Though rare, they made you feel like he had unfailing trust in you, that he was comfortable.

“I can get you another drink, if you’d like?” He slid into the booth, effectively setting your instincts on high alert. He didn’t look like a threat, but his presence was unwelcome, and you were already at an emotional capacity and unwilling to entertain civility.

“No.”

“C’mon, a pretty face like yours shouldn’t look so glum.”

“Then leave.”

When he didn’t get up from the seat opposite side of the table, you did. Placing a few credits on the table as you did so.

You weren’t paying attention, head not on a swivel or senses on alert as you walked out of the bar, the guard bidding you a good evening.

A nod in return, you ducked out into the busy street, missing the feel of gauze from your cloak. The crowd was too much, the skin of your arms covered in goosebumps as you brushed past people moving too slowly. Unsure of where to go, you entertained the spare thought of checking into a hotel and contacting Din to ensure you were safe. Too wrapped up in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the shadow of someone hiding just inside the alley you walked past.

A hand shot out and you shoved your own out to throw the person into a wall. But you had moved too slowly. The larger person pulled you into the darkness of the canopied alley, the suns having set completely and bathing the planet in a dark blue sky lit up with sparkling stars.

“Let me go.” You growled, unwilling to go down without a fight even through the sheer exhaustion that had taken hold of you from the day. But they were strong, you had to concentrate and harness a wave of energy at them to get them to back off. They let it happen, grunting when their back connected hard with the brick of buildings side. He recovered quickly, lunging at you, pinning you to the opposite wall of brick.

“No can do, little one. Your mother sent me to fetch you,” Thrashing, your fists thunked against his armor, echoing down the length of the dark alley.

The pinch of a large needle being pushed into the skin of your neck was the last thing you felt, barely able to get your mouth open to protest. The contents of the syringe acting fast and you felt your body go limp, mind fighting against the haze that was washing over you. Hands gripped you tight, arms closing around you and dragged you off…

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dividers: by the lovey @cafekitsune

[nights-with-stars]

Running Late

Billy Kid x Belle

Hadn't found anyone writing for these two so I guess I gotta write what I want to read.

Summary: When Belle invites Billy to Bardic Needle as per usual, He gets delayed by Nicole's antics. Belle gets stressed that he's late.

~~~

It was a slow day for the Cunning Hares. They had jobs being offered to them, but Nicole wasn't going to start them until she could bargain for a better price, or certain conditions were met. So, they spent their day in their apartment. Anby was in her room, watching a movie she had been waiting to watch for a while now. Billy lounged on the nearby couch, not having much to do whilst it was Anby’s turn with the tv. So, he wasted time on his phone, waiting for Nicole to accept a job.

Nicole in question sat at a table, going over some of the jobs. She went through details, learning everything she could before either confronting clients or starting commissions. Reading about these jobs was tedious but someone had to do it. She sighed, exasperated. leaning back in her chair. Only a few more and she’d be done. Nicole straightened up her posture, ready to keep going, only to be interrupted by the abrupt sound of Billy launching himself off the couch. Making his way to the door.

“Where are you running off too?” Billy stopped at the door.

He hesitated slightly. “I’m just going out. Just need to stretch my legs.” He couldn’t stand still. Checking his phone and looking at the door again.

“Oh really? Just needed to stretch your legs? every day this week?” Nicole smirked as she put her phone down, fully rapt in this conversation now.

Billy fidgeted. “Yeah, it’s best to use excesses power, for safety reasons.” He mumbled, not even able to convince himself.

Nicole got up and made her way towards him. “You’ve been late to a few commissions as well recently” Her demeanor turned somewhat serious at that but still held a bit of playfulness. “You use plenty of power on those? Don’t you?”

Billy squinted his eyes, looking around, trying to find the best answer he could give. But time was getting away, He briefly checked the time on his phone, not wanting to be late. Just as he was about to say something, Nicole swiped his phone. She couldn’t remember the pin code off by heart, but she had a few she could remember. She started trying pin codes until she was locked out, however she could still pester him. “Why is it so time urgent if it’s just a walk?”

“It’s none of your business.” He grumbled back, making attempts at getting his phone back, but Nicole had a tough enough grip.

“It IS my business if you’re late for work” Nicole retorted.

He crossed his arms. Billy didn’t look at Nicole. His stance grew uneasy as he looked at the clock on the wall. Nicole looked at his phone noticing it was not locked out anymore. She tried the last pin she could remember.

It worked.

She immediately opened his DMs. Nicole looked at the most recent messages to notice Belle having just sent a message not too long ago. She opened it to read the contents. She smiled, but it quickly turned into a smirk as she handed the phone back to Billy, who now had a small blush on his visor.

“You could have just told me you had a date.” Nicole chuckled.

“It’s not a date, she just asked me to meet her at bardic needle.” He defended himself.

“For every day of the week?” She crossed her arms. “I should say every day of the month.”

“She likes hanging out with her friends.” He grumbled.

“Well, I don’t get an invite every day.”

“Maybe you’re not as close with the proxy as you think.” He crossed his arms, trying to turn the tables.

“More like your closer than you realized.” She watched as his confidence left immediately. “Well even if she is only inviting you as just a friend, you can’t deny that you like her.”

“I don’t” He squeaked. Nicole laughed at him. “I have entirely professional, normal, friend-based thoughts about her.”

“Rushing out the door to meet her, leaving in the middle of the night, leaving immediately after commissions?” She counted on her hand “Sure, you do that for all your friends.” The sarcasm evident in her voice.

Billy thought about it for a second. Before quickly dismissing the idea. “No, it’s not like that.”

“Fine, fine.” She shook her head. “You’re acting like you're gonna die if I keep you here any longer.” She nodded her head towards the door. "Better get going." Billy immediately checked the time again. He looked back at Nicole only for her to wave him off. Shooing him out of the apartment. He left and began to walk as quickly and calmly as he could towards Bardic Needle. Fighting off a blush and battling with his newly realized emotions.

~~~

Belle looked out the door of Random Play. It’s about the fifth time she’s done that. She’s not nervous or anything, no. She’s just worried that her friend hadn’t shown up. He always shows up. She does a lap of the store, pretending to be busy. It’s when Belle goes to check the door a sixth time does she get startled by Wise.

“Waiting for something?” He started reorganizing some shelves that had been left disheveled thanks to customers.

“Yeah…” She wistfully stares out the door before straightening up and quickly thinking of an excuse. “I think I have a package being delivered.”

“The deliveries were already made this morning. There wasn’t one for you. Maybe it’ll come next time.” Belle nodded in agreement. Deciding to help her brother fix up some shelves. As she worked, her eyes kept wandering to the door.

“Is something bothering you?” Wise stopped and looked out the door with her.

“I’m fine.” She turned back to keep fixing shelves. He kept working beside her but worry for his sister was still present. Belle checked her phone, she wanted to make sure she gave Billy the right time. When she confirmed that yes what she sent was correct she put her phone away.

Wise noticed but wasn’t going to say anything. If she didn’t want to talk about it, he wasn’t going to make her. After a few more minutes, Belle had stopped working again, opting for pacing in the shop and checking the door, again. It was only after Wise felt like he was getting nauseous watching her did he step in. He grabbed her shoulder to stop her pacing.

“Do you need to go outside? Get some fresh air?”

“No, no. That’ll just make things worse.” Her shoulder slumped, moving towards the nearby bench at the door and dramatically falling onto it. Wise wasn't going to give up whilst she was in this mood so she relented. “I’m worried because he’s late. He’s never late.” She huffs out.

“Are you expecting someone over?” Belle inviting people over wasn’t that unusual. He’s quite used to that. But He’s not used to her getting like this when someone is late.

“Sort of. I told him to meet me at Bardic Needle.”

“Well, that explains…” He mumbles. “When did you tell him to meet you?”

“This evening.”

“But what time?” Belle didn’t answer and busied herself with looking at the tapes on the shelves almost embarrassed. That was all the answer he needed. “You’re telling me your stressed out, because you told someone to meet you this evening, and they haven’t show up in your non specified time frame.”

“You don’t understand.” She crosses her arms. “Normally he gets there as soon as I invite him.”

“Who are you meant to be meeting?” Wise looked on with mild surprise as she blushed lightly. So this is definitely different to the other times she’s met with people. She was apprehensive about answering and already stressed as it was, so he dropped the question. Wise sat down next to her.

“So, what were you going to do with him?” Wise asked, deciding that conversation might help her calm down.

“We were just going to go look at some music.” She leans back against the wall.

“You’ll have to find me something then, something you think I’ll like.” He offers her a warm smile. She seems to visibly relax at that.

“You never like anything I recommend.” She chuckles.

“Because you always get me music that YOU like.” He retorts as she scoffs in mock offense.

“Guess I’ll just get you some music made specifically for people with no taste then.”

“Don’t you normally do that?” Belle laughed now. Wise, content with having seemed to brighten her mood slightly, stands up now. Grabbing a nearby broom. She gets up as well, Searching for a task to busy herself. As she does so, she catches a glimpse from out the door. She notices Billy, waiting where he normally does. “Uh, so I guess I’ll go find that music now then." She makes haste and is about to leave before turning back to Wise. "Thank you. See ya. Bye.” She rushes out the door. Wise stands, broom in hand, staring at the door from which she just left. He sighed, Somehow, he always ended up tending to the store alone. Sometimes it felt like he was running this place by himself.

Out of curiosity he found himself near the door, hoping to see who she was waiting for. He didn’t expect Billy to be waiting there or for him to be the one she approaches. He watched as Billy greeted her with a small blush. Wise shook his head, going back to sweeping.

~~~

Wise had already closed the store and was hanging out in his room by the time Belle got back. She knocked on his door and delivered a few records to him before going to her own room for the night. He was startled by the sound of classical music coming from her room. That’s not normally her style but he wasn’t going to complain too much.

~~~

Nicole had just finished preparing her negotiations when Billy came bursting through the front door. “Your right, I do like her.” He yelled. Startling Nicole. She was not surprised by his revelation in the slightest.

[eddiemunching]

ok idea for robin x reader where reader is steves childhood friends and steve is constantly trying to get them to meet and set them up

Matchmaker Steve at your service! Sorry if this feels rushed, I’m super busy lately :o Warnings: Swearing, mature themes, lesbian! Reader, mentions of sex (but no smut)

Matchmaker - Robin x Reader

Five times Steve tried to set you up with Robin plus the one time it actually worked.

1.

The first time happened in high school, back when you were a junior following around Steve’s senior antics. He had practically begged for you to come to the mall after school, promising you a free ice cream if you took up his offer.

“Why did you want me to come anyway, it’s not like you’re alone at work.” You said, digging into that free ice cream and nodding towards the back door where you knew he had some coworker messing around.

“We’re not allowed to hang out anymore?” He pouted, serving a customer with a jolly wave and an overly friendly smile.

“We can hang out perfectly fine at your house, I miss your mom.” You sighed before standing up and heading to the trash can, muttering to yourself about her wonderful cooking.

“I wanted you to meet my coworker Robin.” Steve gestured to the door, pointing to where Robin was apparently supposed to be. Instead you were greeted with an empty space and a very confused Steve.

“So, where is she?" You narrowed your eyes.

“She’s right-" he turned around to face the nothingness “Robin! NOT AGAIN!” He rushed after her, leaving you standing there alone.

2.

It was maybe two months since the ice cream incident. Steve would not stop apologizing and offering even more free food, despite your claims that it was a one-time thing and not to worry about it.

“Sit with me at lunch?” He asked, pleading with you and practically dragging you over to his table already.

Placing your shitty lunch on the table, you gazed around at the weird mix of friends Steve had, all of them sticking to their own, much more strange, conversations.

“Okay, so I’ve known you since I was four and you’ve never invited me to eat lunch with you.” You said suspiciously, leaning over to look Steve in the eyes. “What’s this about?”

“I can’t eat with my longest and bestest friend ever?” He forced a fake smile, his voice faltering with each word.

“This is about your friend, Robin was it?” You looked around his table, attempting to figure out the mystery girl he was constantly talking about.

“Shit. She was supposed to be here.” He grumbled again, putting his head in his hands.

“You can introduce me to your girlfriend whenever y’know?” You said between mouthfuls of food. “You don’t have to invite me to lunch either.”

3.

Luckily, Steve had waited until summer to bother you again. He was throwing yet another party, establishing a strict swimsuit-only code. Your old black bikini would have to suffice for this occasion.

“I’m starting to think this girlfriend of yours is made up Harrington, or she just really hates being seen around you.” You said wrapping your beach towel around your waist, grunting at the wet spots touching your skin.

“Look, she’s not my girlfriend-“ he said before being cut off by another voice.

“I definitely do hate him.” The voice said. “He’s really bad at throwing good parties.” She said picking at the array of food and ruffling Steve's hair.

“Robin finally.” He sighed. “This is Y/N.” He smiled, gesturing for you two to shake hands.

To humor Steve you held out your hand, winking at Robin to encourage her to do the same. Instead of shaking you opt to give her a quick kiss on the top of her wrist. Definitely in a more gentleman manner than Steve has ever shown.

“I’m going to steal your girlfriend Harrington.” You yelled before pulling Robin into the pool with you.

“That’s the point.” Steve muttered under his breath as you both collapsed into the warm waters.

4.

After clearing up with Robin that Steve was definitely not her boyfriend, you two met up outside of Steve's overbearing influence quite regularly. Both agreeing to not let Steve know to prevent a potential uproar.

You found yourself in Robin's room, sitting on her small single bed with a growing awkwardness.

“Have you and Steve ever…” Robin blurted out randomly, holding her hand over her mouth in shock.

“Kissed? Hooked up?” You finished for her, grinning at such a bizarre question coming from Robin. “Never. I made it very clear to Steve that I do NOT like guys, especially ones with obnoxious big hair.”

“You don’t like guys at all?” Robin‘s eyes grew big, you could tell she was holding back a smile. “You’re a-"

“Yes. I’m a lesbian.” You gulped hard, not knowing what reaction she’d have to this sudden news. “I didn’t mean to just come out with it. It's just not every day you get asked that and I’m sorry if you hate me. I just wanted to clear things up.”

“I was just shocked that Steve hadn’t said anything about it before.” Robin insisted, rubbing your leg with her painted fingers to calm you down. “How does he get lucky with two lesbian best friends?”

5.

Inviting Robin out seemed to be a lot easier process than when it was with Steve, bearing in mind he had a new event every week and always ended up canceling your plans anyway.

“See how peaceful it is without our little loud mouth.” You sighed happily.

“No one here to bother us about his devastating love life and his new hot girl every week.” Robin agreed. “I could get used to this.”

After about twenty minutes of pure silence, both of you savoring your coffees, a familiar voice called out. “You’re hanging out without me?”

You both turned to look at eachother and groaned. “Steve.” You said in unison.

“So. Not. Cool.” He grumbled. “I’m supposed to be supervising you two at all times.”

“We’re not five Steve.” You shoved him into a seat across from you, saving the one next to you for Robin. “Besides, you turned us down for another girl.”

“Is two girls not enough for you Steve.” Robin teased.

“Please just enlighten me when you’re going to be out alone.”

“This isn’t even about us being out together is it?.” You butted in. “You’re jealous of us.”

“W-what no!” Steve attempted to save himself. “I just want to do the matchmaking myself!”

“Matchmaking?” Robin looked at you confused. Before you could interrogate Steve further, he rushed out of his seat, sprinting out of your sight. “What just happened?”

+1

You had started hanging out with Robin more and more, having found you have a lot in common. It was refreshing to have another girl’s opinion in your life since Steve was never any help at all.

“Did Steve invite you to his house tonight?” You asked, rummaging through your closet for something to wear. Hovering over different shirts with your fingertips and sighing when you were met with out-of-date material.

“Probably another one of his movie nights where he falls asleep at nine and kicks us out again.”

“I am not in the mood to deal with sleepy Steve tonight.” You grunted putting on the closest dress you could find. “Does this look okay, I have no clue what the dress code is for this thing.”

“You look wow. I mean good.” Robin stuttered out, looking at the way the dress fell just below your thighs. "No need to look all fancy for Steve's boring house."

"A dress is not fancy. I just want to look nice, that's all." You say as you pull out another dress. "Why don't we play some dress-up. Put it on, I've never seen you in a dress before."

"There's a reason you haven't." Robin gags, pushing the dress away. "They're far too itchy and uncomfortable."

"Don't let me go overdressed alone." You sulk, beginning to fake cry.

"Fine." She gives in. "But you owe me. Big time."

In all honesty, seeing Robin in a flowery dress was not something you ever expected. The color was definitely not flattering on her but she somehow made it work in a cute awkward way.

"You look so cute." You giggled, petting Robin's head.

"I look stupid." Robin moaned, going to take it off.

"We're leaving and you're wearing that." You stopped Robin from changing and fixing her makeup. "Let's surprise Steve with our hotness."

It took around twenty minutes to arrive at Steves and to your surprise, no one was there. You unlocked the door swiftly, using the handy key from under the leftmost plant pot. Sheer silence accompanied you two as you entered. There was absolutely no sign of Steve at all.

"Did he forget to tell us it was canceled or?" Robin said, helping herself to some candy on Steve's cabinet.

"Typical Steve." you groaned. "Do you want to leave, we can just go back to mine."

"How about we have fun here first?" Robin smiled, gesturing to Steve's room.

You both attempted to run up the stairs, crashing into each other in a small heap on the third step. Robin hoisted you up and continued the journey to Steve's infamous bedroom.

"So how many people do you think he's brought back into this very same room." Robin picked at the bedsheets.

"I really hope he changes the decor every once in a while." You shuddered.

"Think about how many times he had sex on this bed."

"Stop. Gross. Gross. Gross." You covered your ears. "You're going too far."

"How does he even get girls up here?" Robin questioned. "People are actually into Steve or is he making it up to sound cool."

"Why isn't he getting us any girls?" You looked to Robin. "The only two lesbians in Hawkins it seems."

"Maybe he did help us get a girl." Robin mentioned.

"What do you mean?" You asked, cocking your head to the side.

"After all, we did meet because of him." Robin justified, shocked at how she was coming to Steve's defense.

You let her idea register in your mind. Initially you had never thought about Steve possibly setting this whole thing up. He was more of a dingus than anything else, messing up most plans with his foolish behavior.

“You don’t think he’s smart enough for this, do you?” You laughed lightly, moving closer to look Robin in the eyes.

“I’m just saying.” She shrugged. “He knew what he was doing inviting us here.”

Before wasting another moment you pull robin down by her shoulders and connect your lips with a deep kiss, binding you together in the moment. It was long overdue. There was always this inkling in the back of your mind that Robin liked you. You often caught her quick glances. The way her breath hitched when you walked past. She always listened to your long rambles, ensuring you that you were completely in the right every single time.

“Steve is the best wingman in the history of Hawkins.” You exclaimed, using Steve’s Polaroid camera to capture a quick peck from Robin, leaving it on his pillow as some form of a trophy.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

that makes four.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

PART 5

“Girls,” why don’t you finish your homework and set the table while dad and I talk for a minute?”

“Can daddy stay for dinner?” CeCe reached for his hand and looked up at you, a sweet but pleading smile on her face.

“Can’t actually, honey,” Luke informed. “I’ve got somewhere to be, so--this has to be quick, unfortunately.”

“Great,” you nodded, bitterness laced through your words. “Girls, just give us one second, okay?"

You made eye contact with Maeve, communicated a look that said please bring your sister inside. She did, she pulled her by the shoulder and offered to let her fold the napkins--her favorite part.

You shut the door one they were back in the house, turned to Luke and crossed your arms. “Why are you here?”

“To visit.”

“Okay, well, where have you been for the last six months? My dad died--you didn’t think to visit when they lost their grandfather?”

“I’ve been busy,” he whined, letting his hands slap against his legs as if you were nagging him unnecessarily. “Better late than never.”

“Not how that works, but okay.”

“Y/N--can I just come in, hang out with them for a bit?”

“You can’t just come in and out of their lives, Luke, whenever it’s convenient. You either show up with some consistency or you don’t show up at all.”

“So you’d rather them not have a relationship with their father than have one that’s maybe not up to your standards?”

You were back in your marriage, suddenly, back to the fights and the frustration that became a dance you knew all too well. “They’re kids, Luke! Their parents got divorced and then their grandpa died and we moved and now you’re just here on my doorstep. Where’s your girlfriend, anyway?”

You looked past his shoulder--his car was parked on the gravel, apparently he remembered the entry code for the gate. The blonde woman who dangled from his arm on Facebook and the motorcycle he rode were nowhere to be found.

“She’s at home. And she would love to meet the girls, you know.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“You can’t just show up with no notice and take them to meet some random woman you’re sleeping with.”

“Well, do we have to get lawyers involved in this, then? I’m pretty sure I deserve some level of custody over my own children.”

“Now you want custody? I mean--you literally didn’t reply to my calls about settling that in court when we actually got divorced so forgive me for thinking that meant you didn’t care.”

“I want to be able to see my kids, Y/N.”

“Okay--well maybe you can call me in the morning and we can schedule something instead of you showing up at my house.” You turned around to grab the doorknob, but before your hand landed on it, the door pulled open and Harry was stood on the other side with intrigue in his eyes.

“Harry--” you were about to tell him to go inside and stay out of it, but he stuck his hand out in Luke’s direction and smiled.

“Luke--nice to put a face to the name.”

Luke shook his hand but narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?”

“No, you don’t. My name’s Harry.”

“You look familiar--” Luke mumbled this to no one in particular, but his eyes caught yours when you offered him a small smile.

“He’s a client of Jeff’s--he’s a musician.”

Luke made a face at that. “Okay--why are you here?”

“I live here,” Harry said. “With your children and ex-wife.”

“Harry,” you said his name again in warning. He didn’t even look at you, kept his eyes trained on Luke’s as if this was some sort of show down.

Luke nodded slowly, brought his eyes to you. “So our children can’t meet my girlfriend but they can live with a stranger.”

“He’s not a stranger, Luke. He’s known Jeff and the Azoffs for years--he knew my dad.”

“You didn’t think to ask me if that was okay?”

“You never returned my texts about my dead father or asking if you wanted to see them, so, it didn’t really cross my mind.”

Harry took a step in front of you. “Why are you here, man? I think that’s a better question.”

“I could do without the attitude, dude, okay? I can come to see my children if I want.”

“Just curious, since we’re about to eat dinner and I know Maeve’s not done with her homework.”

You rolled your eyes at that--an obvious flex that Harry was more in the know about your kids than he was. Your heart beat was rising, eyes flickering between the two of them.

“I didn’t know I needed your permission to see my own kids.”

“You don’t need mine, but maybe actually co-parenting with Y/N would be a good place to start.”

“Oh so she’s got you playing by all her rules, too?”

“Luke--”

“If you want to call her rules stability, for your children, then sure.”

“So you think you can move in here and just take over as father or something, is that what’s happening? Is there something going on--”

“No--I’m not their father, but I know that Y/N is an incredible mother--”

“Harry, please.”

“So you’re sleeping with this guy and he moves in and that’s fine but they can’t meet my girlfriend.”

“No one said we’re sleeping together, Luke,” you made a face at that, crossed your arms over your chest again and watched him with narrowed eyes.

“Are you?” He looked between the two of you, waiting for an answer like he suddenly had a right to know that information.

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “S’none of your business.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, good luck with her, maybe one day she’ll divorce you and then tell you that you can’t see your own kids--didn't know I married such a control freak.”

Harry swung before you could even process the insult, his fist collided with Luke’s face and you let out a gasp. “Harry--are you fucking insane?!”

You rushed over to Luke, now clutching his face on the ground as he swore to himself. “Fucking fuck, that’s a perfectly clear answer, dude--good to know you’re sleeping with her.”

The door had already pulled open again, both Maeve and CeCe looked out into the evening air with wide eyes, uncertainty on their faces when Harry turned around to see them. “Go inside,” he said.

“Why?” Maeve shot this back with a prickly attitude. “What’s happening? Why is dad on the ground?”

“Just go inside,” Harry said it again, his words more stern.

“You’re not my dad, Harry, you can’t tell me what to do!”

Now was not the time for Maeve’s theatrics.

Luke shot back to his feet and lunged towards Harry, words interspersed between grunts when his own fist grazed the side of Harry’s jaw. “Don’t tell my kids what to do!”

Maeve pulled CeCe inside and shut the door quickly, some kind of instinct taking over her when you yanked at the back of Luke’s shirt. “Luke, get the fuck off of him!”

Harry shoved him back, he lost his footing and fell to the ground again but was quick to get up and brush the dirt off of his hands. You stood in front of Harry, who now rubbed at his jaw and looked more dejected than before, green eyes more somber when you shook your head.

“Both of you need to grow the fuck up--you just tried to beat each other up in front of the girls.”

Harry dropped your gaze and moved his jaw in circles, Luke glared with resentment, but they were both quiet.

“Go, Luke--you can’t show up and pull this shit, okay? We’re not doing it like this.”

“So now I don’t get to see my kids because your fucking boyfriend punched me in the face?”

“I didn’t say that!” You shouted, your volume making both of them flinch. “I never said you can’t see them but you certainly can’t just show up and expect me to take that well. We’re not talking about it now, so please, do everyone a favor and get the fuck out.”

He thought about it for a second, reached up to touch his cheek--already swollen and bruised--before he let out a sigh and looked at Harry. “Fuck you, man.”

“Fuck you too,” Harry said quickly.

“Go inside,” you said to Harry, a hand on his chest. “And ice that.”

Luke scoffed at your attempt to aid him, but when you turned to see him, he shrunk under your gaze.

“Get out!”

He turned and mumbled, “my lawyer will be in touch.”

“Mine looks forward to that call,” you said sweetly. He climbed into his car and pulled the door shut, Harry stood behind you, feet glued to the front step until Luke’s car pulled out onto the road.

When he was gone, you turned around. He hadn’t budged, he waited for you to say something, but you pulled your phone out and dialed Jeff’s number before you even addressed him.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hi--can you please come get the girls and take them out for dinner or something? Luke just showed up at my house and Harry punched him in the face and then Maeve and CeCe saw Luke try to punch Harry. So--I’m going to need some help. Immediately."

You could hear him grab his keys, he was in his car before he hung up and when you ended the call, the door had been pulled open again.

Maeve stepped out but closed it behind her. “I turned the stove off and CeCe’s watching TV. But I’m not going to lie, she’s suspicious.”

You let out a sigh that turned into a laugh, brought a hand up to your face. You didn’t know if you were mad or sad or amused or terrified. A mix of emotions when she looked up to Harry.

“Did you punch my dad in the face?”

He looked to you, eyes wide as if he needed your help to get out of this one.

You shrugged, not going to save your ass.

“I lost my temper and that was not okay,” he said.

“But then my dad punched you.”

More hesitance, but he nodded. “Right.”

They both looked to you. Quiet for a moment--was Maeve’s childhood shattered here in front of the house, broken atop the gravel that crunched under Luke’s tires when he drove away?

Hopefully not. Hopefully this wasn’t the moment she’d recount in adulthood, a therapist’s office somewhere on the East Coast, my mom let a pop star move in and then he punched my dad in the face.

“Uncle Jeff is coming and is going to take you and your sister out for dinner.” You didn’t know what else to tell her.

“Okay,” she accepted this, something told you she knew that this was serious and this was not something to ask a thousand questions about. “Can I say something?”

“Sure.”

“I think dad’s probably jealous because it’s obvious you guys like like each other.”

You watched her for a second, unable to piece together a rebuttal. So instead of replying, you told her to get her shoes on, tugged Harry inside and sat him at the island.

A bag of frozen peas was pressed to his jaw when Jeff showed up. Maeve and CeCe were in the living room with the TV on, both of them sat on the couch under a thick layer of tension.

“What the fuck happened?” Jeff asked quietly, car still running outside.

“You’ll have to ask your friend,” you said, scooping the uneaten dinner you’d made into Tupperware. “But maybe you can ask him later so I can yell at him first.”

Jeff smiled in your direction, approving of your reply. He looked to Harry, “don’t be an asshole.” He walked over to the living room without a word from Harry and greeted the girls.

“Be good,” you told them. They were quiet, waved goodbye and faded into the driveway once Jeff shut the door.

Silence, except for the crunching from the frozen peas when Harry shifted the bag against his jaw and tried not to wince in pain. He looked at you, guilt creased in his forehead.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

He sighed, dropped your gaze. “I’m sorry I punched your ex-husband in the face.”

“How about the fact that you came out there and got involved in the first place?”

This got him riled up. “Well I didn’t know what to do, Y/N! Maeve said you were talking to him and I wasn’t about to leave you alone with him.”

“I was married to him for 10 years. I know how to be alone with the guy.”

“I shouldn’t have punched him,” he admitted quickly.

“You shouldn’t have.”

He stood from the stool and set the peas down. “But I hated what he said about you--acting like you’re the bad guy here. You’re not.”

“I know I’m not, I didn’t need you to defend me!”

A step closer to you. “I wanted to.”

“Why?”

He shrugged his shoulders, looked away for a second like he couldn’t say it. What was he supposed to say? I like you? I have feelings for you? Did he? You were just as confused as he looked.

“Because I feel like we’re a family, in a weird way, the four of us.”

Just as it always had, the word anchored itself beneath your ribs, made it hard to breathe when you tried to define it in your head.

A family? People related by blood. People who live together. People who love each other. You didn’t have the time or the patience to define it right now with him still looking at you like your silence hurt his feelings.

Maybe it got under your skin and maybe it warmed your heart at the same time. It was at least enough reassurance that you weren’t crazy, and you weren’t imagining all of this. Maybe he did have feelings for you in some way, maybe he did belong here somehow.

“I can’t believe all of that happened,” you said this seriously, but when you looked up at him again you couldn’t help but laugh. How idiotic--your ex husband and your ex-boyband house guest duked it out on the front lawn. Tristan was right, your life had suddenly become a trashy romance novel and that realization brought humor to an otherwise horrendous evening.

“What?” His lips tugged into a smirk.

“Am I going to get blacklisted for causing an injury to your perfect face? Is Jeff going to murder me when he brings the girls home?”

He rolled his eyes at your joke but smiled. “I’m the idiot that thought it was a good idea to punch the ex-husband of my--”

Your breath hitched in your throat, you let out a sigh when he shrugged and offered a verbal pivot. “It was stupid--you didn’t cause it.”

There was still an awkward amount of space between you. He’d stood up like he wanted to move closer to you instinctually, comfort you or touch you. But now you twisted a ring on your finger and didn’t know what to say.

“I’ll apologize to the girls, tell them it was wrong of me and talk to them about it.”

You nodded, was that appropriate? Should you be the one to discuss this with them? Where did you even start in regard to addressing Maeve’s comment at the front door?

“I think maybe I should talk to them.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Maybe I should clear it up with Maeve too, you know, just what she said about us.”

“Right--what are you going to say?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted.

He took a step closer to you. “You could tell her that she’s right.”

You looked up at him, eyes on his for a second like the world had been paused. You’d been speechless before. Maybe not often, and maybe not for reasons like this, but when you didn’t say anything, he took a step back.

“Sorry--you’re right. Best to not involve them.”

Your voice came out in a squeak, insecure and lacking the confidence you’d tried so hard to build. “You think?”

“Yeah, I mean, that’s what you were going to say, right?”

Was it?

“Yeah.”

He scratched at the back of his neck, slid the peas forward on the counter. “Thanks for these. I should probably shower.”

“Okay.”

A hesitance in him, you could see it. He took a step towards the stairs but kept his hand on the counter, a quick glance over his shoulder. “Are we alright?”

“Yeah, yes.”

“You sure?”

You nodded, offering him a small smile. “Certain. Goodnight, Harry.”

**

Jeff wasn’t mad at you about Harry’s face. If anything, he was mad at Luke for being an asshole and mad at Harry for being stupid enough to get involved. You didn’t dare tell him about the things he’d said in the kitchen when you were home alone.

Harry’s ego was bruised almost as bad as his jaw, which seemed to turn a darker shade of blue-ish yellow the next day.

Maeve was sat at the dining room table, eyes fluttered in annoyance when CeCe climbed into her seat and then looked at you. “Sorry,” she said. “I had to go pee.”

“That’s okay,” you nodded, letting out a sigh when you looked between them. “So, I called a family meeting because I wanted to talk about what happened the other day when dad was here.”

“When is he visiting again?” CeCe smiled, distracted by the mention of her absent parent.

“Not for a while,” Maeve answered with an eye roll. “He punched Harry.”

“They punched each other,” CeCe corrected with an attitude.

“Exactly, which is the problem, because as you both know we don’t use our hands to communicate in this house. We use words.”

“Well why didn’t Harry use words to tell dad that he likes you?”

“That’s not what was happening, Maeve.”

Was it wrong to lie to her? She rolled her eyes like she didn’t believe you, like your words were just a cover up for whatever was really happening--you bit your lip when you realized that they were.

“Then why did they fight?”

“Because,” you said, exerting your mom-power. “They disagreed about something. Just like you two disagree sometimes.”

“We’re eleven and six,” Maeve made a face at you. “It’s age-appropriate for CeCe to pull my hair.”

You stared at her blankly--she was too smart for her own good. “But it’s wrong, any type of violence is wrong.”

“So is daddy coming to visit again or no?” CeCe was probably having trouble keeping up, she looked confused but invested when you smiled at her.

“Maybe--him and I still need to talk about that.”

“He never comes to see us!” Maeve complained, frustration in her voice when the front door opened. Harry--hair pushed back with a headband, curls escaped on the side and a dewy layer of sweat on his forehead--apparently he’d gone for a run.

The bruise on his jaw was visible. “Hi,” he looked around, solemn. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“You said dad was going to visit us still when we moved here but he hasn’t!”

You turned back to Maeve, parenting duties outweighed your desire to take in the sight of Harry post-workout.

“I can’t control your father,” you reminded her. “We’ve talked about this--he loves you, but he…” you felt awkward saying it in front of Harry, a watered down version of the truth. “He’s not good at managing his time. He forgets things and he gets distracted. But he loves you.”

“Then why doesn’t he come visit?” Maeve asked, arms crossed over chest. She wore a purple shirt, one that you’d gotten at the Gap and that she used to say she hated, probably just because you said it looked nice on her.

Her voice was softer now, less angry and more confused, a tinge of sadness when Harry walked to the kitchen for a glass of water. Another thing he probably hadn’t planned on: witnessing uncomfortable family meetings where you tried to explain to your children why their father doesn’t keep in touch.

It was a fair question, you couldn’t blame her for asking and wondering. Why didn’t he reach out more? Why didn’t he make an effort to see them?

You couldn’t admit your own confusion to them. “He’s just busy, honey. He loves you both a lot, I know that. But I can talk to him and see if we can schedule a time for him to come see you.”

Harry paused at that--far away in the kitchen, glass to his lips when he stopped sipping and looked in your direction. When he noticed he’d been caught, he cleared his throat and headed out to the patio.

CeCe looked up at you with big eyes. “Can daddy come for my ballet recital?”

“Maybe,” you nodded. “I can ask him.”

That seemed to be good enough for them. Maeve was eager to head out to a friend’s house when her ride showed up and CeCe was more than happy to play in the backyard by herself.

Harry was stood on the patio still when CeCe ran to the swing set, glass of water still in his hand as if he hadn’t a clue what was going on. His eyebrows raised when you stood in the doorway.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he turned to see you, hand on his hip. “Sorry--I didn’t mean to burst in there.”

“It’s fine, I think they get it. I mean, I don’t know, as much as they can, I guess.”

He nodded, stared at the ground when he spoke. “You know, I was thinking on my run--if this is too much I can talk to Jeff about staying at his. I don’t want to make--”

“No,” you shook your head, probably too quickly. Surprised by your own reply, you crossed your arms. “I mean, it’s fine. I just think maybe we should take a minute to figure out--”

“Right,” he nodded, cutting your sentence down to a half-formed thought. “Understood.”

He looked away at that, glanced down to his running shoes before he kicked at the patio slate beneath them.

You bit at the inside of your cheek, cursed yourself for how stupid you’d been. This is why you shouldn’t have let your guard down in the first place. First Luke, then your dad, now this type of stress all under one roof was possibly too much for everyone involved. The last 12 months had already snowballed into a mess of emotions and you should have known better.

As the adult in the equation, you were sure that this was all your fault.

And yet you wished it wasn’t--something in you wanted to walk over to him, wrap your arms around his middle and feel comforted by his touch. He brought his eyes to you and was about to speak when the alarm beeped. The front door opened, Tristan appeared through the glass doors and waved when CeCe ran over to see who the visitor was. Conversation effectively over.

“Hi,” he greeted with a smile, completely unaware that he’d just walked in at the worst time. “Glad I caught you both here. Sorry to barge in but I wanted to confirm details about the launch party so we can get it squared away.”

Harry stood awkwardly still, weight shifting on his feet when Tristan pulled out his phone to decline a call but kept talking. “I talked to Helen and Kira, the restaurant’s booked and the headcount is confirmed so we’re pretty much good to go.”

Right, the body wash debut and the celebratory dinner that Tristan had insisted on having. It was more than just the body wash debut: a celebration of how much Luna Skincare had grown, the launch of a whole new product line, a pick me up to try to make you feel less stressed, as Tristan had said.

Harry was confused, Tristan looked between the two of you. “Oh--did you...not tell him?”

“Tell me what?”

“About the dinner, the party we’re having,” Tristan shrugged and watched you, confused as to why you hadn’t looped Harry in.

It wasn’t purposeful. You’d spent countless showers contemplating if and how to invite him. Was he your date? Was he just a friend who was coming? Would he sit beside you or beside Jeff or was it better to leave him out of it altogether to avoid the questions and overthinking that had already saturated your brain before the event?

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know about it.”

Great, now you looked like an asshole. You laughed awkwardly to try and brush it off. “Well, we were still planning, I was going to invite you, of course. It’s for the body wash debut.”

He nodded, having gathered that much already.

You cleared your throat, the invitation a clear backtrack. “You should come, it’s just a dinner at La Cava. The team that worked on it, Jeff is coming, Zoey, some of our friends.”

He hesitated, glanced over to Tristan like he didn’t know how to reply but then looked back to you. “I thought we just said we--”

“It’s fine,” now you cut him off, a wave of your hand when you turned back to Tristan. “It’s gonna be great--do we have to finalize a menu?”

“I’ll have it on your desk by Tuesday morning.”

“Great, do you want to stay for dinner?”

He looked between the two of you, somehow aware of the tension that hovered above your backyard. “Can’t,” he said slowly. “I have a date, actually.”

“Oh, okay. Who’s the guy?”

“Someone I met online,” he shrugged. “Check my location and if I’m not home by midnight, please call the police.”

You laughed, “will do.”

He kissed you on the cheek and then waved to CeCe when she screamed BYE TRISTY!!!

Harry said something about taking a shower and seeing a friend that night, he dipped out the backdoor before dinner and you had no clue what time he got home. But that was for the best, right? You needed to take a step back to get your feet back on the ground.

You didn’t need to concern yourself with where he was or what he was doing--and the tiny voice of anxiety in the back of your brain reminded you that you definitely didn’t need to know who he was with.

Doing so had only made your emotions more jumbled. You’d been stupid enough to think there was something here, think that all of this meant something. And maybe it did, in moments. Harry had been the one to say that Maeve was right, but where did that sentence end? Maeve was right and: I have to go on tour, I’m too young to be a step father, I’m not looking for a serious relationship, I’m too busy for all of this.

The sentence likely ended with a fiery crash into flames and embarrassment.

Whatever was going on between the two of you--between the four of you, even--was a momentary blip on the radar of life. An extra set of hands when you needed them, someone to help things settle back into place after your life had been shaken up like the contents of a snow globe.

But somehow, eventually, things had to settle. You were only upset that it had been rattled again, by fists and bruises and angry words, before you were finally able to see that it was time for things to calm down.

He knew this too. He pulled back over the next week, spent less time downstairs and when you found yourself in the kitchen with him one night after the girls were asleep, a general sense of unease seemed to blanket the room.

Your phone dinged on the counter in front of him when he forked into a bowl of leftovers.

“Oh, you--uh--it’s a message from Luke.”

You were bent over at the dishwasher, the final plate tucked inside when you stood up, a wrinkle in your forehead at his words.

“Luke?”

He slid it over, took another bite and pretended to be disinterested.

Luke (9:24pm): Been thinking about it. Once every two months would be great. Don’t want to get lawyers involved--call me next week and we can talk about when to schedule something. Sorry about punching your friend.

You let out a breath you hadn’t meant to hold, licked at your lips when your eyes welled with tears. You looked up at Harry--who’d apparently been watching you. “Sorry, I’m fine, I just--”

“What did he say?”

“He said he’s fine to only see the girls every two months and we can talk about scheduling. And he apologized for punching you.”

Harry let out a sigh at that, his shoulders slumped like they’d been tense. “I mean--I think I did more damage to him, but, s’fine.” He brought his eyes up to meet yours and smiled a bit. “But that’s good--if he wants to see them there should be some type of predictability to it.”

“Right,” you agreed, a beat of silence. “I should probably feel bad for the girls that their father only wants to see them six times a year but I’m honestly just relieved at this point.”

He held back a quiet laugh. “I don’t blame you. Don’t need any more fist fights.”

You looked up at him, bit back a smirk and tugged at the necklace around your neck. “Definitely not.” Another beat of silence when he looked down at the countertop, his lips were parted like he wanted to speak, but then he sighed again.

The sadness on his face tugged at your heart, you spit out words if only to fill the air between you.

“I’m also sorry that he punched you. You shouldn’t have punched him first, obviously, but, he’s an idiot. The father of my children, but an idiot nonetheless.”

“I shouldn’t have gotten involved. I overstepped, so, I’m the one that owes you an apology.”

You nodded. He wasn’t wrong. He did owe you an apology despite the fact that he’d already said it that night. But you didn’t want it to feel as awkward and uncomfortable as it had been for the last few days.

Maybe the girls didn’t sense it, Harry was still teaching Maeve guitar and he still chased CeCe around the backyard, tossing her over his shoulder when he finally caught up. But instead of sneaking into your room at night he shut his bedroom door quietly and you pretended you didn’t watch to see when he finally turned the light out.

“By the way, my house is coming along. They said I can move in sometime in the next two weeks probably.” He nodded like this was a business meeting, neat and tidy information that he presented on top of the island like there wasn’t any weight to his words.

“Oh, okay.”

“Yeah--so, I’ll keep you updated, I guess.”

In a year of uncertainty and with a thousand twists and turns, something about Harry made you feel like your path was straight, like no unexpected bumps or roadblocks could throw you off course. Somehow, he’d simultaneously been the one to make things fall into place and stir up emotions inside of you that you forgot existed.

But the mere thought of that brought on so much judgment and self-doubt. You'd been desperate and pathetic and searching for anything that would keep you upright, then Harry showed up with a suitcase and a heart of gold.

It wasn’t his fault that you fell for him. There was no one to blame but you.

He saw the look on your face, one of swirling thoughts and anxiety. He cleared his throat. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

You looked up at him sheepishly, like you’d been caught in your own internal monologue of a shame spiral. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

He laughed, reached for glasses above the stove and poured.

story page | talk to me + join the tag list

AN: this one was a bit shorter--but don't worry, everything happens for a reason.

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[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part ♜ Pt.7

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

↳ (3.8k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, the angst is strong with this one

gif credit.

➟ Previous Parts: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

➟ Next Update: Tuesday, February 2 

The home is somewhat cozy.

It’s smaller than the one you and Namjoon have been occupying, doors and rooms completely foreign. There’s a serene meadow nearby that remains you of the garden, and within the interior of the house lies a surprisingly expansive assortment of spiraling halls, all leading into different directions.

The aftermath of your sudden kidnapping led Namjoon to the decision of temporarily retreating elsewhere. 

“It’s not much, but it’s definitely doable.” He explains, pacing around the bedroom and double checking the various drawers for clothes, “I don’t think we’ll be here too long, but there seems to be enough supplies.” 

You remain seated on the edge of the bed, eyes staring at the ground in silence. Namjoon quickly glances outside the window before resuming to take apparel out of them. 

“We should be safe here.” He hurriedly says, carefully placing the clothes aside, “I haven’t been able to get into contact with my family either, so I’m hoping they know to stay under the radar after discovering our absence. In fact, I‒” 

“You knew….” 

Your voice is incredibly faint, akin to a whisper. He’s crouched down on the ground, hands clasped around a cotton shirt when they freeze in place. 

Slowing rising from his spot, he turns to face you. The first thing that captures his attention is the accumulation of tears within your eyes, your features twisting. 

“W-Why didn’t you just kill me?” 

He walks closer to you, “Y/N…” 

Your facade snaps, no longer able to play a game of pretend. 

“I was sent to spy on you, Namjoon!” You rise from the bed, stalking towards him and placing your hands on his shoulders. “I was going to kill you!” 

“Y/N!” You abruptly glance up, startled from his tone. 

Namjoon holds a pained expression, and carefully holds your hands, just like you had reached out for his as you stopped him from going to work, “I-I’m not going to kill you….” 

You can only stare, eyes wet and teeth digging into your bottom lip. The discovery has been killing you on the inside, the sinking awareness that he was capable of getting rid of you within any split second and that he knows, he knows of everything you’ve done in that house. 

It’s slowly driving you insane….and it terrifies you. 

“But why?!” You cry out, “I’ve killed Taehyung, I’ve murdered Eunjoo!”

Your hands frantically tremble, voice cracking, “What’s stopping me from killing you…?” 

A wave of tears run down your cheeks and your quivering hands raise to cover your face. Amidst of contemplating everything you’ve done, you can’t understand his actions and it serves to make you wonder why you’re even here. 

Why even bring someone as horrible as you into this house? 

His arms immediately wrap around you, tugging you closer. Your head rests against his shoulder, sobs amplifying. 

Namjoon sighs, his chest rising and deflating, “Honestly nothing is, if you ask me.” 

He truthfully admits it ‒ you do have the power to end his life, and he knows that, “But I accepted that being with you meant that I couldn’t interfere with your work and I wasn’t planning to either, Y/N.” 

“Y-You were waiting… you were waiting for me to kill you….” You shake your head as Namjoon continues to hold you, “I-I’ve killed so many people Namjoon…” 

Somehow, his knowledge and awareness makes you want to confess it all ‒ confess how much your hands have been horribly tainted. 

“I know, Y/N.” He whispers, “I know.” 

The wedding has commenced. 

An union between families has been forged. 

And Namjoon is no longer a single man. 

“I’d like to leave for bed now.” You smile, painting a look of exhaustion after conversing with Namjoon and his parents, “I’m feeling quite tired.” 

“Of course, of course!” Namjoon’s mother understandably waves you off as Namjoon’s father wraps a hand around his son. 

“Go on, Y/N! We need to catch up anyways!” His father says, smiling at him. 

Namjoon stiffens in his hold as you depart, following after his father into a separate room. 

The moment the door shuts close, the warm tone in Namjoon’s eyes turns cold. There’s a dark look in his father’s irises as he crosses his arms and leans against the wooden desk, staring at his son intently. 

He already knows what words he’s about to spew, and it's something his father acknowledges. 

“You know already, don’t you? Of what those pesky L/N’s sent into your home?” 

Namjoon hums, meeting the latter’s stare intently, “How long do you intend on keeping her around before getting rid of her?” 

“Perhaps for all of eternity.” His father lets out a snarl, but Namjoon challengingly quirks up a brow in retaliation. 

“Are you being serious?” He slams his fist against the table, “Do you even hear what you’re saying?!”

Namjoon’s mouth twitches, “I’ve already told you and mother multiple times ‒ I plan on marrying only once.” 

“So you’re going to have a L/N spy for a wife?! And bury this empire to the ground?!” 

“As the next heir, what I do to the business will be out of my own accord,” He sharply retorts, “And Y/N....has me for a husband. I’m no better than she is.” 

His father’s face turns bright red, angry veins running through his neck. Thankfully he doesn’t notice how Namjoon’s voice softens when he speaks of you, or the way there’s something spurring silently within his eyes, something that begins with pure curiosity and ends with wishing for a reflection. 

“You will bring our empire to its downfall.” 

Namjoon smiles. 

“Then so be it.” 

***

Kim Namjoon is blind. 

He doesn’t speak nor scrutinize, not a word leaving him as he notices a small wire sticking out from the bedroom window, ironically appearing to just be a simple one used for electricity but perfect enough to be connected to a static code receptor. 

He doesn’t retaliate with anything when you coincidentally arrive at his office with the excuse of bringing his forgotten lunch, painting on naive eyes during the meeting he holds with the shareholders of his company. He becomes aloof to their glares and scoffs, granting you complete access without being intrusive, and yet without any of his own actions, your exterior cracks ‒ breaking it on purpose to protect and defend your own family. 

His eyes flicker at witnessing your intent firsthand and without hesitation, he offers his help even if it meant welcoming deceit with open arms. 

Perhaps that act makes Namjoon hopeful, too hopeful in fact, when he draws more interest in you and wants to know more, even if your words are filled with lies and twisted truths. Perhaps his curiosity of who his wife truly is becomes too much for him to handle, that he must simply know about the person behind the mask, the person he saw at the altar that was avoiding his gaze and looking terrified beyond belief. He sees her again briefly when you begin to indulge him about your life before becoming a spy, but Namjoon can already pinpoint that he’s too hopeful as your mask surfaces again, innocently maneuvering yourself into being allowed to accompany him to his company’s warehouse. 

It makes him wonder, wonder if he was truly playing himself into a trap. If his father was right in a way, if he should simply cut off his hopeful ties and ultimately step away before it’s too late. 

But Namjoon decides to do something different, he decides to do something that you might be horribly frightened by, but he won’t ever hesitate to do. 

He becomes truthful. 

He tells you everything, what his business is, what his family is, what he is, and he can clearly see it. The terror that swims within your eyes, the astonishment that crosses you with being confronted by the truth and the hesitation, the very hesitation that drives his hopes up higher than they could be. 

But there’s one factor that Namjoon underestimated, and that’s how far you were willing to go to fulfill your role.  

He hates how late it took him to realize, scorns at how the combination of your sudden nausea coupled with Taehyung’s departure wasn’t obvious enough for him to decipher. 

The moment he comes back home that day, it’s strangely silent. He assumed that Eunjoo would be around and that you were perhaps consulting with her about your health, but the moment he rushes up the stairs, he can see it all. 

It looks squeaky clean, save for the few drops of blood stuck to the underside of one of the carpets that would have been easily ignored. 

Abruptly, the sound of the shower alerts him, and he knows exactly where the culprit is. 

He knocks on the door, carefully leaning his ear against the wood. 

“Y/N? Y/N, are you feeling better?”

“Y-Yeah...I’m feeling much better, Namjoon.” 

His eyes narrow. The sound of water restricts his ability to hear properly and gives you a sufficient reason not to face him at the moment, and your voice is hesitant and deeper than usual. 

The incident happened very close to his arrival, and you’ve been injured in the process. 

“Alright….I’ll just be here, if you need anything.” 

Before heading off to bed, he attempts to assess the situation to the best of his ability. 

Taehyung left shortly after you were feeling sick and was convinced that having you around was a bad call on his part. If Namjoon doesn’t hear from him tomorrow, it’s highly likely that he was able to figure the truth about your identity and decided to finish the job himself, ultimately failing. 

Eunjoo is nowhere inside the house. She doesn’t leave at sporadic times with informing him or leaving behind a notice, making it possible that she unintentionally found out who you were and decided to take action. 

There was only one simple method you could have used to render them silent. 

His back hits the wall as he squeezes his eyes shut, a deep remorseful sigh leaving his lips. 

“Why did the two of you need to get involved in this?” 

After that night, Namjoon sees a stark difference within you. It’s almost like there’s a deep crack within the surface of your mask, your own worries and concerns easily leaking out. 

And you make no move to sew it up. 

It brings him to the point where he even convinces you to go back home, that maybe leaving all this would grant some peace of mind to you. In the process, he was even able to keep the investigation under control and the spotlight away from you, as his involvement and words were trusted more than anything. 

But of course, your collective duties to your families reigns higher than anything. 

Ultimately, he knew solely getting involved in the investigation placed him in threatening territory. That as subjected, he would be able to easily decipher your actions and be given the opportunity to compromise your identity.  

So what better way was there, than to get rid of him? To pretend your husband met with an unfortunate incident, all while to cover up your tracks along the way? 

It was his last day ‒ he knew it. He would have to conclusively tie up your investigation in such a way that you would never be found out as the culprit. His perceived demise led to him parting a farewell gift for you as well, something he had hoped he would have survived long enough to see you wear. 

But when given the golden opportunity, you casted away your ensuing aim, choosing to save him instead.  

After taking time to calm down, a question lingers in your mind for Namjoon. 

“A-Are you going to tell anyone?” You wonder, peering over at the opposite side of the bed where he sits, “About me…?” 

Namjoon looks away from the window, instantly shaking his head, “Of course not.” 

Although his answer spreads relief through you, a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “But I do have to say, having a wife that was prepared to secretly kill me would have made a really good brunch story.” 

You let out an exhale, shaking your head with a smile that manages to crack through, “My family won’t know about you either, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that my life is in danger.” 

At the mention of prior events, you crane your head to the side and narrow your eyes. 

“It’s strange.” You place a pondering finger on your lips, “No one ever informed me that the Kim family was being targeted….”

Eyes suddenly widening, an abrupt thought sparks in your mind. 

Your voice drops into a whisper, “My mission…” 

“Huh?” Namjoon leans forward, attempting to catch a glimpse of you. Turning around, there’s dread in your eyes. 

“My mission.” You repeat, firmer this time. “It’s been compromised.” 

Recognition spreads through his irises as you uncomfortably shift. 

The feeling of a target resting on your back as well makes your stomach wind up into a thousand knots. 

“Well, are you going to follow through with it?” 

Your brows furrow immediately, answer coming through without hesitation, “No.” 

“Then the best way to combat it is to act as if nothing ever happened.” Namjoon explains, “They don’t need to know that someone is aware of your true identity.” 

Your eyes twinkle with the information, “Then I’ll need to set up some kind of communication line with them.” 

For this to work, you’ll need to keep in touch and send false reports through. However, your hopes dwindle with the knowledge that you don’t have any of your equipment with you. 

As if he knows exactly what you're thinking, Namjoon quirks up a smile and slides off the bed. He reaches his hand out to you, which you take in confusion. 

“Come on, I still need to show you the rest of the house.” 

***

Namjoon ends up leading you to a separate hallway, one that’s extremely lengthy and almost never ending until you reach a door you wouldn’t have been able to find yourself. As Namjoon knocks against it and presses his ear against the door, you notice a handful of maids walking by, some sending you friendly smiles that you return. 

The door opens and Namjoon gestures you inside. 

You’re greeted to the sight of two men in the room. One of them leans against a wooden table with his arms crossed, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and his brown hair considerably tousled. The other sits at the same table, his cheeks full and blonde hair parted to the side. 

The blonde haired man eyes are wide, staring at you in fascination.

“Is this her?” He immediately blurts out, and when Namjoon nods, he instantly gets up and rushes over. 

A breathtaking angelic smile spreads across his features as he reaches his hand out, “Hi, it’s great to finally meet you.” 

You return the gesture but are puzzled with the interaction, your eyes swaying over to Namjoon. The man with the glasses stands up straighter, walking over to you with his hands in his pockets. 

His gaze is scrutinizing and there’s a faint twinkle residing within his irises. “Do you know who we are?” 

You're hesitant to answer, shaking your head. 

He immediately scoffs, eyes blazing with anger, “You never mentioned us?!” 

At the sound of his spiking loud tone, Namjoon sheepishly smiles and just shrugs. The man scoffs again, shaking his head. 

The action makes your mind churn, and the more you stare at the two, the more bits and pieces of information begin to weave together. 

Something suddenly flickers within your eyes, jaw instantly dropping down. Your finger shakingly points towards him in awe. 

“K-Kim Seokjin….” Your sight moves over to the man you just shook hands with, pupils widening with more realization, “and Park Jimin?” 

A smug smile crosses Seokjin’s lips, “Ah so you do know who we are, Miss Y/N.” 

His voice gives off the inkling that he knows just as much about you as you know of him ‒ even doubting that his extensive knowledge is perceptive and aware of more. 

“I’ve only seen the two of you a handful of times,” You turn to Namjoon, “When I was familiarizing myself with individuals involved in the business, we had plenty of photographs and records on each person and the tasks they oversee.”

“‒But there were some individuals that barely had any information on them. They would be spotted near you from time to time and aside from just a name, those parties remained a mystery.” 

Your eyes flicker up again, oscillating between the two. Seokjin smiles, appearing impressed with your ability to remember the trivial matters. 

Namjoon steps forward, offering up an explanation, “I think it’s great that we don’t need an introduction, but it’ll probably surprise you to know that Seokjin and Jimin are shareholders within my company.” 

Your jaw instantly drops and Namjoon chuckles, “I’d like to call them my secret shareholders, because aside from funding and aiding me with my company, they’re both equipped with other skills.” 

At the mention of it, Jimin lets a small smile slip out and Seokjin’s eyes twinkle. “They’re the only ones I can truly trust and because of that, I don’t expose them to the world and they know to keep a low profile.” 

You nod, slowly processing the information. It's still baffling to know that despite the amount of rigorous training and memorization you’ve done to prepare yourself for this task, there was still something missing that you wouldn’t have known until Namjoon told you himself. 

And their ultimate purpose is something he eventually explains. 

“The reason why I’m introducing you to them is because they will be staying with us until it’s safe to return home,” He points to Seokjin, “And I wanted to bring you to someone that knows communication lines inside and out, so that you can send your reports back.” 

Your wide eyes come into contact with Seokjin’s, and he begins to back away, gesturing to you as he heads towards the door. You take it as a sign that you need to follow after him, leaving Namjoon and Jimin behind as you exit. 

He leads you down a separate hall, entering a room with multiple devices attached to the walls. There’s various cords and headsets that mimic your initial intelligence reporting within the dark corridor, alongside computers with jargon written on them. 

Your first reaction is to simply stare in awe, “Wow….” 

Seokjin smiles, flopping down on a chair and wheeling himself over to a computer. He hands you a headset, beginning to type frantically on one of the computers. 

“This is how you’re going to hear the signals being sent through.” Spinning around in his chair, he grabs onto a bronze and steel contraption and gives it to you, “This is an upgraded version of a telegraph sounder that connects to these computers and should allow you to send information via morse code.” 

Your eyes instantly light up in recognition and you begin to carefully tap against the metal, noticing a reception signal forecasting onto the screen. Seokjin points it out to you right away and begins to type something into the keyboard. 

“This technology is so advanced….” You mumble, eyeing the screen keenly. 

“It’s good for using multiple lines when the signal you’re sending out isn’t just being received by one location.” Seokjin explains. 

You hum, continue to test out the machinery. Seokjin hooks you up to the same line you were using to communicate previously and when a successful correspondence is sent through, he grins. 

After assisting you through the process, you start sending the information over like usual. Seokjin glances at his phone, slowly rising from his seat. 

“I have to get back to the others.” He guides you to sit where he was, letting you take over completely, “Namjoon wants to discuss the events of what happened with you two.” 

You nod, eyes glued with the screen and occupied with decoding and understanding the message you receive. “If you need anymore help, don’t hesitate to ask.” 

You quickly nod and Seokjin carefully exits the room, attempting to disturb you in the middle of communicating. Your hands work furiously to decode the messages, pupils rapidly flickering all over the screen. 

However in the midst of this process, you don’t notice the abrupt static coming through from a screen that was previously turned off.

***

By the time you leave the room, you are thoroughly exhausted. 

It seems so far things are under control, though you were vigorously questioned on the delay of your previous mission. A tumble of excuses are conjured within a spindle of minutes, differing from your simple inability to do so due to your husband constantly being occupied with your investigation and the fact that he has been remaining underneath the spotlight. Regardless, it seems acceptable enough and though displeased ‒ you’re reminded that the job must be conducted efficiently as soon as possible. 

Wiping your clammy hands against one another, you peer around the hallways. It’s still considerably mind spinning to understand where the long expansive pathways lead to, especially in such a small house, but a friendly smile greets you right away. 

“Miss Y/N?” 

You whirl around to see one of the maids you had passed by earlier on, and she bows before you. 

“Master Kim alerted me that you were in this room.” She explains, “He’s been waiting for you.” 

You nod in retaliation, following after her. Your eyes begin to roam around, noticing the fine wood carvings on each door and the way there are multiple rooms in the current corridor you’re in. It doesn’t seem much like a house but more so like a mansion with its endless ways. 

The maid leading you abruptly stops and you tilt your head to the side, attempting to see what was before her. The sight of a window greets you instantly and you raise an eyebrow, but suddenly it dawns upon you that you’re no longer in the same hallway anymore. 

Instantly, your eyes snap up and the maid swivels, her hands wrapping firmly around your mouth from behind. You erratically kick your legs and attempt to grab onto bundles of her hair, but your shoes are soon dragging against the carpet. 

Your brows shoot up in alarm when more maids begin to pool in ‒ one of them begins to strenuously wrap a broken wire around your hands as another gives the first maid a damp piece of cloth. They immediately switch places, the fabric pressed right against your nose as you furiously push away from them with muffled grunts. 

Suddenly a wave of vertigo hits you and your eyes begin to frantically dart around, barely being able to focus on the way a cool breeze hits your face. 

As seconds fly by, your limbs fall limp and your pupils roll back in your sockets, rendering you completely unconscious. 

[cotncandyboifics]

A Lovely Night: Chapter 6

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5

Pairing(s): pre-established roceit & prinxiety, anaroceit, eventual anaroloceit, eventual intruality

Word count: ~4k

Story summary: Roman's boyfriends had had a rivalry since before either of them had actually met Roman. Running a bit late to a date night, Roman accidentally gets them to start dating too.

General CW: non-detailed description of an anxiety attack, non-detailed description of physical pain, food, kissing, potentially triggering descriptions of physical bodies, swearing, caps lock, school settings, s-xual innuendos, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, Implications of an eating disorder, fatigue, dissociation, suppression of stimming, implied heavy restriction (ED), inner monologue-style anxiety description, eating, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: Implications of an eating disorder, fatigue, dissociation, suppression of stimming, vague description of an anxiety attack, implied heavy restriction (ED), school setting, inner monologue-style anxiety description, food mention, eating, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: <<>>

...

Logan did not know what to do with himself. The past week had thrown him off his figurative rhythm far more than he could have possibly anticipated.

First, a lead actor who he'd already been trying his best not to look at - with his accursed pretty hair and handsome face and big muscles - decided to attempt to court him? Logan felt mocked. There is no conceivable possibility that such a beautiful - and might he add, quite pompous and bothersome - man would have any sort of real interest in him, romantically or sexually. He shuddered slightly. He really should have taken the apple his roommate had offered him for breakfast that morning, but it was too late now.

And wouldn't you know, just a week later, a - dare he say - equally pretty man with mesmerizing blonde curls and a cheeky smile takes an interest in him at his own school . After years and years of having never been asked out, no one having taken an even remote interest in him, not one second glance, Logan had two men asking after him in the span of a single week. Men who he found atrociously gorgeous, in fact. Logan pinched the bridge of his nose, glasses riding up his forehead a bit.

This alone would have been enough. But he just had to go into that little sewing shop for his dear friend Patton's birthday present, and that boy with the purple bangs who stumbled over his words and his feet was completely and undeniably flustered by Logan's presence. Perhaps he was simply experiencing an ego boost from his two previous encounters that week with pretty men, but he felt that the attraction the boy seemed to have for him was unmistakable.

And now here he was, pacing down the sidewalk toward the library, headed off to meet - Janus, if he recalled correctly - for their first study session. He didn't know what the hell he'd been thinking when he asked to meet Janus again, the very next day no less... perhaps he felt the need to seize the moment while it was present, or however the saying goes. Regardless, while his actions had been quite uncharacteristically spontaneous, he saw no logical purpose in redacting his decision; Janus seemed to be an individual with plentiful intellect, and studying with fellow students had generally proved to be a beneficial tactic in Logan's (albeit minimal) experience and (far less minimal) research. Meeting with Janus, even if it wound up simply being this once, should be no different.

Logan avidly ignored any simmering feelings that he wanted something more than to spend time with Janus just this once.

He was shaken from his thoughts when his phone started ringing in his pocket. He examined the screen, noting the time - 2:49 PM, he wasn't late for his engagement with Janus just yet - as he checked who was calling. It was an unknown number, but the area code was local. Logan frowned, pressing the answer button.

"Greetings, Logan Lattimer speaking."

-

Virgil was kind of panicking.

His boyfriends each happened to meet this super-cute space-nerd guy in the span of a week, and the second they'd talked to him they were all heart-eyes. Not that Virgil was complaining; the guy sounded really cute.

He knew first hand now, that he was in fact super cute . That was the problem.

Virgil's lunch break came and went, most of which he spent gnawing vaguely at a sandwich and staring anxiously at the contact card that had been in Logan's wallet. It simply had his full name and phone number on it, nothing else. He tapped it on the desk in front of him, glancing between the numbers and his own phone, set face-up beside his elbow.

And then his lunch break had ended, and he had several more hours of worrying before he had to convince himself to call Logan.

Something occurred to him, during those hours. Should he tell his boyfriends?

What would he even say? There wasn't much to tell, at least not that warranted calling them before he got home. If he was going to make any calls, there was one he was under obligation to make first. And if he were to seek comfort in them for his obligation, what would they say?

Roman was probably the lesser option; he'd been whining about Logan all week, and now that he knew Janus was meeting with him again today, tensions were especially high. He'd be no help whatsoever, Virgil was sure of it.

And speaking of Janus meeting Logan again today... that also meant no. Calling your boyfriend who was about to see the guy you were nervous to call made the situation all kinds of awkward. No, everything would be easier if he'd simply call him.

So, shaking his shoulders out a bit, he did. He stepped into the break room, grabbed his phone and the contact card, and dialed the number.

His thumb hovered over the call button for a few seconds too long. He cursed under his breath and looked away as he pressed it, bringing the phone to his ear. it rang twice, and then a slight static preceded a familiar voice.

"Greetings, Logan Lattimer speaking."

Virgil was glad he'd drew in a breath to hold when he'd pressed the call button, because he wasn't sure he could recall how to breathe properly.

"Hey, this is Virgil, um, from the knitting supply shop? Uh, you kinda left your wallet here..." Virgil managed to cough, voice not breaking as much as it could have. His chest felt cold and constricted, and he wrapped one arm around himself to fight off the burn of the icy spears stabbing through his lungs.

"Ah, hello Virgil. I am currently on my way to a separate engagement, however it should not take long. At what time would it be acceptable for me to return to your place of business to retrieve my belongings?"

"Oh, uh- I'll be here till four," Virgil stuttered a bit, surprised at how fast Logan jumped to planning mode, as well as realizing he knew the precise nature of the so-called separate engagement Logan was about to attend.

"That is adequate. I will make sufficient efforts to arrive before that time. See you then."

With that, the line disconnected, and Virgil was overwhelmed by the eerie silence of the break room. He glanced at a half-empty box of donuts their manager had brought in yesterday.

He could have said that the shop actually closed at six, and that Logan could get his wallet from Emile, but his train of thought hadn’t been screwed on properly when he’d been speaking, so he could grant himself a little slack- wait, he was mixing his metaphors now...

Suddenly, the door swung open, Emile peeking out from behind it.

"Virgil, could you get back out here? We've got a little rush," and he ducked out, gone as quickly as he’d arrived.

Virgil sighed, shuddering away his anxieties, grabbing a donut hole and popping it into his mouth before heading out to join his colleague.

-

Janus was sitting at a table set between the rows of shelves, reading pensively beneath a subtle desk lamp where Logan found him. He glanced up and smiled gently when Logan arrived, who set his things down beside a chair opposite from Janus'.

"Apologies, Janus, but I must cut our studying session short in about 45 minutes - i left my wallet at a nearby shop this morning, and must retrieve it before 4pm." Janus' eyes sparked with something Logan couldn't place, and he hid a smirk behind steepled gloved fingers. Logan gulped imperceptibly. "Perhaps we can set up another time to study as well- um, to make up for it, I mean?" He rushed his words out in a short breath, running his fingers through his hair to collect himself. Janus' smirk broadened very slightly, and Logan found himself watching the lines of Janus’ face as they shifted.

"It would be my pleasure." Janus averted his eyes for a moment, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he thought. “Perhaps we should exchange information, so that I might- so that we can settle on a proper time for another engagement.” Janus reached into his inner coat pocket, producing his phone and tapping away for a moment, before passing it to Logan. He took it carefully, recognizing a blank contact screen, and quickly entering his information into it. He handed the phone back to Janus with a tight smile, and Janus returned it, sliding his phone back into the same pocket before resettling himself in his seat more properly.

Janus set aside his book to pull out a few textbooks for their critical thinking class. "If we are cutting our study session that precisely short, that would provide me with a chance to surprise-" He faltered for a moment, tone changing, though it was so subtle Logan almost thought he'd imagined it - "a friend of mine after his shift. Now, where did your class get to in the lecture today?" He started thumbing through the pages of a particularly thick but small book, holding it by the spine with one hand.

"Ah... Professor Cauley was stopped short on page 461 when he became distracted with his electric pencil sharpener malfunctioning, and class ended a few moments later. He did inform us that the other class had made it to page 465, so if you need me to catch up to you, it should only take me a few minutes." Logan was rifling through the pages of his textbook intently, not noticing Janus' surprised expression.

Janus reached a hand out, cautiously setting his hand on Logan's wrist, just beneath his wristwatch. "Don't fret," he breathed, "it appears we share the same class period. If I recall correctly, Professor Cauley’s face went positively red with rage, and he nearly broke the poor sharpener worse as he tried to unjam it." Janus chuckled shyly through his words as Logan met his eyes, smiling after a moment.

“Fascinating. I wonder how I have not noticed you in class before?” Logan tilted his head very slightly, and noticed something swimming warmly in Janus’ eyes. They were quite a very lovely golden brown, he thought.

Janus shifted, looking down to adjust his own texts, but the smirk that was growing less snarky by the second never left his lips. “It is a rather large class. It can be easy to lose faces in the crowd. I’m not sure I can pick out more than three people with whom I share that  class if they were to pass me in the halls. But no matter.” Janus glanced at Logan’s textbook and notes, readying his pencil. “Shall we begin?”

-

Logan was talking animatedly as he hunched himself over his notes, Janus glancing up to watch his face behind its shield of deep brown bangs intermittently as he scribbled in his own notebook to (at least attempt to) keep up. Janus’ gaze was averted, however, when a repetitive chime sounded from Logan’s phone, sitting face down on the desk just beside his right forearm. He stopped mid-sentence, adjusting his posture and picking his phone up, flipping it over to view the screen. He sighed, deflating slightly, as he tapped the screen once, setting the phone back down.

“My apologies, Janus, but it appears that it is time for me to depart.” Logan stood, a colder, sharper version of himself taking the place of the one that holds a deep passion for learning. The beautiful ice crystal, despite its beauty, is still the twin of the icy shards that cut sharper than knives or spears, Janus thought.

Janus stood swiftly, joining Logan in his gathering of his personal belongings, shoveling his own texts into his own bag. “It is quite alright, I assure you, Logan.” They met eyes as Janus spoke Logan’s name, and Janus could swear he saw a subtle, blotchy pink settle in Logan’s cheeks. “I’ll be headed down Main Street, then. Perhaps-” Logan cleared his throat, glaring down and to the side at nothing in particular as he retried his statement. “I will be expecting to hear from you, Janus.” They walked side by side out the front of the library, stopping just past the doors to say their goodbyes. But Janus had a small realization, and felt the creeping suspicion crawling its way up his sides returning. He resisted the urge to shake or twitch it away, grinding his teeth a bit.

Instead of continuing to suppress his stimming, he cleared his throat, speaking to Logan. "I am headed down Main Street as well. I hope it is not out of- I hope that it isn’t inappropriate for me to ask, but...will you allow me to accompany you?" Janus asked, nearly moving to offer his arm to Logan, but deciding quickly that that was far too forward. He settled on spreading an arm out, gesturing to the concrete path before them that led to the sidewalk.

Logan offered a small smile. "That would be adequate, and not inappropriate in the slightest. I, I would enjoy your company.” A beat of silence, and Logan cleared his throat. “Just this way," and Logan set off, at an impressively brisk pace that Janus nearly had a hard time keeping up with, having been caught off guard.

They walked in stride with one another as they made their way down the street. Janus became increasingly suspicious of the scenario the closer they got to the sewing shop. From what he knew of Logan's situation, there was no conflicting evidence that would disqualify the possibility that Logan was headed, in fact, toward Virgil's workplace. Janus held his breath when they turned onto the very same block, watching Logan's body language soften as they did.

Janus took a deep breath, glancing at the sign of the sewing shop a pace or two ahead.

"Logan, there's something I wish to discuss with-"

Janus glanced at the sewing shop's sign once more as they passed, but didn't move to stop before the door until he realized Logan had done so, standing a bit stiff a few paces back.

"This would be the establishment I spoke of," Logan's eyes looked a bit hazed, vaguely pointed towards the door handle. He seemed not to have heard Janus’ beginnings of a confession. Janus’ eyebrow quirked ever so slightly.

"Interesting," he breathed quietly, and Logan met his eyes then. "Allow me." Janus reached a gloved hand out to open the door for Logan, bowing slightly as he held it open.

"Much appreciated," Logan commented, stepping through the doorway smoothly.

-

Virgil was sitting slouched behind the counter, typing random numbers into the cash register out of boredom. He was half considering going to bother Emile, but he was busy doing inventory. And besides, Virgil needed to stay behind the register in case any customers came in. One person behind the counter at all times, that was the rule. He sighed, bringing his hand to his face and tapping on the tip of his nose absentmindedly.

The bell chimed, and Virgil looked up from behind his mop of purple hair. His heart gave a few beats a bit harder than usual, and he felt his throat constrict slightly.

There was Logan again. And the whole rest of the world became background noise.

The line of Logan's mouth widened, creating a crease or two on each side. Virgil realized that not only was he staring at Logan's lips, but as well that Logan was smiling. At him.

"Hello, Virgil," He spoke softly.

"Hi," Virgil practically coughed, the scratch in his throat making it borderline painful to speak. "H-how was your, your day?" Virgil asked, pursing his lips as soon as his words had left them.

Logan inhaled, raising his eyebrows and averting his eyes from Virgil's intense brown ones. "It has been satisfactory." The door chimed again behind Logan as it shut, and Virgil suddenly recognized that there was another person in the room. A person whose presence felt immediately familiar...

"Ah, my apologies," Logan stepped to the side slightly, allowing the person to come into full view. There, with a small sheepish smile, stood Janus. "Allow me to introduce-"

"Logan, dear, that won't be necessary," Janus rested a gentle gloved hand on Logan's shoulder, and Virgil couldn't tell if he was about to pass out from gay panic or just regular panic. "We are... quite well acquainted." Janus smiled tenderly to Virgil, and Virgil's whirring brain slowed if only slightly. He was safe.

…but… was he though?

-

"Oh, is this the friend you spoke of earlier, whom you meant to come and meet? How coincidental, that we were on our way to meet the same person without either of us having any prior knowledge of it." Logan was caught up in his fascination so much that he did not notice Virgil beginning to hyperventilate, knuckles white as he gripped the counter, or the way Janus was watching, practically frozen.

But, as Logan's commentary came to a close, it was as though a flip switched inside Janus’ mind, and he quickly strode around Logan. He stepped quickly behind the counter and over to Virgil, all while nearly whispering little nothings like "oh oh oh," "hush now love," and "come here dear."

Logan's brain took a moment to catch up, and soon he was simply standing there, watching as Virgil clung to Janus' coat rather desperately. Virgil’s body shuddered in silent sobs as Janus wrapped his arms around him, tight and secure. Janus was still whispering to him, but it was inaudible to Logan now.

Logan didn't quite know what to do, and so he just stood there, feeling rather stuck for a long time. At some point, he set his backpack and the gift bag he'd gotten from this very store earlier that day down against the counter on the floor, folding his hands before him. At some point, he registered Janus giving him an apologetic look, which confused him.

And then Janus kissed Virgil on the forehead, pulling back slightly to look him in the eyes. Logan thought from the way Janus was nodding softly and the way their chests moved together, that they may be doing a breathing exercise. He couldn't focus on much else, so he tried to follow along and copy them as well. 4, 7, 8. 4, 7, 8.

Sooner than later, Janus was leading Virgil carefully back out around the counter, both looking slightly worse for wear, but at least Virgil was far calmer. Janus smiled meekly at Logan again, and he still couldn't quite understand what was happening. It appeared that Virgil had had an anxiety attack, but the way Janus had rushed to comfort him so quickly, the way he seemed to know exactly what to do-

"Here you go, Logan," Virgil's voice was a bit scratchy as he reached out his hand, Logan's familiar black leather wallet between his pale fingers. Logan cleared his throat.

"Thank you," He spoke a bit more quietly than he meant to. He suddenly felt his headache flare again in full force, and had to fight not to shake as he reached his hand out to retrieve his wallet from Virgil's hands. He barely succeeded, but Virgil seemed to notice something amiss - he was watching Logan's wary eyes with some mix of suspicion and concern.

Janus, however, had been staring at the floor, and did not notice Logan's onset of fatigue. He sighed, clearing his throat softly. "Logan, I suppose you deserve some kind of explanation. One I tried to give before we’d come in, but regardless." Suddenly Virgil's eyes were on Janus, and far wider than Logan thought possible. Janus just glanced at him, nodding gently, and Virgil's shoulders visibly relaxed. "Virgil and I are..."

Janus laced their fingers together, and Logan's vision went blurry, everything around him fading to static fuzz as he tried to remember to breathe. He'd eaten more than enough today for this to be happening, surely? ...Had he eaten today? He couldn’t recall. He could always remember ... He vaguely registered Janus still speaking in the background, but he couldn't care enough to force himself to refocus. He got the jist. He and Virgil were romantically involved, and Janus was interested in nothing more than a friendship with Logan. That was perfectly fine. He didn't mind. He forced away the roiling feeling in his gut and gulped down the sting starting to tingle in his eyes, forcing himself to nod.

"Understood," He blurted, voice a bit raspy. He turned toward the door, reaching for the handle. Before he fully exited, he threw over his shoulder, "I look forward to seeing you later this week, Janus. And thank you again, Virgil." And with that, he was gone.

He made his way down the block briskly, trying to shake the haze that clouded his vision. The only thing he could think to do was go and see Patton. He knew nothing worked magic on his body like a good black coffee.

-

"Virgil and I are..." Virgil looked down as Janus laced their fingers together, and looked back to Logan, whose face seemed to have gone paler than it normally was, which was quite horrifying to see. Considering Logan was already so white that his skin tone bordered on inhuman, now it was devoid of any pricks of red coloring and looked almost like an empty tinted gray, pronouncing his cheekbones and eye bags even more so. Janus looked between them, continuing after a moment, "...we have been romantically involved for several years now, and even longer with our partner Roman, who you may recall from the community theatre? He's expressed to us that he's quite taken with you, in fact... And I know this may be a lot to spring on you right now, but I thought you deserved to know... it felt wrong to pursue anything with you romantically when we- when you didn't have the facts straight, and even regardless, it's important for you to know that all three of us are-"

"Understood," Logan cut Janus off, nodding. He didn't speak harshly, in fact his voice was quite quiet, but it was curt and forward as Logan always was, and so cut through Janus' words like a frozen blade.

Janus looked at him in awe, and opened his mouth to speak, but Virgil gripped his arm before he did. Logan was already at the door. He glanced over his shoulder, but didn’t really look at either of them. "I look forward to seeing you later this week, Janus. And thank you again, Virgil." Janus and Virgil watched as Logan walked out the door and straight down the sidewalk through the shop window.

Emile, who apparently had been standing there for at least a few moments, cleared his throat awkwardly. Janus and Virgil looked at him in unison, matching exasperated looks on their faces.

"U-um, Virgil, I was just gonna check in, see if you've clocked off." Emile wrung his wrists between his fingers awkwardly.

"Um, no not yet," Virgil bit the corner of his lip, muttering a 'sorry' as he stepped past Emile and paced quickly to the back room to clock off. Janus stared blankly at the floor where his boyfriend had just been, eyebrows knit in thought.

"You feeling a-okay there, Janus?" Emile dipped his head a bit to get Janus' attention gently. Janus blinked a few times, engaging with Emile as he re-centered himself in the present moment.

"Yes, Emile, I'm fine, thank you," Janus rubbed his gloved palm with his thumb anxiously. He couldn't think of anything to add, so Emile smiled carefully, nodding and stepping away to resume whatever busywork he needed to attend to.

Virgil was back again shortly, his backpack slung over his shoulder. He gave Janus a strange look, some kind of combination of pity and sadness and confusion. At least, that's how it looked to Janus.

"Ready to...?" Virgil gestured vaguely towards the door, leaning into Janus' personal space a bit. Janus offered him his arm, clearing his throat and holding his chin high.

"Yes, love. Let's get home to Roman."

As they walked to the bus stop together, neither had any clue what they’d say to their Prince. He’d be distraught, they were both sure, and significantly more so than he already was, which would be… intense. Janus squeezed Virgil’s hand in his own slightly, and smiled somberly at him sideways.

They’d figure this out. They always did, eventually.

Janus took his time on the bus typing out a message to Logan, Virgil watching from the seat beside him as his head laid on Janus’ shoulder. Janus settled on something simple.

To: Logan L It's Janus. I'd love to meet up to study, or perhaps discuss other things, some time this week. Let me know if Thursday or Friday works better for you.

[sxfik]

darling, you're the one i want

chapter one | two | three ....

read on ao3 • main masterlist • law school masterlist

summary: Kang Sol A was never known for her luck, but she suspected it to be more like a curse when after almost 5 years, she bumps into her rival and the bane of her existence: Attorney Han Joon Hwi. What's worse? She has to work with him and she's sure that she'll either kill him or kiss him before this is all over

After Kang Sol B was freed from the clutched of her mother, her new found freedom spurred her into a night in bed with the mysterious Ji Ho. Yet, when he walks into her office the next day, she is faced with the realization that she is now working with the same man she slept with. What's worse? He's insufferable and she just might have to kiss him to shut him up.

a/n: hello hello! it's been almost a month since i've written a fic and probably even more time since i've truly been active on here. this fic is a product of me, @akinosakiya, @am-bi-vert and @thenerdywriter creating 20 different threads on twitter about an idea (which eventually got turned into a whole group chat just for hc and fic ideas). truly this fic is dedicated to all of them, the hanguk law school gc on tumblr and twitter. this fic is multi-chapter and written from 6 povs (basically it will be pretty long). as always, enjoy!

KANG SOL A was not known for her luck. Maybe it was a curse, or maybe just her destiny to be unlucky in life. She was irrevocably late this morning, despite setting 6 alarms and taking extra care the night before to ensure everything was in order before she left. But of course, in classic Sol A fashion, she was late despite every effort.

She was greeted with the shining sun and chirping birds as she speed walked towards her office building, her hair slightly disheveled in the breeze. Her hand clutched her briefcase as she speed walked towards the office, her lanyard swaying as she moved with purpose.

It had been almost 2 years since she started working for Kang's Toy Co. and 3 years since she graduated from Hanguk Law school. Life had been a rollercoaster since then, an endless ride of ups and downs as she tried to stabilize herself into her new life. She had clawed her way up from the struggle of her 1L year, getting to be an expert on late nights and sleep deprivation. Nonetheless, she graduated with an offer set up at Attorney Park's office which kickstarted her career and her life.

She'd be lying if she said everything was smooth from then on; it was quite the opposite. Just like she predicted, she had to take clients that she disliked and didn't trust, but when you were trying to make rent and put food on the table, it didn't matter. Luckily, she never had to compromise her beliefs too much during those years, and she was able to build her reputation as a trustable and hardworking lawyer in the community.

Soon enough, she was taking on higher profile clients, and gifted with the ability of being picky about who she defended. All of a sudden she was going to events and mingling with the upper class of Seoul. What was a poor girl, raised by a single mother, doing in such a ornate hall, sipping champagne that was worth more than anything she'd ever owned. Yet, those very same events led her to her name twin, Kang Sol B.

Kang Sol B, clean cut and straightforward, was one of her closest friends and CEO of the company she worked for. They met by chance at an event, after a particularly successful case, and somehow, the two women who were so unlike each other, hit it off. They ran into each other by chance again and they met for drinks. Sol B's level-headed, confident attitude balanced her energetic, eager mind. Not to mention, she fit right in with Ye-Seul and her dynamic, the three being thick as thieves. Soon enough, Sol was offered a job at her company as a corporate lawyer and she jumped on the chance at working with her. The rest was, as they say, history.

Shaking off her thoughts, her legs propelled her forward, her vision almost hazy and her mind clouded with the need to rush, rush, rush. The morning was particularly busy, with so many employees rushing into work and walking in their own world. Still, today was especially important as the company is announcing a joint enterprise between two of the biggest toy companies in Seoul. She picked up her pace, nearing the entrance, when, in her frenzy, she crashed into the oncoming figure.

"I'm so—"

"Sorry!"

Her head shot up, her eyes widening at the familiar voice. And there he stood, in all his glory, Han Joon Hwi: Second Round Judicial Exam Passer, and the bane of her existence.

She had the unfortunate luck of meeting Joon Hwi during their 1L, during a particularly intense class where she was grilled to death by her professor. The actual ordeal was a haze, all she could remember was her throat tightening and instant panic flooding her mind and body. Joon hwi, thinking himself some kind of knight-in-shining armor, swooped in to save her, answering in her stead.

And then, he decided to rival her during one of their constitutional code classes, arguing in favor of a law that was, in her mind, despicable. "You have to look at it in perspective," he coolly replied to her smoldering anger when she questioned him on how he could support such a thing. It was set in stone, then, that Kang Sol A did not like Han Joon Hwi.

From the moment they met, it was like he was specifically designed to drive her crazy. The way he smirked, the way his whip smart comebacks would leave her stumped, the way his arms filled out that stupid white shirt, the way he'd look at her like he could see right through her. Just about everything about him made her want to scream.

Dislike was an understatement when it came to Joon Hwi. It was more like a never ending annoyance, his presence and every move frustrating her, making her lungs tight and her heart race with exasperation and irritation.

She was nicknamed Lady Justice, after a particular comment from Joon Hwi himself. If it was to shame her, it clearly didn't work as it only fueled her headstrong attitude. In fact, it spurred her into more arguments with the illustrious Joon Hwi, the temperature constantly rising as they would circle each other and argue until their lungs burned and they were breathing heavy. The whole school would gather to see them spar, the tension so thick that they wouldn't notice the crowd they would draw as soon as the two would even look at each other.

He was the genius of her school, that much she couldn't deny. Still, the what he said about her in their final year...

His hand gripped her wrist, startling her out of her thoughts in an attempt to support her, and his warm touch seared into her cold skin as he pulled her up slightly. Joon Hwi blinked back at her, his face shocked before settling into a familiar smirk that drove her up the wall.

"Long time no see, huh, Lady Justice?" his eyebrow quirked up slightly as he took her in, and the scowl settled into her face. Like this day could have gotten any worse, it was just her luck to meet him.

"Not quite long enough, Attorney Han," she quipped back, snapping her arm away from his grip. She blew out a soft breath, in an attempt to get her bangs out of her eyes to face him properly. He continued to look down at her, his eyes never leaving her face as he chuckled in response.

He didn't look any different than he did 3 years ago, except that his shoulders had grown broader, his chest a little firmer. He wore a black coat, and underneath, his signature black suit that he had worn during his internships during school. His hair was styled differently, now styled up rather than down in bangs that used to give him an innocent look back in their law school years. It suited him.

"So, you work for Kang now?" he asked her, rushing forward to catch up with her fast pace. Her hand gripped tighter on her bag as she picked up her pace, trying her best to not let his sudden presence taint her morning.

"No, I'm definitely just walking towards the building with the large sign that says KANG TOY CO. for absolutely no reason," she replied, her voice laced with impatience.

"You haven't changed one bit, Kang Sol," he laughed, tilting his head forward, blinking and looking at her as if he knew something she didn't.

She paused in her tracks, looking up to the man who scrambled to turn to face her. "Why are you here, Joon Hwi?" she asked him, suspicious of his sudden presence.

He raised an eyebrow in response, and she could feel the irritation build in her chest as she looked up at him, impossibly confused. They stayed in place, their feet glued to the pavement and she forgot all about her earlier mission to get to her office asap. His face hadn't changed too much from their school days, his expression overflowing with mirth and mischief. But his face did hold a tiredness that wasn't seen before, as if the time has taken a toll on him. What happened to you, Han Joon Hwi, for your face to hold exhaustion that was never seen before?

"You'll find out," he replied curtly, before spinning back and walking towards the building. Her office building. She rushed forward now, trying to catch up with him as she looked up curiously, but he avoided her looks as they walked into the office.

They marched on in, flashing her badge at the entrance of the office, and Joon hwi, somehow, managed to follow. Did he start working here and never let her know? Does he even work as a lawyer? How could she not know? She let out a deep breath, trying to calm her racing mind as she walked into the elevator, and he marched in right by her side.

People filed in one after the other into the elevator, everyone in their morning rush to get to their cubicles and start their days. The elevators was filled to the brim, yet Kang Sol was still aware of Joon Hwi's presence, almost like her mind was blaring an alarm that He wasn't supposed to be here.

She momentarily shut her brain off, a task that she trained herself on after her struggles in her 1L, choosing to focus on the people milling around the elevator. Her eyes would flit through every person, and then the ceiling, and most importantly, she refused to let her mind stray to Han Joon Hwi, despite the curiosity eating her from the inside out.

The elevator was next to empty when she reached her floor, and she picked up her pace as she marched out of the elevator before he could. Sol kept her gaze trained ahead, but her body was feeling for the presence of someone else marching behind her.

Somehow, he managed to get ahead, probably with those stupidly long legs of his. His hand jutted out to open the door to the meeting room, and he paused, turning slightly towards her.

"Ladies first," he said, his expression almost neutral. If it wasn't for the slight crinkle near his eyes as he smiled, she would have taken the gesture as genuine and not intended to mock her. The gesture morphed from chivalry to a taunt that he knew something she didn't.

"Thank you, Attorney Han," she shot him a tight smile, before marching her way towards her teammates.

Ye-seul, her best friend and fellow lawyer, caught Sol's gaze and patted to the seat next to her and finally, Sol sank down into her chair, letting out a final sigh of relief.

"You're only a couple minutes late, the director isn't here yet," she said, taking a sip from her hot coffee. Ye-seul narrowed her eyes at her, and then looked up at Joon Hwi, before looking back down at her.

"Oh thank god," Sol, opened up her briefcase, getting out one of her legal pads and a pen incase she needed to take notes, as she expertly avoided her best friend's questioning gaze. The silence between them stretched, as Sol tapped her pen against the paper impatiently and Ye-seul let her gaze bore into her.

"Why was Han Joon–"

"Good morning," the baritone voice of Director Yang boomed across the meeting room, his voice loud despite the lack of a microphone. "Let's go through this meeting smoothly, as it is a very important day for both Kang Toy Co and Seo Media. Today, we have gathered to announce a collaboration for a toy line between both companies."

Applause filled the room as the director paused, looking at each team assembled in the room. Oh. So that's why Han Joon Hwi is here.

"As such, we will be needing our talented lawyer teams from both companies to help draw the legal terms and details between the two companies, as well as negotiate the terms for the toy line itself. This is an exciting time for both companies and we hope that this partnership is fruitful for both parties. Now, I will be announcing the teams and their assignments for this coming quarter and in preparation for the toy line itself," he paused, flipping through the notes he held at the center of the room.

"I'm proud to announce that Attorney Kang Sol and Team One from Kang Toys will be working with Attorney Han Joon Hwi and Team One from Seo Media." Sol's eyes shot up to Joon hwi, both their eyes wide with surprise. "Your teams will be heading the terms of the collaboration as well as working closely with both CEOs for any legal issues that come up," Director Yang nodded to both parties, before continuing down his list.

Her eyes were still on his, her mouth close to gaping open before she quickly shut it and avoided his gaze. Out of all the people, it had to be her that was paired up with him.

Kang Sol A had bad luck, indeed, but she was starting to think it was more like a curse instead.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Villian-Sicle | Part 3

I didn’t expect to continue this beyond part 2, but I’ve come to love these characters. I hope you guys enjoy! Heed the warnings, this one contains a lot of medical stuff.

CW//Superhero whump, villain whumpee, hypothermia, hospital setting, cardiac arrest, blood, dialysis, talk of death, talk of “pulling the plug”

Taglist:

@whatwhumpcomments

@sola-whumping

@professional-idiocy

The machine was too loud.

Talking over it made Leader feel that they were tearing apart their vocal chords. Then again, the stress of the situation wasn’t exactly aiding in that respect-- they could practically feel their tense muscles tightening around their windpipe.

“They’re going to be okay, then?” Their tone was rushed and pressing.

“I don’t want to guarantee anything.” The Head Doctor bit their lip. “Really, I can’t guarantee anything. By all accounts, the patient should already be dead. Human body temperatures shouldn’t be able to get that low...”

“Humans shouldn’t be able to fly, either.” Medic shook their head, gesturing at Leader, who tucked in their wings, not even realizing that they had unfolded. “But here we are.”

“There’s nothing particularly unusual about their physical anatomy, though?” Head Doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Enhanced people have different anatomy by default. Higher heart rate, for one thing.” Medic provided, glancing towards the heart monitor sitting next to the hospital bed. The spikes were shallow, and abnormally close together, but none the less steady.

“Yes.” Head Doctor dipped their head. “Well, then, that would explain how our patient is still breathing.”

“They should remain that way, then, right?” Leader fretted.

“I have high hopes. We’re doing everything we can. It’s up to them, now. If their body temperature can raise before it’s too late.”

The conversation ended on the same worried note as it had began, and the groups’ gazes seemed to unanimously drift downwards, as if they had simply forgot that they were standing over a body halfway between humanity and corpsehood.

Villain’s skin was horribly pale, translucent, even, as if it were on the verge of melting away. The restraints on their wrists and ankles-- Leader had insisted as to their presence-- seemed far too loose around their captive’s thin structure, but they simply couldn’t be tightened any further.

The only patch of Villain’s body that did not lack color was their chest, in which a catheter of at least an inch in diameter had been inserted. The skin around was red with irritation, resisting feebly against the roaring machine drinking blood from the line, only to return it at the same access point.

The whole spectacle was horribly grisly, with tubes filled with scarlet draped over Villain’s chest in a gruesome web. The machine itself, sat off to the side, seemed to whine and groan with every feeble heartbeat its victim managed to make.

Hemodialysis, the doctor had called the process. Manually warming the blood in an attempt to warm the body. Despite its vampiric appearance, somehow, the process was keeping Villain alive.

A chill ran through Leader’s body at the very thought. Villain was a stubborn asshole, one they’d been pursuing doggedly for months. Somehow, regardless of what trap they placed or what situation they were thrown into, Villain made it out.

Now...

The machine was plugged into the wall with a single cord. Just a wire, just some electrons passing through metal. Something that could so easily be severed. A single tug, a clumsily placed foot. The fight would be over. Would it be so wrong? Villain had done such wrong... and they wouldn’t feel a thing. They’d part in an unconscious pool of their own delusion.

Leader bit their tongue.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“You okay?”

Hero watched the small flame of force flicker between their fingertips, their eyes nearly crossed with focus. They had hardly realized that somehow had spoken to them, and it took several awkwardly long seconds for them to look up.

“Hm?”

“Are you okay? You looked distracted.” Counselor furrowed their brow.

“I think I’m... always distracted.”

“I know. Just... that was a lot, back there. And you looked stressed.”

“Just worried, I guess.”

“About Villain?”

“There’s not much else to be worried about.”

“I’m worrying about you, right now.”

“I think... Villain is the one that we need to worry about, right now.” Hero chewed their cheek. “You were in there, right?”

“For a minute, yeah.”

“Are they okay?”

“Alive. They were alive. But with Medic there-- well, I don’t think there’s a better authority on Enhanced biology on the seven continents. I think it’ll turn out okay.”

Hero chuckled humorlessly.

“That’s another thing I’m worried about.”

“What? Medic?”

“Yeah. Medic kind of. More Leader. Medic is... I mean, I love ‘em, and they’re the biggest hardass out there, but they’re a doctor more than anything else. Hippocratic oath and all that. But Leader...”

“You’re worried because Leader... isn’t a doctor?”

“No, no, it’s not that. Leader just seems so much more worried about the fight, and the mission, and the good of humanity, than, well, than anything that’s right in front of them. I’m just worried that...”

“That Leader’s going to make a bad choice?”

“Something like that.”

“I agree that they can be... a hardass. But they’re not a bad person. I don’t think they’d execute someone. Not like this. Not after everything.”

Hero’s gaze turned to Counselor. They hadn’t expected their friend to come to the base of their concerns with such speed.

Counselor gave a small smile in return.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Head Doctor left the room.

They had made their leave hurriedly, ensuring that they would be back in just a few minutes, to press the Code Blue button if anything happened. Leader had nodded along, hardly processing any of it.

They were focused on the person before them.

Over the last few minutes, by some miracle or curse, Villain’s heart rate had begun to stabilize. Though the beats came just as quickly, they were stronger than they had been. Not quite normal, but on their way.

Medic seemed fixed on the monitor, eyes narrowed as though they watched prey. The screen had more than just a heartrate reading. Alongside that, it showed a series of other graphs-- breathing rate, oxygen levels, among some that Leader was clueless as to the meaning of.

They glanced to the door. It was firmly closed. Certainly, the rest of the hospital would be too busy with the recent break-in to intrude.

“Medic?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow, but continued their fixation on the readings.

“Yes?”

“What would you say is the... the percentage we’re working with here.”

“The percentage?”

“Of survival.”

“Well... I suppose I can’t make an exact predication, but it’s climbing every minute. 80 percent? 85? They’re not completely out of the woods, yet, but their temperature is raising steadily. The dialysis is working.

“80 percent.” Leader hummed. “So... 20 percent chance that they don’t make it?”

“That is how math works, yes.”

“That’s not an insignificant percentage.”

“We’re doing everything we can. As I said, it’s rising, and quickly. If we can get their temperature back up into the 90s, I would say that continued survival is almost guaranteed.”

“Is that so?”

“What’s got you acting so weird, all of a sudden?” Medic finally turned from the screen, glancing to Leader.

Leader gulped.

“Do you remember when we were in Denver?”

“At the telecommunications hub? Yeah.”

“And in Vancouver?”

“Yes?”

“And at the bank, in Phoenix?”

“Leader, I assure you, my memory is fine.”

“No, no, I mean, Villain did all those things, right?”

“They had help.”

“But they led the charge?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“They’ve hurt a lot of people. Destroyed a lot of places... brought them to the ground. Leveled a city block, once.”

“Seriously, what is this about?”

Leader’s gaze glanced down to the Villain, pale, restrained, with a tube skewering their flesh, then back at Medic.

“No.”

“What?”

“No. No, no, no. I let you restrain them like some kind of beast, which, for your information, is completely against medical protocol. I’m not letting you kill Villain.”

“And why not?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Outside the hospital room, in a pair of plastic chairs, Hero and Counselor sat with far more relaxation between them. They watched passively as Head Doctor left the room, hurrying off to another room.

Hero took a fidget rope from a coat pocket and began twisting it between their hands.

“What do you think they’re going to do with Villain, then?” Counselor’s voice was considerably quieter, as if they were telling a secret. They stared off, down the hallway, instead of meeting Hero’s eyes.

“I just hope they let us have some input in this whole thing.”

“Me too. But... what would you prefer? If you had the choice?”

“I mean...” Hero sighed. “They haven’t been the best person, I think we can all agree on that. They’re dangerous. But I also think that... they’re scared. They’re scared, Counselor, really scared.

If it was up to me, I think we should help them. While in our custody, but, I think they need help. And maybe then, they can help us? I mean, they must know something about Supervillain. It’d be nice to have an informant.

Really, I just want to see them okay again. Even if it does mean that they go back to being an asshole.”

“That’d be nice.”

Hero nodded.

“I think Medic mentioned that, once Villain’s stable, we’re gonna move them back to base. Where we have the special medical equipment, the Enhanced care stuff.”

“Yeah. I think Leader is definently going to want to keep them in custody.”

“If they try to hurt them, though... I’m not gonna let that happen. If we have to keep them prisoner, we can at least be humane about it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

“I just hope Leader agrees.”

“Me too.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

“It’d be a waste.”

The answer was too analytical. Leader had expected to be yelled at, to get an earful about morality and ethics and other crap. Not something so simple, so factual.

“What do you mean?” Leader’s tone wasn’t accusing, at least they didn’t intend for it to be. It was far more dumbfounded in nature.

“Everything in this world runs on technology. Those lights, that door, this machine, everything. Everyone has a phone. Every building has a network, of both electricity and information. Villain can patch into all of that. You said it yourself, they leveled a whole city block. What else can they do?”

“What are you... what are you implying?”

“We keep them, and we use them.”

A garbled voice resounded throughout the room. Leader whirled around, half expecting Supervillain to be right behind them, before turning back.

“Was that y-” They began to ask, but didn’t quite get the chance.

“Code Blue! Code Blue!” Medic snapped. “Don’t be useless, press the damn button!”

It took Leader’s confused mind a moment to note the emergency that Medic was responding to-- that of a horrible, electric screech. The heart monitor was no longer showing a steady pulse.

At the sight, Leader’s own heart rate sped up. They nearly tripped over their own feet as they rushed to the blue button on the wall, jabbing it with their finger multiple times in a frenzied panic. Once they were satisfied that they spiraling terror had been registered properly, they returned to Medic’s side.

The doctor had their hands positioned on Villain’s chest, one over the other, slamming downwards repeatedly. In between, Leader could see a sharp rise in the chest-- they were still breathing. But for how much longer?

Dammit, dammit, don’t think like that, it’s someone’s life!

A resounding crash burst through the room as the door was slammed open. They rushed to the bedside, seemingly ready to continue CPR, before Medic raised an arm, preventing them.

“No, no, they’re okay.” Medic panted breathlessly. Leader raised their eyes to the heart monitor-- sure enough, a slow, steady rhythm was returning.

They’d made it.

“Mmm..”

Leader panted for breath, trying in vain to calm their racing heartrate.

“Mmm... whaaa...”

Leader’s shaking gaze shifted to the source of the noises--only to find their eyes locked with the wide ones of Villain.

[galraluver]

If the requests are open, can I request a scenario? Thace x reader "First meeting"

Sure thing. I hope you like it

_________________________________________

Once you and Keith snuck into the central hub for the Galra fleet Keith started talking to Kolivian over the comm system while you stood guard. The two of you were able to grab a couple of blasters for extra protection. When the door beeped and opened you and Keith quickly found a hiding place.

"Keith, Y/n, are you there?" Kolivian asked over the comms.

You and Keith peeked out from your hiding place and saw a Galra Lieutenant walk up to the console Keith had been on only seconds earlier. The Galra looked injured and you felt kind of bad for him. Thace typed something on the console, unaware that you and Keith were in the room. A few moments later the doors slid open and two Druids stood there.

"And now we know you were attempting to shut down the system." One of the Druids said.

Thace continued his typing as the Druids rushed into the room. The Druids were going to stop Thace from causing any more trouble. You and Keith ducked back behind your hiding place, not wanting to be seen yet.

"You're too late." Thace said as he turned to face the Druids.

"No Thace, you're too late. We already changed the code." The first Druid said.

Thace's eyes widened and he turned to face the console as it started beeping. Right as the Druids jumped up in the, about to attack Thace, Keith ran out of your hiding place and threw his blade at one of the Druids. The blade stabbed one of the Druids in the back and killed him. Right as Keith's blade landed on the floor the other Druid tried attacking Thace and Keith. You watched as Keith and Thace killed the other Druid.

Thace picked up his own Blade and walked closer to Keith. You came out of your hiding place and walked over to Keith.

"Thace, I'm Keith, a Paladin of Voltron. This is one of my teammates, Y/n. She's not a Paladin but she helps us on missions." Keith said, introducing himself and you.

"Hi." You said politely.

"And a fellow Blade I see. I guess we haven't failed." Thace said, looking at Keith and his blade.

"Not yet." Keith said.

Thace went over to something next to the console and opened it up. You were helping him while Thace was checking in with the Paladins. You stood up when you saw Keith walking over.

"What exactly are you doing?" Keith asked Thace.

"I'm using the main power to overload the system." Thace told Keith.

"What?!" You asked Thace in shock.

"You're turning the room into a bomb." Keith stated, clearly shocked but not wanting to show it.

"It's the only way." Thace said grimly.

You watched as Thace stood up and started typing something on the console. You and Keith heard someone coming and got in a defensive pose while pointing your blasters at the door. When the door blew open a few sentries came running in. You and Keith easily killed the sentries by blasting them. You were thankful that the sentries were just robots.

Keith aimed up at some computer thing and shot at it. Part of the computer broke off and blocked the door. Your heart was pounding in your chest by now.

"That solves one problem, but now we're trapped in here." Keith said, turning to face Thace.

"No, we're not. There's an exit to the main power conduit. It leads to the second deck. Go, now." Thace said, turning to face you and Keith and pointing to the exit.

You and Keith walked over to the exit. To your horror it was just a big hole in the floor. You were thankful that you were wearing your jetpack.

"What? No, we're not gonna leave you!" Keith said, turning to face Thace again.

"You must! I will shut down the system. Paladin and teammate, this is where my journey ends. But as members of Voltron you both have a bigger mission, you must understand that." Thace said, trying not to show fear.

"It was an honor to meet you." Keith said sadly.

Suddenly, the blockade was blown to pieces. You jumped up a little in shock. You knew what you had to do, even though it could get you killed.

"Go, now!" Thace said, urging you and Keith to leave.

Keith gave Thace his blaster before jumping down the hole and turning his jetpack on. You stood behind Thace, blasting the sentries that ran in. Thace typed something on the console and jumped behind it. You followed him as more sentries ran in. You and Thace occasionally fired back at the sentries.

When a bright red light filled the room you and Thace looked at one of the other large computer things. It began sparking, signaling that it was about to explode. You dropped your blaster, grabbed one of Thace's arms and dragged him down the hole with you. You turned your jetpack on at the right time and flew down the hallway. It was hard to fly because Thace was a bit heavy, but you weren't going to let him die.

You quickly caught up to Keith right as the explosion blew the three of you into space. You and Keith had protection for your faces, but Thace didn't. Thankfully, the red lion showed up at the right moment. Keith helped you get Thace, who was now unconscious, into his lion. You sat with Thace who was laying on the floor behind the pilot's chair.

          _________________________

Once the fight was over and everyone returned to the Castle of Lions Coran helped you put Thace in a healing pod. About a week later Thace was able to come out. He looked a lot better than when he was put in the pod. Since everyone else was busy you were the only one to help Thace.

"What- What happened?" Thace asked as you helped him out of the pod.

"Careful, you need to rest. I saved you right before the room exploded. I think something hit your head and made you go unconscious." You said as you helped him sit down.

"Why?" Thace asked you, quietly groaning.

"Because I didn't want you to die." You said, smiling softly at him.

"Thank you, Y/n." Thace said softly, his face heating up as a light blush appeared on his face.

"You're welcome." You said, smiling at him.

Thace looked down at himself and realized that he was only wearing a bodysuit. He looked around the room and saw his old Lieutenant armor laying nearby. His blush got a little darker, realizing that someone changed his clothes. When his stomach growled you realized that he was hungry.

"Come on, you need to eat." You said, helping him to stand up.

Thace stood up and wobbled a little. As soon as he got his balance he followed you to the kitchen. You were happy that you were able to find some real food at the space mall.

[crystalstar8]

Eye of the Sky

ch. 4

Pairing: Jimmy K x oc

Genre: heist au, action

word count: 2,174

warnings: action, violence, gun violence, car chases, car crashes, swearing, blood probably

notes: heist au, action, adventure, crime, ooc namjoon, because he has his license lol

Summary: Ten years ago, Namjoon's father was killed by his best friend and partner in crime, A man who now goes by the name Hawthorne. Now, Namjoon wants to get into the family business in order to avenge his father's death. After finding the man who killed his father, Namjoon builds a team and creates an elaborate plan to finally take the man down.

But will they be able to get through Hawthorne's state-of-the-art security system? And will they succeed with a mysterious assassin chasing them? Let's just say, it's a good thing Namjoon's team members keep surprising him with useful skills.

@mozy-j  @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @daechwitad-2

The cafe was bustling around Namjoon as he sat in the corner, flicking his eyes to the door. Almost every table was taken by someone on their laptop, friends meeting each other, or just someone who needed to get out to have a coffee and read the paper.

               The bell above the door jingled and Namjoon looked up. A woman in a purple blazer stepped into the café and looked around. Once she spotted Namjoon’s book he was reading, she headed over and sat across from him. Namjoon bookmarked his book and set it down.

               “Are you Namjoon?” she asked, her wide eyes darting around the café.

               “Yes,” he said. “You must be Ishani.”

               She nodded and brought all her attention onto Namjoon. She looked to be about his age, maybe a bit older, with dark skin and wavy hair pulled back away from her face.

               “This is dangerous, what you’re doing,” she said in a low voice. Namjoon had to lean in and strain to hear her. “Hawthorne is a dangerous man. The only reason I’m even still alive is because I went back to India after I was fired. My family wouldn’t let him find me there.”

               “But you came back?” Namjoon asked.

               “To get my tech back,” Ishani said. “He stole my work. I at least want to be paid and credited for it.”

               “That’s fair,” said Namjoon. “But, you know what we’re doing, right?”

               “Yes. Yoongi told me,” she said with a smirk. “I’m looking forward to seeing that bastard fall.”

               Namjoon grinned. Two lattes were set down in front of them. Namjoon looked up at the waiter. It was Jimin.

               “Can I get you two anything else?” Jimin asked.

               “No thank you,” said Namjoon.

               “She’s so pretty,” Jungkook spoke up through the earpiece in Namjoon’s ear. “Tell her that her Korean is really good.”

               Namjoon ignored him. He wasn’t going to flirt for a man a block away on a roof with binoculars.

               “Didn’t she study here?” Jimin said from behind the counter where he was making drinks for customers. “Of course her Korean is good, you fool.”

               “This is an inappropriate use of these earpieces, guys,” Yoongi said from Namjoon’s apartment where he was watching through the cameras in the street and in the building.

               “I have a floor plan of the lab,” Ishani said, sliding a folded newspaper across the table. Namjoon opened it to find a flash drive tucked inside. “I marked where my office was. The code to the door is 5239. If everything is untouched, the drive should be in the bottom left drawer in my desk. It’s locked. You’ll have to break in.”

               “Thank you,” said Namjoon. “How is security at the lab?”

               “It’s nothing elaborate,” she said. “You’ll have to get ahold of a key card, or replicate one. There’s one other problem though.”

               Namjoon raised an eyebrow.

               “Hawthorne’s system uses facial recognition, along with a thumb print,” said Ishani. “The only face it will open for is Laurel Hawthorne. His son. You’ll need a pretty damn good look-a-like.”

               “Namjoon, don’t look now but check out the woman in the corner on a laptop,” said Jimin.

               “Wait, I thought this was an inappropriate use of the earpieces,” said Jungkook.

As subtly as he could, Namjoon glanced at the woman Jimin was talking about. With her back facing their table, she wore a light pink t-shirt and her blonde hair was up in a ponytail. She was working on her laptop, and Namjoon didn’t see anything unusual about her at first. Then he took a look at her computer screen. She was typing a random string of letters into her word document, eyes on the tiny camera window in the corner of her screen. The camera was aimed right at Namjoon and Ishani’s table. There was a purse on the table beside the woman, which she was reaching for.

               “Jimin-“ Namjoon started, but it was too late. The woman pulled a handgun from her bag and spun around, aiming right at Ishani. Namjoon leapt from his seat and pulled Ishani down, the bullet hitting the wall right where her head was.

               “Oh shit!” Jungkook yelled. “I’m on my way! I’m on my way!”

                               At the sound of the gunshot, the café erupted into chaos. People started screaming and running to the exit. Namjoon used the chaos to his advantage, passing Ishani off to Jimin, who snuck her out with the crowd. As soon as the café was cleared out, Namjoon kicked a table at the mysterious woman, who dropped the gun as she doubled over.

               In an attempt to grab the gun on the ground, they both circled each other, pushing tables and chairs in each other’s way. Namjoon eyed the gun under one of the tables and lunged for it. The woman tackled him, making him knock the gun further away. They struggled for a few seconds, Namjoon in a hold on the ground. He underestimated the woman’s strength. Finally, he flipped them over and threw her to the side. A car pulled up outside the café. Before he could make his escape, the woman threw herself at him, forcing them both to crash through the window and land on the sidewalk.

               Jimin was yelling at Namjoon from the passenger seat of the car. Namjoon kicked the woman away and hopped into the backseat of the car that had pulled up. The tires squealed as they drove off.

               “Who the hell was that?” Jungkook asked from the driver’s seat.

               Namjoon, who was still slumped in the back seat catching his breath said, “I have no idea.”

               “I didn’t recognize her,” Ishani said from the seat next to Namjoon’s. “Do you think Hawthorne sent her to stop us? How would he know what we’re doing?”

               “Get back to the apartment, ASAP,” Yoongi said through their earpieces.

               “You got it, chief,” said Jungkook, speeding down the streets of the city.

               “Wait, Jungkook, behind us,” Namjoon said, peeking over the backseat. A black SUV was fast approaching them. Before Jungkook could even react, the SUV slammed into them from behind, making their car swerve and fishtail. With wide eyes, Jungkook righted the car and sped away.

               “Namjoon, Ishani, get down,” said Jimin. He pulled a gun from his waistband and rolled the window down. Pulling his torso out of the window to sit on the ledge, Jimin aimed the gun at the SUV and fired several rounds. The bullets hit the bumper and one even hit the windshield, but the glass didn’t crack.

               “Does she have an armored car?” Jungkook asked. “Who the hell is she?”

               Jimin ignored him and continued firing at the SUV. He seemed to hit a tire because her car swerved and turned down a side street.

               “Fucking finally,” Jimin mumbled as he pulled himself back into the car. They sped away down the highway beside the Han River. As they stopped at an intersection, Namjoon listened to Yoongi talking into their earpieces.

               “I got a picture of her from the café cameras,” he was saying. “I’m trying to ID her but she’s not a Korean citizen. I’ll try to reach out but-“

               “Guys!” Ishani screamed, seconds before the SUV slammed into them from the side.

               The car tumbled over the guard rail and hit the water.

               There was a moment of panic within the car as it began sinking and filling with water.

               “Everyone, calm down!” Namjoon shouted. “We need to be able to hold our breath once the car fills all the way. Then we can open the doors and swim out. Make sure you’re all unbuckled right now.”

               “Jungkook isn’t awake,” Jimin said in a panicked voice. With shaking hands, he was unbuckling an unconscious Jungkook.

               “Get him to the surface,” said Namjoon. “Ishani?”

               She looked at him with dazed eyes and blood running down her face. At least her seatbelt was off. Before Namjoon could do anything else, the water rose all the way, and he and Jimin pushed their doors open, pulling Ishani and Jungkook out with them.

               Once they broke the surface, they began swimming to the shore, the current pulling them further down the river. They made it to the shore, climbing onto the cement. Namjoon rushed over to help Jimin pull Jungkook out of the water.

               He didn’t look good. There was a wound on his head and glass in his arm. At least nothing looked broken.

               “Come on, we need to get to a hospital or something,” said Namjoon.

               “No, you can’t go to a… -pital…I’m se-ing…car,” Yoongi’s garbled voice said through Namjoon’s earpiece.

               “He’s sending a car?” Jimin asked. “Is that what he said?”

               “I think so…” Namjoon trailed off and watched as the beat-up SUV pulled up near them. The blonde woman hopped out of the driver’s seat and aimed a handgun right at Namjoon. She didn’t hesitate to shoot.

               One bullet grazed his arm, the other hit his square in the chest. It knocked him on his back, punching the breath out of his lungs. As Namjoon laid there trying to catch his breath, the woman grabbed Ishani by the arm and pulled her towards the SUV.

               “Who are you?!” Jimin shouted. Ishani was struggling to get up from where she was laying beside the SUV.

               The woman didn’t respond. She only smirked, then dove straight into river.

               Jimin threw himself over Jungkook. Namjoon only had a split second to turn his back before the SUV exploded.

                 Once the ringing in his ears faded, Namjoon looked up. Jimin was peeling himself off of Jungkook. He looked behind him and his breath caught. Ishani was gone. Her body was one with the flaming wreckage of the SUV.

               “Fuck… FUCK!” Yoongi shouted. He sighed a crackling sigh then said, “Your -ide… almost there. Just -et ba-…”

               Another black SUV pulled up. Namjoon peeled himself off the ground and helped Jimin carry Jungkook to the car. They got him into the backseat with Jimin and Namjoon took the front seat. The man driving didn’t say a word to him. He wore a face mask over the bottom half of his face and sunglasses over his eyes.

               A soon as Namjoon was in his seat, he opened his jacket to see the bullet lodged in the center of his Kevlar vest. He hissed as he pulled it out, knowing there would be a nasty bruise under there later.

               “Who are you?” Namjoon asked.

               “A friend,” the driver said.

               Namjoon eyed the inside of the car, trying to gain some kind of insight to who this man is. The car was clean, everything looked brand new. The screen in the center counsel offered the time, outside temperature, and a compass telling them that they were headed south-east. The little insignia in the corner of the screen caught Namjoon’s attention though.

               “Pull over,” said Namjoon. “We’ll walk from here.”

               “What?” Jimin asked from the backseat. “We can’t carry him like this!”

               “We’re almost there-“ the man  began.

               “No, it’s okay. We can get there ourselves,” said Namjoon. “Stop the car.”

               “Hyung, what are you-“ Jimin said before being interrupted by Yoongi.

               “Namjoon. Trust me,” he said. “He said he’s a friend. Trust that he is.”

               Namjoon’s stomach twisted in knots the whole drive back to the apartment. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run, but he know there would be no way to escape the car with an unconscious team member. When they pulled up to the front of Namjoon’s apartment building, he leapt out of the car and pulled Jungkook out of the backseat himself, carrying him bridal style through the doors of the building, Jimin stumbling to keep up.

               Once they were in the apartment, Namjoon laid Jungkook on the couch and went to Yoongi, who was at the desk. Namjoon tore his earpiece out and said, “What the hell? You said to trust you, and I really want to, but you know what this looks like right?”

               Jin, Taehyung, and Jimin, who was knelt next to Jungkook, stared at the exchange with wide eyes.

               “I can explain,” said Yoongi.

               “Yeah, you’d better fucking explain why our ride was NIS,” said Namjoon. Jin, Taehyung and Jimin gasped.

               “He’s a friend,” said Yoongi. “Just trust me. He’s with us.”

               “How can we be sure?” Namjoon asked.

               Yoongi sighed and looked away. “I don’t know.”

               “Then I can find another hacker,” said Namjoon.

               “Wait! Let him prove himself to you,” said Yoongi. “Next time you’re in trouble, let him get you out of it.”

               “Do you realize how risky that is?” Jin asked, coming around the couch to meet them at the desk. “We’d be putting everything on the line, just on sheer faith. We don’t even know you that well.”

               “I promise you, he wants this to happen as much as you all do,” said Yoongi. “He’ll do everything he can to take Hawthorne down.”

               “Then let him prove it,” said Namjoon. “And if he sabotages us, you both better run.”

[crimson-dxwn]

At Odds - Chapter 4

Summary: The Empire uses dirty tactics to bring Mandalore to its knees. Orla gets in a fight(s).

Warnings: Realistic medical scenarios (including a minor character death), violence, blood, c*ddling

Words: 4200

Mij Gilamar is the kind of physician every young doctor or medic looked up to - kind, brilliant, a patient teacher. He’d been a mentor to her back in medical school and so much of her success was due to his encouragement and kind words. So seeing the look of anxious terror on his face is not putting Ori at ease. 

She looks down at the datapad sitting on her lap. Her stylus hovers over the question on the form. Is there any chance you could be...

He'd been sent from Sundari, to try and prepare Keldabe for the onslaught of the illness that had now overwhelmed the old capital. The man looks tired, his brown hair streaked with silver hanging limp, armor loose on his gaunt frame. The room was full of nurses, doctors, medics and therapists, mostly specialists who didn’t work in the field that often. 

“It’s become clear this is an engineered agent. I expect you to keep this in the utmost confidence moving forward. We have the best bioengineers on Mandalore working on a vaccine and we need to do what we can for our patients until they develop one.” 

The situation really must be dire if they were bringing the obstetricians to the party. Dr. Gilamar explains the proposed mechanism of the virus, how its symptoms mimic Candorian Plague, how the agent’s genetic sequence has been altered. With a grim expression, he continues to detail the therapies that had been attempted in Sundari without success, that the fatality rate was nearing thirty percent, how it was spreading like wildfire in the ruins of the city. The mood in the room is grim.

He goes on about containment strategies they’d tried in Sundari, how they believed the virus spread, how it killed. Who it killed. 

“I understand if any of you want to opt out. We won’t think less of you, nor will we ask for reasons.” 

Ori doesn’t want to opt out. She has a sense of duty to her people. But watching them die without tools to help isn’t what she has in mind. No matter the risk of transmission, which according to Mij was still out of control. What nobody was addressing in the room was who exactly had set the virus upon Mandalore, if it really was an engineered organism. Mandalorians always had enemies, but it was easy to guess the most likely culprit. Either the Empire was clumsily stupid or so incredibly bold that being stealthy didn’t matter to them. Unfortunately Orla suspects it was the latter. Mij finishes up his speech and tittering erupts throughout the room.

“Please let me know if you have any questions, otherwise you can return back to your work. I expect to hear from you soon regarding your decision.”

They all file out of the room, turning in pads as they go. Looking around her, Ori doesn’t see a single person decline to work with the pandemic patients. A ping comes from her datapad from the nurses upstairs; one of her patients is getting ready to push and she needs to be there soon. Gathering her things, she moves to head back up to the delivery ward before Gilamar stops her. 

“Doctor Beviin, it’s good to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you, Mij. I wish it was under different circumstances.” 

“Agreed.” He sighs, pursing his lips. “We’ll need you here. I know you’ve been a specialist for a long time - and I don’t want to pressure you - but we don’t have enough boots on the ground here and we haven’t even hit the peak yet.” Orla wishes she could see the bottom half of his face through the mask. 

“Of course, Mij,” she tells him as her datapad pings again, “I’m so sorry, I have a patient upstairs I need to take care of.” 

He nods his head, body relaxing minutely as she signs her form and hands him the datapad. 

---

Three Weeks Later

Summer, Keldabe, Northern Mandalore

In Keldabe it starts as a cough, benign enough at first that people don’t stay home from work or travel. Mandalorians fight through illnesses and this is no exception, though that is the exact reason it spreads so well. 

The spread of the illness concides perfectly with an Imperial garrison being erected just outside Keldabe, complete with a bland-looking Administrator to oversee it. Plus hundreds of transport ships packed with shiny new stormtroopers to man the helm. 

Unfortunately the populace is too preoccupied by the sickness spreading to the city to put up much of a fight. Even Mandalorians couldn’t hope to bring down the might of a government consolidated from both the gutted Grand Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems. It wasn’t a secret the population wasn’t replenishing itself; many had died in the Clone Wars, as mercenaries on both sides and many battles in between. Death by a thousand cuts. Ori couldn’t decide which was a more frightening prospect, immediate and painful death from this virus or slow and strangling subjugation by the Empire.

The new Imperial administrator laments the incompetence of the Mand’alor in controlling the pandemic. The screen in the doctor’s lounge is perfectly positioned in front of her chosen couch so Ori can watch the woman drone on about the might of the Emperor, how peace and security has been restored to the galaxy... all while supplying no aid, staff or medicine to the planets that need it. Kriffing useless Empire. If only she could be a fly on the wall in the Mand’alor’s meetings. 

It’s her twelfth day in a row at the med center and the exhaustion has officially permeated every cell in her body. She sinks into the worn cushions with a deep sigh. If she could just close her eyes for a minute, just to catch up on a little rest, it will take the edge off her exhaustion. The med center has physician sleep rooms, but the beds are never as comfortable as she needs and the sound of doors slamming in the halls wakes her every few hours. Overhead code pages are happening almost every hour now, with patients actively dying in the emergency ward, on the floors, in the intensive care unit. The code team is being run ragged, even with rotating staff. 

She tries to get comfortable on the threadbare couch. Clearing her mind has been….difficult....the past few weeks. Despite her exhaustion, her mind races. Her last day off was almost two weeks ago, when Mij had sent her home, refusing to hear any sort of counter-argument, even though she knew he was sleeping at the hospital too. By now there is an almost endless stream of patients coming through the center. 

Not to mention her cycle is late. Very late. Really, she thinks, she should know better. But denial is a powerful thing, no matter how much knowledge you have. She needs to confront the facts. Just not right now, she thinks, as her eyes close.

She has been chalking her distraction up to the sudden appearance of the planetwide plague without a cure had occupied most of her free thoughts for the past few weeks. There seems to be no real rhyme or reason to who succumbed. By now the med center itself is so full that all hands were now taking care of pandemic victims - surgeries are canceled, and whole wards are blocked off for coughing, dying patients that even bacta can’t help. Plus she had all her house calls and deliveries. Babies waited for no pandemic.

Finally, her exhaustion wins out over her rushing thoughts and she drifts off to sleep.

*BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP* *BEEEEEP BEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP*

She wakes to the anxiety-inducing page tone coming from her commlink, ripping it off the waistband of her trousers and pressing the silence button.

<URGENT Rm 1379 Please come to bedside> 

Kriff

And then she hears the code page overhead. 

KRIFF. 

She’s up from the couch in a second and jogging through the med center, stiff achy limbs protesting every movement, though her exhaustion is temporarily forgotten.

Room 1379 is Maari. She is older, but not elderly. The past few days, Orla had been cautiously hopeful that she was on the mend. She’d stopped coughing up blood and even taken a few turns around the ward with the nurses. 

She and Maari had talked the day before about how excited she was to go back home. 

Ori reaches the room to find nurses and techs already working to resuscitate her. The woman is flat on the bed, back arching as she tries to drag a breath in through ravaged lungs. They’re scarred down and filling with blood - it’s what happens sometimes when patients relapse. Her team has seen it countless times by now.

Maari thrashes back and forth, desperate for air. The oxygen mask over her nose and mouth is coated with red, and her eyes roll around frantically. The rush of people is deceptive. To an outsider, this looks like chaos. In truth, it’s a well oiled machine. Each member has their role, and in the last few weeks they were all experts. Everyone in the room knows how this is going to go, but they try anyway. Even bacta nebulized through the mask can’t heal such damaged tissue. Mij turns up in the middle of the code with purple smudges under his eyes, looking even more ashen than usual. 

There’s not much they can do at this point. She has no pulse, no electrical activity keeping her heart beating in art sort of organized rhythm. The medic compressing her chest drips beads of sweat onto the plasteel bed frame as Ori orders another push of medication with no response. Her team has been doing resuscitation for over an hour without a response and the looks on their faces tell her it’s time to stop. 

Orla calls out time of death and the team debriefs. Maari is covered with a sheet and paperwork is started. Her family hasn’t been allowed to visit, and Ori prepares herself to make the call to her daughter. Propping herself against the wall outside the room to take a breath, she sees the transparisteel doors that lead to the outside, where two stormtroopers are laughing and jostling each other at their post.  

Stormtroopers ‘guard’ every business and government building now. The Empire taxes Mandalore’s imports and exports and blockades their space. Weeks of begging hadn’t convinced them to send aid. 

Something snaps in her when the aides wheel the body out of the room. Her exhaustion and frustration mixes into something ugly, curling in her belly and filling her with searing rage. If the Empire has decided to wipe her people out, she isn’t going to go down without a fight. 

“Hey!” she yells at the men by the door. The troopers straighten and tighten their grip on their blasters. The other staff around her must think she’s officially lost her wits. She must look horrifying because both white-armored men take a hesitant step back. 

“What the kriff are you laughing at? People are dying and you think this is funny?” She’s screaming now, her throat is straining with it. The two troopers aren’t shocked anymore. Now they’re angry, defensive, she can tell by their body language. She desperately wants to knock some sense into them, wants them to see her people’s suffering. But she’s still in her scrubs, and they’re in armor.

The trooper to her right grasps her upper arm. Ori is still so angry she barely feels the grip bite into the flesh. 

“You think you’re so fucking tough guarding a hospital full of sick people?” she snarls. Her twisted expression reflects back at her in the trooper’s visor. 

“Stand down, citizen.” 

The trooper on her right aims his blaster. The movement rips her out of her focus and she realizes that multiple people are watching on the ward. Mij has a hand behind his back, presumably on the blaster she knows he keeps hidden beneath his uniform. The stormtrooper’s helmet is still inches from her face and cool durasteel digs into her ribs. 

“I said stand. down.” His blaster shoves further into her side, pushing her back into his companion with his hand crushing her arm. How had she lost control like this. How kriffing stupid was she? Her breathing comes hard and harsh, and her stomach roils unexpectedly. 

The seconds go by slowly as she lifts her hands up in surrender. Saliva pools in her mouth and she swallows it back down, which she finds out is a giant mistake as everything she’s eaten today - a grand total of four crackers and some water - splatters onto the trooper’s feet. He jumps back, blaster forgotten.

“What the-“

The other trooper shoves her aside, disgusted, and she takes the opportunity to scurry through the med center doors, wiping her mouth on a sleeve. Somehow Mij Gilamar looks even more concerned then he did when a blaster was in her ribs. His brows knot together as she walks towards him, needing to brush of what just happened and get back to work. 

She’s almost to Mij as the room spins sideways and her vision goes black.

------

Kal watches Ori sleep. Somehow she looks so much smaller than the last time he’d seen her like this. Though the last time he’d seen her like this, she’d been naked in his bed where he could run his hands over her bare skin. Where she could make him forget every horrible thing he’s seen and done from Kuat to Kyrimorut. 

Her chest rises and falls slowly and he finds himself watching it to calm himself. She’d made quite the scene in front of two stormtroopers and Kal was sure they were going to haul her away to god knows where in retribution. Fortunately the one had been too preoccupied cleaning vomit off his plastoid to care.

The situation in the hospital in Keldabe was as close to any war zone that he’d ever been in and it was no wonder she’d worked herself to the bone. She was mandokarla. 

He’d been at the med center to talk strategy with Mij, who wasn’t able to leave the wards. Only he, Mij and his sons knew about the vaccine the Empire was keeping in secret. About the plans to cow the Mandalorians into giving them what they wanted. He hadn’t been trained to fight fair, it wasn’t their way. But this, this pandemic, was a whole new brand of dirty fighting. He’d spent a few hours in the medcenter so far and seen the absolute carnage. 

He has an enduring sort of affection for her that he can’t seem to shake. Mij tasked him with looking after her and he wasn’t about to tear himself away.

------

“You’re working yourself too hard, doc.” 

Her vision swims in and out, but there’s Kal, clear as day, sitting in a chair next to her bed and tapping at his commlink. Ori starts, not fully sure of where she is. 

“You’re still in the hospital,” he says gruffly, leaning towards her, “Tried to get you a bed but they’re all full. Wouldn’t let me take you back to Kyrimorut with me. So here we are.” 

She gains her bearings while he talks. Here is one of the unoccupied physician call rooms. 

“Not working too hard,” she rebuffs.

“Mij tells me you’ve been overdoing it.” Ori rolls her eyes at him. They’re falling into their usual routine. “You puked on a stormtrooper.”

He raises his eyebrows expectantly, demanding an explanation like she owes him one. Unfortunately, she doesn’t have one that she wants to offer to him. 

Next to her bed is the worn datapad that she charts on and she picks it up to check her chart. Ori feels herself blanch with him in front of her as she reads her diagnosis. Mij must have had them draw blood after she passed out, and it’s a little unnerving that she doesn’t remember it, though when she looks at her right arm she can see the red mark where the needle had been. In her other arm is an IV line. 

“Mij put me in charge of you until he gets back.” Kal looks incredibly pleased with himself, like they were playing a game and he had just won. He leans back in the wooden chair in the corner which creaks in protest.  As usual, he wears his golden armor, which shines dully in the low light of the call room. Ori can’t remember a time when she’s seen him out of it, except when they’ve been in bed together. The blood rushes back into her face at that thought.

“So what did they do?”

The memory reasserts itself painfully. Ori doesn’t even know how much time has passed since Maari died. Behind her eyes she sees it all again. 

At least she knows where she is. At least she didn’t wake up alone.

“I had a patient die...and I saw them out there laughing. I don’t know...I just lost it.” 

It isn’t a good reason, she knows that. She wonders if Kal can even make sense of her babbling, she wonders if the troopers will report her, if she’ll even have a job to return to tomorrow. Some of her hopes she doesn’t, just to get a bit of relief from the exhaustion. Part of her hopes she’s infected, is jealous of the people lying in their sickbeds being taken care of instead of run into the ground. 

But she’s not infected, she’s not even sick.

“Who died?”

“Maari Rook” 

He nods, keeping eye contact. Men like him don’t flinch away from death; she wonders how many have died at the point of his knife or blaster. It’s surprising how composed she is, barely a few hours after the fact. Kal must think she’s losing her wits. She’s sure he doesn’t miss the way her voice wobbles and she sniffs.

“What can I do to make it better?”

It’s hard for her to get the request out and she feels weak for even asking. After all, they don’t know each other that well and she had no right asking. 

“Can you just…” she says softly, still a little embarrassed from her outburst earlier, “lie down with me?”

He freezes, obviously not expecting this type of request. The ice in his blue eyes softens and a smile tugs at a corner of his lips. He looks almost boyish - she wasn’t expecting him to look so pleased. The armor comes off, chest piece first, then arms and gauntlets, thigh pieces next...and she must have dozed off because her face is pressed up against a warm chest and his arm is wrapped around her, the other stretching over his head to snake under the pillow. 

“Mij is giving you a few days off,” he murmurs, warm breath tickling her ear. She hums in reply, inhaling deeply, trying to memorize the hint of cedar she can smell from the mountains around Kyrimorut that has percolated into his clothes. His body heat seeps into her bones as she snuggles closer; her hands twine in the fabric of his tunic. A large hand strokes through her tangled hair. Right now she wants to forget about the world outside and just sink into the warmth and safety surrounding her.

“One of my boys thinks the Imperials has a vaccine here on-planet,” he continues as his chin rests atop her head, “this’ll be over soon. Just be patient.”

But she can’t be patient. 

Kal leaves her an hour or so later, assuming she’s fast asleep. Ori keeps her breathing deep and slow until she’s sure he’s gone. All she can think about is the possibility of a vaccine. Certainly, she’s had the thought before, since they weren’t seeing any troopers come down with the illness. The audacity of keeping vaccine on-world  wasn’t something she’d considered the Empire bold enough to do. 

The guards in front of the gleaming new garrison let her through without a fight. She tells the front desk her name and her complaint. Ori hopes they’ll let her talk to someone with any sort of importance or rank, if she can make somehow them see reason. 

The bored-looking secretary beside the durasteel door looks her up and down, obviously unimipressed by her simple work uniform and disheveled hair. Strands are falling out of her bun and tickling her neck and she reaches her hands up to nervously smooth them back. She can’t remember the last day she washed it.

The secretary buzzes them into the room with nary a word and Ori follows the troopers’ lead into the office. The two stormtroopers who had escorted her into the office are silent by her side when the officer finally enters the room. The shining surface of the pure white plastoid keeps them separate, impersonal. 

Behind a severe durasteel desk sits a man in a grey officer’s uniform. She wonders if it looks much different from the Republic officer uniforms - Mandalore had been removed enough from the conflict of the Clone Wars that she’d never even seen a Republic officer. Before the events of the last few months, there was hardly anything that made two regimes distinct. He’s certainly not a clone. From the few officers she’s noticed around Keldabe, this Empire seems to favor humans more than any other species, and at least from the groups of troopers she’s seen occupying Keldabe most are men. He rises, extending a hand for her to shake. 

“Dr. Beviin,” he says smoothly, “it’s a pleasure.” The polished Core accent fits his persona, with his slick shiny hair and boots to match. His face is clean-shaven, with the plump look of a young man, unscarred. This was some politician’s favored son, no doubt, tasked with bringing Mandalore to its knees. Anger threatens to rise again, but she tempers it before it can best her again. She has a goal here. 

“Likewise,” she replies. He gestures to the seat in front of his desk and she takes it. Her stormtrooper escort settles at the back of the room. 

“I’m Corporal Hadley. How can I help you?”

“Corporal, as you know there’s a virus tearing its way across the planet.”

“Ah yes, I’m aware.” 

“If you’re going to occupy a planet, you have a duty to its citizens.” She keeps her voice and manner neutral, trying to be as diplomatic as possible, though her anger and frustration are slowly rising. She hasn’t slept, and it always makes her testier than usual. 

“The Empire takes care of its own first. Once your people prove their loyalty, then we will provide a vaccine. I don’t understand why you think your people will get anything for free.” 

She decides to pull out the trump card.

“I know you have it here. I demand you distribute it as soon as possible.” 

“Or what, Doctor Beviin?”

She is silent at this, for she has no reply. There’s nothing she can threaten them with except knowledge and they know it. It dawns on her then how stupid she is, how she hadn’t told anyone where she was going. Not even Kal.

“The Mand’alor will -”

“The Mand’alor won’t do anything. There’s nothing he’s willing to barter with that the Empire needs that badly.”

The unnamed officer jerks his head at one of the troopers, so quickly she almost misses it, until she hears the crack of a rifle butt against her own face and pain lances through her cheekbone. The strength and shock of the blow is enough that she falls to her knees, watching her own blood patter onto the duracrete floor. Her cheekbone is broken, she’s almost sure of it as she reaches a shaky hand up to her face and feels it crushed inwards. Her fingers come away covered in blood.

“You hutuune,” Ori hisses, “Cowards.”

“Shut up,” one of the troopers mutters, pushing her to the floor for good measure, grabbing her comm out of her pocket and crushes it under his foot. The other pipes up as the officer watches. 

“You know they say you’re supposed to rub their nose in it.” 

A boot presses between her shoulder blades and grinds her harder into the floor, forcing the air out of her lungs, duracrete scratching painfully against her broken cheekbone. Tears spring to her eyes and she can’t hold them in, ashamed at how stupid she’d been to believe she could negotiate with Imperials. Desperation had blinded her. 

“I thought Mandos were supposed to fight back? That’s what the briefing said.”

Ori doesn’t dignify his comment with a response. Not everyone fights with fists. It was something she had struggled with her whole life, though now was a rare exception where she wished she could take on three men and win. 

The boot nudges at her again and she tries to flatten herself against the ground instead of instinctively curling inwards or using her hands to give away what she is desperately trying to protect. She prays they don’t take the beating further. 

“Doctor Beviin, you’re under arrest for treason and assault of an Imperial officer,” says the grey-suited captain, with a tone so bored that he could have been ordering tea instead of standing over a woman his soldiers had just brutalized. 

Bruising fingers attach themselves to her upper arms and haul her to her feet. The troopers march her out of the room as she tries to keep up, blood still trickling down her face and onto the collar of her work uniform. She can’t reach up and wipe it off.

Taglist:

@leias-left-hair-bun @nelba @cherry-cokes-world @clonewarslover55 @passionofthesith @808tsuika @wolfangelwings @the-arctic-violet

[luciferloveschloe]

50 Cliché Prompts: 27

27. Help me I’m being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second

this is part of my 1k celebration! i invited people to send in prompts.

okay, so, the fact that i need to explain this highlights how long it took me to write it. in my defense, i have never written a longer one shot, and there is fake dating and pining and feelings and a bit of smut thrown in for flare. enjoy!

[deckerstar, 4.5k words, set early in s2, fake dating, first time, porn with feelings]

of holy things

“Ms. Decker?”

Lucifer’s bartender – Patrick, she remembers – slides a tumbler to where she’s taken a seat at the bar, perched somewhat uncomfortably.

“Oh no, I didn’t order any–“

“Ms. Decker, please.” Patrick interrupts her. “You do know you’re at the very top of our guest list, right?”

Oh. Oh.

She can’t help but glance in Lucifer’s direction, who’s currently deep in conversation with Maze, his right-hand-ninja-demon-bartender-whatever, pouring over what appear to be business records. He’s in a dark ensemble today, hair just the tiniest bit ruffled from their work, and he’s smirking at something Maze said. It suits him, all of it.

The very top, huh?

“Well, let me just…”

She makes to scramble for her wallet, but Patrick only shakes his head at her, chuckling softly.

“Do you want me to lose my job, Detective Decker?”

At that, she takes the offered drink with a grateful, earnest smile, tipping it briefly in salute to him before turning in her seat to face her partner’s club in full swing.

The stakeout had been a complete bust, she can admit that, but it had also been in close proximity to Lux. Lucifer had offered his penthouse to regroup and go over the case files again, Dan had Trixie for the night, and Chloe had agreed to his plan fast enough not to second-guess herself.

As she watches the ecstatic dancing, she starts to relax. Tonight’s DJ is clearly talented, the base surprisingly isn’t too overwhelming for her, and Patrick has mixed her a whiskey sour, she recognizes, which is– Absolutely delicious, really. Tart, sweet, perfectly balanced – and probably also ridiculously expensive. But, guest list.

Who knew having a night club owner for a partner came with such perks?

Said night club owner is still talking with Maze, though, and Chloe hopes he–

“Hello, beautiful.”

Oh, no.

The man stands right in front of her, and it’s too late to turn back to the bar again. Someone trying to flirt with her is the last thing she needs tonight. She opens her mouth to say so, but gets interrupted.

Rude.

“I’m George, by the way. I’ve been watching you since you came in. You’re such a pretty little thing.”

George is in his late forties, by her guess, and passably attractive. He’s also condescending, drunk, all but shouting in her ear and standing way too close for her comfort.

“Sorry, but I’m not in the mood for–“

She halts because he’s just put his right hand on her thigh, clammy fingers reaching toward her ass.

No. Definitely no.

“What’s your name, sweetheart? Tell me while we’re dancing, alright?”

Both of his hands clutch at her skin now, insistently, and she’s helpless at the instinctual well of fear inside of her. But not helpless against him.

Her fingers find her badge easily, and she reckons it’ll be enough to scare George into–

“What’s going on here?”

Lucifer’s voice is sharp and cold next to her, and she breathes easier instantly. George’s hands slip from her legs, and his gaze flicks between them in confusion. She knows the look Lucifer has fixed on him right now, knows the deadly calm, disquieting focus of eyes that sparkle for her, and she loves that it makes the other man squirm.

This is so much more satisfying than just flashing her badge at him, and – hold on, jerk – it’s about to get even better.

“Oh, Lucifer! Let me introduce you to George here. George, meet Lucifer, my boyfriend.”

“Boyfr–“

She elbows him to get him to shut up, then leaps from the bar stool and wraps her arm tight around his waist, pulling him to her.

Lucifer tries to sputter more, but when she looks up at him, he swallows and recovers enough to put his arm around her shoulders, the sensation somehow featherlight. Maybe she should be more shocked at how nice his touch feels in contrast, how right.

“I– I… I didn’t realise–“

George’s stammering is ridiculous, the crimson blush on his face betrays his embarrassment, and the way he tries not to cower speaks of how effective Lucifer’s psycho tricks are. Chloe fervently hopes their show will be cringy enough for George to stop him from bothering anyone else tonight.

“Oh, it’s a fresh thing,” Lucifer beams, now clearly onboard with her plan to cause maximum mischief.

She can’t not grin at how giddy he looks, and raises up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. He smells of luxurious cologne, maybe sandalwood, and something that’s just inexplicably him, something warm and intoxicating that makes her want to trail her lips down his neck to mouth at his collarbone.

What happened to being repulsed on a chemical level, exactly?

Her kiss probably turns out less chaste and fake than she intended, and when Lucifer’s smirk slips off his face and his eyes find hers, fingers hovering over where her lips were, she fumbles.

“Babe, let’s… Grab our stuff and head to the penthouse, yeah?”

She turns to gather her bag and the casefiles without waiting for an answer. When she’s facing Lucifer again, he nods at her, a cheeky little smile curling his mouth for her eyes only. They only spare George a glance when they leave, walking closely. Lucifer’s palm rests at the small of her back, barely touching, warm, soothing.

It stays there until they arrive at the elevator, when Lucifer withdraws it to punch in the code. Chloe immediately mourns its absence, but the doors slide open for them and Lucifer gestures for her to go in first.

His eyes are intent on her, his expression uncharacteristically open, almost insecure. There’s wonderment there as well, and awe. She smiles at him in return, unguarded and joyful because she wants to, and maybe because she’s just a little awed herself.  

–

Chloe’s smile warms him like the sun, but he’s still apprehensive, and he can’t shake the image of that dullard’s hand on her thigh from his mind. The doors close behind them, and Chloe sags against the wall across from him, relieved. Or deflated, rather?

“Detective, are you alright though? I should have noticed that insolent, boorish nitwit sooner, I apologise­–“

“Lucifer, no. I’m okay! There’s nothing to apologise for. I was just about to show him my badge, actually, but when you showed up… Well, I hope what we did will be more effective.”

Oh.

What they did.

Nothing, really. But he still feels a band of warmth where she’d pulled him into her side, and his skin still prickles where she’d pressed her lips to his cheek. It never felt like this before. Why does it feel different? What is she doing to him?

And why, why can’t he stop thinking about how her body felt underneath his hands?

(Soft, bare ivory instead of blazers and jeans and suits. His fingers wander, and her body yields to his, breathless sighs taking the place of clever quips and banter. She’s his Detective, she’ll always be, but here, in the gentle darkness of sins and holy things, here with him, she’s only Chloe. They’re wrapped around each other, flesh and bones and soul, and she moans in his ear. His name has never sounded sweeter than on her tongue, and he groans and he kisses her and–)

“Lucifer?”

He clears his throat, and it’s too loud in the small space, jarring. She’s studying him with her sea foam eyes, curious, and she has no right to be so beautiful in her simple white blouse and black jeans. His heart still thumps in his chest, and he needs to touch her, to be touched by her again, so very badly.

The Devil, tempted.

“Well… Well, I’m sure it was. Effective, that is. But I’ll text Maze to chuck him out anyway. There’s no room for miscreants like him in Lux, after all.”

He unlocks his phone to do just that, and he’s glad for the task, the distraction it provides him.

“Oh, that’s… That’s good. Thank you, Lucifer.”

He pauses and nods, trying for nonchalance and failing miserably.

There’s that rush coursing through him again, this exquisite high he’s never quite managed to recreate since, no matter how many of his favourite substances and bedfellows he’s been combining.

And it’s… It’s just her, he realises with sudden, aching clarity. Her, and how she… The way he feels when–

“Lucifer, are you okay? I hope I didn’t overstep earlier. I mean, I…”

He wants to claw at his collar, flee, needs to kiss her until he can’t breathe anymore.

Chloe…

How come she knows him so well already? How come she sees right through him when he’s spent literal eons perfecting his masks, his charades? All the walls he built in loneliness and despair, the last defences meant to protect him from more hurt and pain, they crumble and give easily before her.

Why does he want them to?

The elevator dings, and he’s saved by the bell.

“Nonsense, Detective. You know me, always up for some good old-fashioned roleplay! Now, tell me what drink I can pour you, darling.”

–

He’s oddly quiet next to her. So far, she’s counted several excellent opportunities for a bit of Luciferish commentary, but he’s used none of them. His contributions to the conversation are thoughtful, but clipped, any attempts at jokes half-hearted at best.

By now, it has worry eating at her insides, the unsettling feeling slowly replacing the strange euphoria from before, from when he’d touched her.

Although the question is on the tip of her tongue, she doesn’t ask him if he’s fine. Again.

He is focused on her though, there’s no doubt about that. His eyes follow the movements of her hands where she spreads and rearranges the evidence on the coffee table in front of them, and every so often, he nods in agreement to something she has said.

When he takes a sip of his brandy, she doesn’t acknowledge the slight tremor of his fingers.

“So, that’s why I think you were right, yesterday. We tailed the wrong guy after all.”

A statement as rare as this should earn her a gleeful, exuberant “Detective!” at the very least. Instead, he only smiles distractedly, barely even looking at her, and gets up from the chair across from her abruptly.

O…kay?

He starts to pace in the open space of the penthouse, and although she should probably gather her things and leave so he can sort out… whatever this is, she feels compelled to watch him. To stay with him.

He doesn’t seem to notice her concerned staring at all, his graceful long lines tense in a way they usually aren’t, his eyes distant and his mouth set in a hard line. It’s such a far cry from his bubbly joy from earlier, and she doesn’t understand.

A predator, she thinks, but scared and backed into a corner.

What could possibly unnerve him like that?

He drags a trembling hand through his hair, the hair that’s always meticulously and perfectly styled, and it’s all wrong.

Maybe she can get him to talk by dragging him back to their case? A little bit of projecting never hurt nobody, either.

“So, Lucifer, what did you think about–“

“Can I touch you?”

“What?”

–

No. No, no, no, no, no.

“I… I’m sorry Detective, I didn’t… I‘m actually not feeling so well tonight? We should… We should go through the files at the precinct tomorrow. Alright, see you then!”

“No Lucifer, wait. What did you mean by that?”

Her eyes are bright and sharp when she’s focussed on him like she is now. Detecting mode on. She’s raw and unbridled energy, always hunting for the deeper truth, ready to pounce, ready to deliver justice, ready to bring whoever stands in her way to their knees.

She doesn’t know that before her, he’d sink to his knees willingly.

Chloe arches her eyebrows at his silence, and it’s a visceral effort to tear his thoughts away from her beauty.

“I– I just… When you–“

He has to stop and releases a shaky breath, feeling unsteady and disturbed by all this want, this pathetic longing that Chloe surely will have no need for.

“Lucifer, it’s alright, talk to me. We both… You make me vulnerable as well, remember? What do you need?”

He can’t lie to her.

“I– I want to touch you again, Detective. It felt… I know we only made believe, but I just–“

“Okay.”

It’s his turn to gape, now.

“What?”

Chloe tilts her head, considering. This can’t be a smirk she’s trying to hide. Can it?

“Wellll, I seem to have slept with my neck at a terrible angle last night, and my shoulders and back have been killing me for weeks now. I think… I could do with a back rub, actually. So…?”

She beckons him with sparkling eyes, smiling knowingly, and he’s helplessly lost.

“I– At once, darling.”

He crosses over to her, and tries to joke about massage oil and his comfortable bed, but it all gets stuck in his throat. He settles gingerly behind her on the couch eventually, his heart beating wildly and his stomach in knots, feeling as though he has never even touched a woman in his entire life.

And is this… Is this really what she desires? He has no way of knowing, will probably ruin things between them, and–

Chloe cranes her neck to look back at him, nothing but warmth in her gaze.

“Stop overthinking and worrying, okay? I want– I want this, too.”

He nods, completely enthralled by all her mercy, but she turns to face forward again, lifting her hair away from her shoulders. Just like that, her soft skin is bared before him, and he drinks in the graceful lines of her exposed neck and back. Without even intending too, his fingers card through her hair, carefully smoothing it to one side.

She sighs, and he brushes his fingertips over the expanse of her back, his hands coming to rest lightly atop her shoulders.

He knows it’s no small gift to have earned the trust of his Detective, and he’s not sure if he deserves it, but fuck, he’ll give his all to be what she needs, to give her everything she could ever want. He doesn’t understand his feelings, any of it, but he understands desire, and it has never been clearer to him what it is that he desires. Uncaring Devil façade be damned.

He starts with gentle pressure, massaging her with all the care and skill he possesses, and it is exactly as exhilarating as he thought it would be. She’s melting into him, her body welcoming and pliant under his hands, and he can’t quite believe she allows him to touch her like that.

When he tries digging his knuckles in a tad more forcefully, her surprised, pleased moan sends blood rushing towards his groin. He shivers, does it again, and–

“Yes, Lucifer, just like that. Right there, yes.”

This unfamiliar, all-consuming need is clawing out of him again, and it’s all he can do to clench his jaw, flex his fingers, and comply with her demand.

It’s not just that he can finally touch her, either. He can smell the nuances of her perfume, her shampoo, even her fabric softener. He feels her warmth and the rush of her blood, the vibrancy of her soul against his fingers. She should be just one simple human, but her life is more precious to him than he can even fathom, and everything about her calls to him like nothing, like no one before her ever has.

He continues to sweep his hands over her body, kneading down alongside the vertebrae of her spine, and her sounds of pleasure get him more drunk than all his booze ever managed.

When he’s arrived at her waist again, he stills her hands on her body and lets his forehead rest gently against her back. His breathing is heavy by now, but so is hers. He’s still not sure what they’re doing, but he has to ask before he goes insane. Slowly he moves his hands so that he’s cradling her waist, embracing her more fully. Surely she’ll flee now?

“Is this okay?”

To his surprise, Chloe covers his hands with her own, even pulls his fingers under her blouse suggestively.

“Yeah, Lucifer.”

He swallows hard, and finally dares to press his lips to her neck, peppering the skin he kneaded earlier with soft, open-mouthed kisses. There’s a small intake of breath, then Chloe sighs and arches her back as if to give him more access. He’s dizzy from it all, high on the sounds he can elicit from her, finally.

His fingers drift upward over her ribs of their own volition, but just below the temptingly full swell of her breasts, he hesitates.

“Chloe… Please, please tell me to stop when you need me to. I– I don’t want you to regret anything.”

To regret me.

Almost abruptly, she turns in his arms again. Her eyes focus on his for a second, intent and searching, then she drops her gaze to his mouth. She wets her lips, cradles his face with both of her hands, and claims his mouth with her own.

He groans against her lips, helplessly, and finally, gently cups her breasts. As if she set out to drive him mad specifically, she wears a simple lacy T-shirt bra under her blouse. He can feel everything through its material. When he flicks his thumbs over her stiff nipples, Chloe whines against his lips, nearly breaking off their kiss, and fuck, has he ever been harder in his life?

He takes his time to explore her, thoroughly, committing her shape and feel to his memory in case she decides never to grant him this again, and laughs when Chloe bites down on the swell of his lower lip.

“Lucifer,” she breathes against him, and it sounds even better than it did in his fantasy. She looks as dazed and unbelieving as he is, but her eyes are frantic with need. He wants nothing more than to please her, in whatever way he can.

“Let me take care of you, love. Please.”

She nods, and he slowly turns her in his arms. She leans fully against him now, not an inch of space between their bodies, and he notices the way her heart races.

He dreads the second she’ll leave him.

Almost timidly he lets his hands trace over her body until they’re resting at the tops of her thighs. When his hands hover over her fly, his resolve wavers again. Chloe saves him, pulling her zipper down quickly and wriggling, adorably, to give him more space.

She couldn’t state more boldly that she wants this, now, and the Devil might just come in his pants like a horny teenager.

Only their breathing fills the quiet as he slowly reaches to cup her over her panties, and they groan together at the first connection, as he realizes how drenched she is from what they’ve been doing.

“You kill me,” he whispers against the shell of her ear, then pushes her underwear aside because he has absolutely zero restraint left.

He’s allowed to touch, and she’s swollen and dripping wet. For him. He mouths at her neck, wraps his hand around her throat lightly when she throws her head back, and it’s intoxicating, all of it.

It would almost certainly be embarrassingly easy to get her off in this state. (Hell, he can barely keep himself in check, and he has eons of practice.) A few determined strokes, a handful of precise circles around her clit, and she’d be gone, he reckons. But this is not at all what she deserves, not at all what he wants to give her, now.

Instead, he takes his sweet time, caressing every inch of her, spreading her wetness with fingertips and knuckles, worshipping her silky skin. He keeps his touches deliberately featherlike, as if anything more would shatter her, but he knows it’s him that’s fragile, and he finds he’s not ashamed of it anymore.

She’s restless in his arms, writhing against his body, and he’s sure he bruises her hip with his left hand, but she doesn’t mind, keeping it there by pressing her own above it, linking their fingers together tightly.

Like this, only teasing and exploring, he brings her to the edge.

He senses when she’s almost there, and it’s glorious. She’s trembling and twitching, gifting him with quiet little whimpers he will treasure forever, and grips his thigh with enough force he has to bite back a grunt. (It hurts, and isn’t that marvellous in itself?)

But this is not how he wants to do this, and so he withdraws his fingers at what is possibly the last possible moment before she reaches her peak.

“Fuck, Lucifer– Why did you stop?!”

He almost feels sorry at the desperate lilt of her voice, almost. But pleasure is one of the few things he’s good at, and he knows this will be worth it in the end.

“I know, I know. Fuck, you feel so good, darling. Trust me when I say I know what I’m doing. I’ll stop your pleasure one more time and then I’ll make you come, I promise. If you don’t think it was worth it after that, you can throw me out of my own house, you have my word.”

She chuckles weakly, thankfully, then throws her head back again when he wastes no time and pushes one finger inside her.

“Ugh, Lucifer… More like you’ll do– Fuck. You’ll do my paperwork for a month.”

He smiles against her skin, both because of their banter and at the thought of him actually doing paperwork. He’s glad she doesn’t make a real deal out of it, but then, he trusts his abilities, doesn’t he?

She gasps when he finds her G-spot, and the way she clenches around him makes his eyes roll back in his head. He’s not sure which colour they are anymore. But all that matters is her pleasure, and he lets himself get lost in it.

He brings his thumb to massage her folds, all the sensitive spots he discovered earlier, but is careful to avoid direct contact with her clit. She keens in his arms, moaning openly, and he watches every beautiful reaction play across her face. He never wants this to stop.

A second finger follows the first, and he grazes sensitive nerves over and over, makes her grind against his fingers inside her. She pulses rhythmically around him, and the feel of her heat and strength maddens him.

“Lucifer, please, it’s so good…”

She almost sounds delirious by now, and it’s a conscious effort not to come just from this, just from seeing her carefree and lost in pleasure like this.

“Hold on for me, love, once more–“

He removes his hands from her body, and she whines and whips her head around immediately, crashing her lips to his with a fierce intensity that takes his breath away.

“Make me come already,” she demands against his mouth, and he groans helplessly.

He keeps her like she is now, wanting to watch when she finally falls apart, and returns his hands to her. With his left hand, he cups her breast, teasing a nipple with insistent, back-and-forth-strokes that earn him an exhale and hands fisting in his hair.

Two fingers of his right hand slip inside her again, snug against her G-spot, and he’s holding back nothing. Finally, he presses his thumb directly against her clit, in rough, dirty circles, just the way she needs now, and never lets his eyes leave hers.

After all the build-up, she’s completely lost in it, her face soon scrunching up in sensation beautifully and her fingers bruising his skin. He lets his forehead fall against hers and gasps with her, committing everything to his memory.

Her orgasm starts in little tremors and ripples across her body. Tangled up with her as he is, he feels them all, feels her clench around his fingers like a vice grip. Her mouth falls open, her eyes press shut, and finally, with his thumb circling her relentlessly, she freezes up in his arms and comes with a wail that cuts right through him.

He swallows it with his mouth, and he kisses her tenderly, smiling against her lips as she rides his hand through her peak, clinging to his body and whimpering softly.

Only when she goes limp and boneless in his arms he carefully removes his hands from her, breaking their kiss and opening his eyes to take her in, flushed and euphoric with pleasure. It’s the most beautiful, rapturous sight.

He brings his fingers to his lips because he has to, and he groans at her taste in his mouth, revels in the breath she sucks in.

“Fucking– Shit, Lucifer. You really had every right to brag all this time, didn’t you?”

She’s breathless and gorgeous and happy, and he always wants to be the reason she is.

“Course I did, darling,” he retorts automatically, but he can’t help the shit-eating grin, and he can’t help how not-unaffected he sounds.

Her smile dims a little, though, and it’s ridiculous how fast he panics. If she leaves now, he’ll be ruined forever.

“I– I know this is maybe not the right time, but I just… I guess I need to know if I’m just another notch in your bedpost, you know? If I am, if we are, I don’t know­, more than– Ah shit, forget I said anything.”

She leans in to kiss and distract him, but he stops her with a finger, understanding perfectly for once.

Chloe couldn’t be farther away from being just another notch in his bedpost, he realises. She is light and everything good that’s been missing from his existence. His heart stutters inside his chest, but the thought that someone could hold power over him loses its terror when he’s looking at her, when her emerald eyes shine like they do now.

“You are, Chloe. We are,” he vows, and it’s the absolute truth.

Voicing it aloud lends his devotion a shape, and he knows the word humans would use to describe his feelings. Some dark part of him still scoffs at the notion of him ever being able to love someone, much less being loved in return, but nevertheless, he knows it’s love that spreads like fire in his veins, that settles like a comforting weight in his chest, that floods his battered heart with life and his soul with hope.

“Really? Oh, thank God,” Chloe mumbles before she kisses him again, and not even the mention of his father can take this giddy happiness away from him.

This is new. This is terrifying. But it is good, and this time, he cannot wait to fall.

“Lucifer,” Chloe breathes against his lips, and there is nothing but her.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

One Hell of a Ride

Poe Dameron x Reader

Words: 2772

Summary: As a self-proclaimed tech-nerd, the reader rarely ever leaves base. After catching the eye of the star-boy pilot Poe Dameron, her world goes for a spin. 

Notes: Haven’t done a fluffy Star Wars piece in a while, so here we go. (Also, totally just made up the interior of a TIE fighter for the cuteness factor, so please don’t come after me.)

Star Wars Masterlist

-

You watched the codes zoom across the screen as you typed. Your eyes had grown used to the brightness of the screens, but they were beginning to droop from exhaustion. You took off your headset and saved the program, heading to the cantina for a midnight snack before heading back to your quarters. 

Even this late at night, the cantina was packed with rebels returning from missions or about to leave for one, not knowing if they’ll come back. Many of them wouldn’t. After all, you were one of the people in charge of documenting the Resistance’s losses, so you knew the numbers. These thoughts of death made you crave a drink to wash them away. You took a seat at the bar. While the coding rooms were blasted with air conditioning 24/7, the cantina was hot and sticky. You took off your sweater, revealing the tan colored tank top underneath. 

“Is that… a tattoo?” A voice guffawed from behind you, you quickly tried to cover the mark between your shoulder blades with your hand, but it was too out of reach. Poe Dameron smirked at you, examining the geometric lines that surrounded the curved half-moon. In the middle of the tattoo, was an X-Wing. “I have to admit, I didn’t really think you were the type.” Your face turned bright red. Poe Dameron was speaking to you. The best pilot in the Resistance knew that you existed. 

“It’s, uh, it’s for my mom.” You explained, taking a gulp of your liquor for courage. “She was a pilot in the days of the Empire.” 

“I know.” Poe chuckled. “Kestrel Baymoth, right?” You nodded, slightly surprised. 

“How did you know that?” 

“I make it my business to know about the great pilots of the Rebellion.” He shrugged. He motioned to the barstool next to you. “Is this seat taken?” Another gulp of liquor. 

“No, feel free.” Your shoulders tensed, trying not to stare at the way his black curls fell perfectly on his forehead, or the way his stubble speckled across his sculpted jaw. So you kept your eyes on your glass.

“You seem uncomfortable.” Poe raised a brow. “Did I say something?” 

“No,” You said a little too fast. You took a deep breath and laughed nervously. “I just didn’t know you knew I existed.” You pointed your finger between the two of you. 

“Why would I not know you exist?” He just laughed, leaning on his elbow, fingers running through that gorgeous black hair. Don’t stare, Y/N. 

“You’re pretty much legendary as a pilot.” You scoffed. “You’re one of General Organa’s right-hand men and you’ve got a reputation as quite the playboy.” He put his hand on his chest in mock-offense. “I’m not anything like that. I’m just a tech… nerd? Hell, I don’t even know what I am.” The Resistance was short-staffed when it came to tech workers so you did a lot of things. You kept records, you sorted through encoded messages, and you were pretty handy when it came to hacking. 

“Well I definitely wouldn’t say I’m legendary,” Poe ordered a drink for himself and another one for you. “As for you, you guys keep this place running!” He exclaimed. “Not everybody recognizes, but you can’t hide behind those screens forever. I see you.” His gaze was intense and you felt your face turn red again. His face broke into a giant grin. “Enough with this seriousness. Cheers” He held up his glass and you clinked them together. “I came over here for a reason.” 

“And what is that?” You tried to be suave and take a sip of the drink, but you ended up swallowing wrong and erupted into a fit of coughs. Nice. Poe’s smile just widened with amusement and he actually put a hand on your back and rubbed it gently until you stopped coughing. 

“I came over here because I wanted to buy you a drink.” Which he had. “And to see if you wanted to go someplace a little quieter-” You gave him a look and he held up his hands innocently, “Like go for a walk around base! Get your head out of the gutter, Y/L/N!” You snickered and you realized that you were a little tipsy. 

“I’d have to check my schedule.” You winked. Who are you and what have you done with me? You weren’t flirty. Especially not with Poe-Hot-Damn-Dameron. You paused, pretending to think about your availability, before going on. “I guess a little walk wouldn’t hurt.” You swung your feet around the barstool and stood up on only slightly wobbly legs. Okay, maybe you weren’t great at holding your alcohol. 

“You sure?” Poe offered a hand to help stable you, but you gave him a cocky smirk. 

“Only if you could keep up, Flyboy.” 

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” Poe chuckled to himself, watching you bounce out of the cantina. 

The night air was a little brisk, but you’d left your sweater at the bar and the buzz of the drinks kept you warm enough to forget about it. 

“I’m not usually like this, you know.” You pointed out with a drunken giggle. “Usually, I’m all nerdy and afraid to talk to people. I’m kind of a hermit.” Please, drunk self, just stop talking. You were so going to regret this later. 

“I don’t think you’re a hermit,” Poe smirked, keeping a close, yet gentlemanly distance. “And don’t say nerdy like it’s a bad thing.”

“And how would you say it, Mr. Fly-With-My-Eyes-Closed?” 

“First of all, I’ve actually done that,” He couldn’t help but laugh, “And secondly, I would say that being nerdy is pretty damn cute. Especially when it’s a certain coder with a secret X-wing tattoo.” The little wink he gave you almost sobered you up right there. But the new, bubbly drunk you persisted through. 

“Sweet talker, aren’t you?” You teased, bumping his shoulder with your own. He shrugged with that smug smile on his face. 

“I try.” The cool wind picked up and goosebumps appeared on your arms. Poe shrugged out of his leather jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders. “Here.” The butterflies already flying around your stomach doubled in size. The material was warm, almost hot, against your skin. 

You walked most of the way without saying anything else. It was an oddly comfortable silence. Like you were a pair of old friends enjoying each other’s company. Things started to get a little fuzzy and suddenly you were outside the door to your personal quarters. 

“Thanks for the drink.” You leaned against the door frame. Don’t do it. Don’t you fucking do it. “Do you want to, um, come inside?” Your attempt at being seductive was truly cringe-worthy. But Poe just gave you a small smile, taking a deep breath. 

“Maybe some other time.” Even though he’d been crushing on you for a couple weeks now, he didn’t want to take advantage of the situation. He knew that if it were really you talking and not the alcohol, you would be mortified. He couldn’t help but feel guilty as your face fell, turning an embarrassed pink. 

“I’ll see you later.” You said hurriedly, fumbling the handle of your door. 

“Key card.” He reminded you. Now your face was really red. 

“Goodnight.” You muttered, the sober voice in your head saying I told you so as you disappeared inside. 

-

Man, you really were a lightweight. Your head was pounding and you groaned at the sight of the leather jacket laying on the back of your chair. 

“Fuuuuuuck.” You would have to return it. Which means you would have to see him. You would probably have to speak to him. Would the torment never end? You shuffled down to the mess for breakfast, later than usual since you spent the morning nursing your headache. When it subsided, you realized how hungry you were. 

You sat by yourself, like usual. Your fellow tech nerds were just as antisocial as you, so it’s not like there was some special bond between any of you. Not in the way that the pilots had. Even in the early hours, they rambunctiously gathered together, laughing and shouting. You avoided looking at them in fear of seeing him. A chorus of little beeps surprised you and you turned to see Poe’s droid, BB-8 rolling towards your table. He was balancing a small note on his head and he nudged you until you took it. 

Let me make it up to you. Meet me at the airfield at noon. You shook your head, earning a nudge from BB-8.

“I can’t do it. Not after the humiliation of last night.” You exclaimed, but the droid just gave you a disapproving beep. You just couldn’t say no. “Alright, I’ll be there.” BB-8 squealed excitedly and rushed off to find Poe. If you were lucky, maybe you’d get hit by a falling starfighter before you got there. 

-

Poe waited anxiously by the ship, wondering if Y/N was actually going to show. He wasn’t used to this. She wasn’t wrong when she said he had a reputation with the ladies. But there was something about her that made his skin feel electric. He’d first noticed you when you were giving General Organa a report on some kind of First Order software. You were quiet but cute, and you had this glimmer in your eye. Like your heart was wanting for something but your head just kept holding you back. Maybe he was just imagining it. After all, it had been twenty minutes since he said to meet and he was sure that he’d been stood up. 

“Sorry I’m late, there was a problem with one of the systems and the guy in charge is an idiot.” You brushed a rebellious hair out of your face, sounding flustered. Poe smiled. 

“Not a problem. I was just starting to think you wouldn’t show.” 

“So was I.” You admitted. You took a deep breath. “Look, about last night, I don’t know what came over me- I mean, I know what happened- but I really shouldn't have acted like that, sober or not.” 

“Believe me, I have been there.” He laughed. “Never get into a drunk fight with a Mon Calamari.” You felt those butterflies again when he smiled at you and you almost forgot the object in your hand. 

“Oh, this is yours.” You handed him his jacket, cursing the blush that you knew colored your cheeks. “Thanks, by the way. For being the adult last night.” 

“You’re being too hard on yourself, really.” He insisted, moving around to the side of the ship. 

“Is that… a  TIE fighter?” You asked, examining the ship’s exterior. 

“Yeah, I may or may not have stolen it a couple years back. Took out the tracker, obviously.” Poe shrugged like it was no big deal before giving you a literal smolder. “I was thinking we could take it for a spin?”

“A what?” 

“I was wondering if you would want to go out for a ride?” It didn’t seem like a difficult question, but this wasn’t just any regular date Poe was asking you on. Hell, maybe you didn’t even realize that’s what this was. You shook your head frantically. 

“No no no no no no no.” Backing away from the ship, you wanted to curl up in the control room and never come out again. 

“Why not?” Poe exclaimed, unable to hide the laugh from his voice. 

“Last time I was on a ship was when we moved to D’Qar and I had my eyes closed the entire time.” Why would you tell him that? Now sober you was getting mad at sober you. 

“Then it’s the perfect date!” He walked to you, grabbing your hands. Did he just say date? “Come on, I promise it’ll be fun.” His big brown eyes were begging you not to say now. His lips even pouted slightly. 

“Is it safe?”

“Like you said, I could fly with my eyes closed.” He winked and pulled you back to the fighter. “I know what I’m doing… for the most part.” You gave him a look. “I'm kidding, I’m kidding! Please.” There was just something about those eyes, that hair, those lips that made it impossible to say no. 

“Alright.” 

His smile looked like it would burst as he helped you onto the ramp so you could get inside. Once you were both situated, you realized how much the ship controls reminded you of a computer. Just instead of keys, there were buttons and levers. You strapped in as tightly as possible, trying not to hyperventilate as Poe started to turn everything on. 

“Ready?” Even though you were facing opposite directions, you could practically feel his smirk. You gulped. 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

Slowly, the ship started to rise off of the ground and you could feel your heart pounding against your ribs. Don’t you dare throw up. Your hands gripped the sides of your seat and you felt a warm hand rub your arm soothingly as Poe reached back behind him. 

“It’ll be a little bumpy as we leave the atmosphere, but I’ll be here the whole time, okay?” The ship jerked a little as the speed picked up. Pretty soon you were zooming through the air and you felt your stomach do flips, probably squishing all the butterflies inside it. “Once we get out in the stars, it’s all worth it.” 

Man, was he right. As soon as the atmosphere broke away, you gawked at the endless sight of stars. Was this how your mom felt every time she flew? The thought brought tears to your eyes. Somehow, this guy- this extremely handsome man- had brought you closer to your mom on your first date. It’s official. He’s a keeper. 

“You okay if I do some tricks?” Poe asked that sense of cockiness in his voice. Feeling more at ease you agreed. He started out simple, a turn here, a flip there. Then he found an asteroid field where he could really show off. “Whatever you do, don’t resist the urge to scream.” He dove into the asteroids, dodging and turning at all the right times. You got used to the feeling in your gut and started to think that it was actually kind of fun. It wasn’t until you were headed straight for one of the giant rocks that your logical side kicked back in. 

“Uh, Poe?” You said nervously as it grew bigger and closer. You heard him fiddle with the controls. 

“Now don’t panic.” He sighed. “But the steering is jammed.”

“What!” 

“It’ll be fine, just give me a second.” His motions were fast and calculated, but you still only seemed to be moving faster towards your impending death. When it seemed like you were a goner, you let out a scream that could shatter all of the monitors in the control room. Poe pulled up just in time and you were once again soaring back to safety. 

When you came back down to D’Qar you were almost sad that the flight was over. Poe helped you out, his hands lingering on your waist. 

“So, what did I tell you?” He cocked a brow. 

“Okay, it was fun.” You admitted. “Maybe next time you could let me drive.” Please never ever let me drive. Poe raised both brows. 

“Next time?” He smirked. “Did I make that good of an impression?” You shrugged. 

“I mean, you showed me the stars. I don’t think a first date can get better than that.” You bit your lip as his eyes gazed at you with a look no one had ever given you before. Complete and utter admiration. “Besides, you did save our asses with that asteroid.” He closed his eyes, sucking a breath through his teeth. 

“Yeah, about that…” 

“The controls weren’t stuck!” You exclaimed. He shook his head and laughed. 

“Total bullshit.” He fully wrapped his arms around your waist and you ran yours through those perfect black locks. “But it was pretty hot though, right?” You giggled. 

“Definitely.” You pulled him forward so that your lips met. You would forget every code, lose every hack, forfeit all of your technology if it meant that this kiss could last forever. When Poe pulled back, he was beaming like he’d just won the whole galaxy. 

“You know, I was wrong about nerdy being cute.” He began, a roguish grin spreading across his face. “It is so sexy.” This time, he leaned in, deepening the kiss. The Flyboy and The Nerd. Who knew?

[bwemph]

The Measure of Things | Chapter 2 | Loyalty

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: The longer the Mandalorian stays around, the more you find your thoughts wandering back to the man in Beskar. Max takes notice and his jealousy grows fiercer, leading you to invite him and Mando to stay in your already crowded home.

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: Toxic relationship, mild swearing, bar fight, first taste of Soft Din™

“Mando? You up?” You asked, wavering before the makeshift curtain, a tablecloth strung up between your room and the living room in your attempt to give him some privacy while he slept on the couch.

“Yes.”

You peered through to see Mando looking into the pram.

The small child was standing up, reaching out its three-fingered hands to the Mandalorian with a tiny laugh.

Mando never struck you as the type to keep a child around, leaving your interest piqued, especially as he continued to interact with the kid like it was one of his own. It made your heart melt, the way he was so gentle.

You stepped through the curtain, gazing into the baby’s large, brown eyes. “Strange little creature, isn't he?”

Mando nodded.

The child reached toward you now, showing its little teeth in a smile. It cooed as you obliged and picked it up to cradle tenderly and closely to your chest.

“Does he have a name?” you asked.

“Not one that he’s told me. He doesn’t speak.” Mando laid a gloved hand on the child’s back. His soft touch lingered for a moment, eyes trained on the child from behind his visor.

“How did you two cross paths?” you asked.

He sighed. “We met on the job.”

You laughed softly, bouncing the baby a little bit. It giggled and pulled at your vest collar.

“He was a quarry, actually,” Mando confessed.

“What, this little guy?” You took a moment to gaze at the child again. It stared back at you with a tiny smile, looking between you and Mando. You handed him off to the Mandalorian. “He can’t do that much damage, can he?”

“You’d be surprised.”

With a small laugh, you said, “Well, I have to get to the shipyard. I have the pieces to fix the engine today. Still waiting on the fuel tank parts, though.” You gestured to the compact kitchen through the curtains. “Help yourself to anything in there. Make yourself at home.” You started toward the door.

“Thank you, y/n. You’re very kind.”

You stopped with a smile, hand resting on the doorknob. “Of course, Mando. You’re my friend, and my home is always open to my friends.” Before leaving, you popped your head back in. “Also, I could use an extra set of hands down there a little later today if you get the time.”

“Gotcha,” Mando said with a nod.

*****

To your dismay, Mando hadn’t shown up to help on the Crest, so the day passed slowly with only the company of HE-27.

You found your thoughts wandering back to the Mandalorian if you weren't careful. It was hard not to wonder about him. He still never explained what exactly he was doing on Rabadus of all places, but it was the code not to discuss your business with others.

He never held back before, though.

Then again, things weren’t the way they were before. They wouldn’t be like that ever again either, especially since you had left the Guild.

Besides, you had Max and a steady job and a sweet little house to call your own. And Max had been talking an awful lot lately about settling down soon with you, having a few kids. The thought still made your stomach turn, but you couldn’t really place why. You wanted to be a mother more than anything! Well, almost more than anything.

Beep, beep, beep!

You clicked a button on your watch to shut off the alarm. Time for a lunch break!

Finally, you could ease the gnawing in your stomach.

You climbed down from the ladder and wiped the grease off your hands as best you could, hurrying so you could meet Max for lunch.

You stumbled down the hall to the café where workers and pilots would dine between flights and shifts. Emerging into the large room where a hundred voices reverberated off the walls, you picked out Max sitting at a table behind a group of cargo pilots.

You caught his eye and perched across from him.

“Hey, you didn’t stop by this morning,” you said, picking at the salad that Max already had laid out for you.

Max only shrugged in response. “I figured you were busy with the Mandalorian. I didn’t want to get in the way of your doting on him.”

Something about the way he said that struck you like a knife to your heart. Maybe it was the bitterness.

You rolled your lips and shakily exhaled, reaching across the table to touch his hand. “Max, I told you there’s nothing to be worried about.”

He huffed a breath, waving the matter off again. “I’m getting something to drink.”

“Hold on, let’s figure this out. We’re not done talking about this.”

SLAM!

Max brought his fist down heavy on the table and raised his voice. “You do not tell me when I am done talking.” 

You saw fury for half a moment, then his shoulders loosened up a little. His eyes remained red hot, though. They felt like they would burn through your skull if he kept looking at you like that.

Your eyes dropped to the table when his gaze became too heavy.

He grit his teeth and leant in close to you. “If you love me, the Mandalorian will sleep at the hostel tonight. This conversation is over.”

Alongside the way your heart raced at his outburst, you felt your coworkers’ gazes heavy on you and Max as he got up and went to the fountain to fill himself a drink. Embarrassment showed itself hot on your cheeks, your eyes trained on the leafy dish in front of you in hopes of the curious gazes leaving you alone.

Fighting tears again, you turned your face away from the more populated side of the room and squeezed your eyes shut.

You had lost your appetite.

Finally, you gathered the strength to look up again. Maybe you could still smooth things over with Max.

Searching the room again, your eyes found Mando first, who was crossing to the corridor leading to bay two.

He wound between the people crowding the café, dodging those who weren’t careful about where they stepped.

You found yourself watching closely at the way he carried himself as if he were on the hunt in any old cantina on a nowhere planet. Despite the way he strode with a purpose, he skillfully led the child in the pram around people, glancing back at it every so often to make sure it was indeed still snuggled up in its blankets. The baby looked up at each person they passed with wide eyes, smiling and waving. Mando certainly drew more than a few gazes with the little one.

A rather petite woman took a meandering step backward, her nasal laugh piercing through the noise.

While Mando moved to stop her from bumping the child’s pram, he brushed shoulders with Max, who stiffened up and instantly turned on his heel.

“Oh, sorry,” the woman apologized, going back to her conversation. 

Then Mando turned around, face to face--or rather, visor to face--with Max, who was fuming.

Max looked Mando up and down, squaring up.

Shit. You knew what was coming.

“Hey, watch where you’re going, tin can,” Max said, trying to make himself look as intimidating as the Mandalorian was in his suit of Beskar.

“Tin can,” Mando muttered after a long pause, closing his fingers on the brim of the pram and tugging it along behind him.

Max moved to stand in the Mandalorian’s path, but he pushed past without a word.

You stood and moved to stop what was about to happen, but you were too late.

“Hey!” Max said as he grabbed Mando’s arm.

The Mandalorian turned fast, pulling free from Max’s grasp and drawing a blaster in one swift movement.

The scene drew eyes very quickly, and the café grew very silent.

Max stiffened and eyed the pistol. “What’s your deal, huh? You come to this planet, try to steal away my girlfriend, and now you’re threatening me?”

Mando lowered the gun, securing it again in its holster, but maintaining eye contact with Max the whole time. “Look, I don’t want any trouble, okay? I’m just trying to get back to my ship.”

“Then do it,” he growled.

Max watched after Mando as he took the pram and continued toward the hangar.

Then, as soon as the Mandalorian’s back was turned, Max lunged forward and grabbed the Mandalorian’s cape and landed a punch in his side.

Mando grunted, pushing the pram away. It closed and launched out of the fray all in one movement.

In an instant, the café was in an uproar as Max and the Mandalorian tussled. A few blows were exchanged, but Mando was obviously going easy on Max. Any minute now it would be over when Max learned his lesson.

You hoped, anyway.

You rushed forward to stop them, but as quickly as the fight started, it ended when Max’s eyes widened as he backed off in a sudden movement.

“What’s going on in here?” A booming voice called across the cafe.

That was the voice of Carduel Stantin, and he had clearly seen what just went down in the midst of his staff.

The round, red faced man marched forward, telling his employees to get back to work if they so much as looked at him.

“Get back to work, all of you!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the otherwise silent café.

Max moved to retreat to his hangar, but Stantin stopped him.

“Not you, Melau. See me in my office.” Stantin jerked a thumb in the direction of his office, then turned to Mando. “My apologies, sir. I hope you know that Max here is not representative of our staff.”

“Of course not. Thank you.” He nodded to Stantin and watched after him as he escorted Max out of the room.

You stumbled across the café, pushing past a few straggling employees. You peered at the little green baby as it stared back at Mando, perfectly unharmed and unbothered by the scuffle.

“Are you okay?” you asked.

“Yeah. Your boyfriend packs a decent punch, though.” He rubbed his side.

You dropped your head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry about him. I don’t know what his problem is.”

You looked up to see Mando eyeing you silently, but intently. “Ready to get back to work?” he said.

You nodded. “Yeah, you showed up just in time to help me with the rudders.”

*****

You laughed softly, watching the child toddle around the room to explore every inch of the environment.

“I guess I should have baby proofed, huh?” you quipped as Mando dashed over to move the child away from an electrical socket.

“Once he gets a lay of the land he won’t be this much trouble.”

It was the first time since he had arrived that Mando was letting the kid wander your home as it pleased, and it was very intent on learning about and getting into everything he could.

The baby plucked a trinket from a shelf above its head without even touching it. Mando explained before that the child used this strange ability that is used to stop a mudhorn from trampling them both flat. You watched in amazement as it used the same power to lower down the small metal model of a droid into its reach, teething on the silver body.

“No, hey, put that back,” Mando chided, standing to put the bauble back.

“It’s okay,” you said, reaching out and closing your hand delicately around Mando’s wrist. “He can have it.”

Your hand remained there as he settled next to you. You took the opportunity to notice how the form of his arm felt meeting his gloved hand, and the muscles and tendons that shifted beneath the rough fabric.

Recognizing your fingers had lingered a moment too long, you withdrew your hand and held Mando’s gaze, a small smile forming on your lips as you tried to imagine what his eyes must look like under that visor.

Knock, knock, knock.

You snapped out of your trance and stood, brows furrowed.

Opening the door, you were met with a familiar intense gaze.

Max’s eyes scanned you as he let himself in and surveyed the room. “Hey, sweetheart.” He spotted the child, who gazed right back at him with big brown eyes, its ears perking up a little at him. “What the hell is that?” He crouched to get a better look.

“Max, what are you doing here?” you asked, moving to stand between him and Mando, who picked up the child and placed it back in the pram.

“I need to talk to you,” he shot a glare at Mando, “privately.”

“Oh, okay,” you said, feeling some kind of hesitation rising in your stomach. “Let’s step outside, then.”

The sky was a rich purple, still somewhat lit up by the setting sun. A few particularly bright stars began dotting the sky as you stepped out onto the dry, cracked dirt just below your doorstep.

Max closed the door behind you two and turned, arms crossed. “Why is he still here?”

You wrung your hands and looked at your feet. “The parts for his fuel tank--”

“Look at me when you’re talking.”

You wrenched your gaze from the dirt to Max’s half-snarl. “The parts for his fuel tank won’t be here until the end of the week, and we won’t be finished with the engine until tomorrow.”

Max ran a hand through the blond waves falling into his face. He huffed a sigh and turned away from you for a moment.

Turning back, he said, “I told you he sleeps at the inn tonight! You know I don’t want him to stay with you.”

“You wanna know what I know? You’re jealous.”

His hand clamped down on your forearm and yanked you forward so you were toe to toe with him. “I’m not jealous!” he all but shouted. “He’s dangerous! You never know what he could do to you when you let your guard down!”

A shaky breath left your lips as you tried to calm your racing pulse. You swallowed hard. “Max, please.”

“I see how you look at him. I’m not stupid! You’re being stupid.” He loomed over you, arms crossed. “That guy is a mercenary. He doesn’t belong anywhere! And if you think for even a second that he could give you anything more than I already give you, you’re totally naive.”

Your eyes dropped again. You chewed your lip to bite back the tears that threatened to spill over. “Max, please,” you repeated.

“No! I can’t keep leaving you alone with him.”

Your voice broke as you spoke. “Then stay.”

He fumed for a moment longer, but had no rebuttal. “Fine, I will.”

You nodded, feeling relief wash over you now that the matter was laid to rest.

“Let’s go inside,” Max said, taking you by the arm and pulling you toward the door.

“Wait,” you said, stopping in your tracks, “you have to promise me something.”

“What?

You hated the icy cold way he said that. You took a deep breath in and worked up your courage.

“Promise me you will at least try to get along with Mando?”

Max mulled the question over, then sighed and nodded. “Fine. But if he so much as lays a finger on you, I am not responsible for what happens next.”

“Please, just be nice.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be on my best behavior. My statement still stands, though.”

They stepped back inside where Mando watched the baby prance around and stopped it from getting into trouble. He stood as you entered.

“Mando,” you began, glancing between him and Max, “Max is going to be crashing here for a while if that’s okay.”

He looked Max up and down and nodded once. “I have no issue with that.”

“We won’t be having any other issues, right?” Max said, squaring up to Mando again.

You lightly touched his arm, then hugged it in an effort to get him to relax. He didn’t react. You sought a breath as the tension continued suffocating the room.

Finally, Mando spoke. “None at all.”

*****

That night you lay awake in bed, listening to the sound of Max’s breathing while he wrapped himself around you as big spoon.

You couldn’t ever sleep when his breath was hot in your ear like that. It was loud and irregular, never one consistent rhythm, and it kept you awake. He even snored a little, pulling you from your very light sleep.

He did hold you tightly, though, and that was enough. Max was enough, he was your everything, and you knew you could lose everything if you accommodated for Mando much longer.

You owed the courtesy to Max anyway, for taking you under his wing when you arrived--crash landed, rather--on Rabadus. He housed you and fed you and even helped you get promoted at the Base. When there was nobody else, there was Max. Really, there still wasn’t anyone else. Not here. This planet was barren and hostile toward you. He was all you had, and you really did owe him your loyalty at the very least.

Then again, you owed Mando many times over for his loyalty as well. He saved your life on countless occasions. He was an ally, a friend, who had even been there for you when you lost the people closest to you. He knew what that was like. He understood. And he never talked down to you or shamed you on those nights when it hurt and when you cried. The least you could do was give him a clean place to sleep and a roof over his head while his ship was being fixed.

And perhaps you did look at him a certain way. Maybe you treated him a little too kindly. But the only shame you felt about it was in knowing Max was upset with you, not in the way your eyes always wandered back to the man clad in Beskar, not in the way you would always imagine his eyes under the helmet gazing back at you, and not in the way that you desperately wished it were your dear Din Djarin’s arms around you right now.

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

HITMEN AU! | HEAD CANONS | 19+ [HAIKYUU!!]

𝔇𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔗𝔢𝔠𝔥 [PART i] [PART ii]

Here we have the Date Tech HC’s~! ^^ After this school I’ll be doing Nohebi, Inarizaki, and then a handful of solo hitmen for hire before I officially start writing for this story~! Thank you all so much for your love and support for this AU~! I hope you all are excited for the main story~! ^^

» » Admin Ko

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A group that’s well known for being hired bodyguards rather than hitmen. They’re seen as neither good nor bad, but rather a neutral that sits in the grey area of the dark shady dealings within the underworld.

Though they don’t take on as many hitmen jobs as most, they’re still one of the groups that has a high number of requests from popular celebrities to important officials.

Known for being the best ‘stone wall’ their defenses are impeccable and impenetrable. Practically everyday they’re evolving their tactics and skills to ensure that the fortress they’ve created won’t be disturbed or broken into if a moment of weakness happens to arise.

Though they did have a rough start with Karasuno, they’ve been able to mend the relationship between the rookies that caused the brief tear.

ʏᴀꜱᴜꜱʜɪ ᴋᴀᴍᴀꜱᴀᴋɪ

An outspoken male who isn’t afraid of saying what’s on his mind and choosing to strictly keep the order and hierarchy that has been established-- though he’s most often the one who shows the least amount of respect for his seniors.

Unsurprisingly, he’s seen in arguing the most with Futakuchi. Each argument varying in degree of legitimacy to pure pettiness over a simple assignment.

Despite his harsh and outspoken personality, he’s the second in command with the Date Tech team. Though he doesn’t show respect to his seniors, he shows-- or at least tries to-- the most respect to their leader.

He’s mainly known for his competitive spirit and desire to relieve stress via close combat. It’s not often that he’s sent out for a mission, and more often times than not he’s the one who handles the dirtier aspects of their business.

Besides being one of the best combatants at Date Tech, he’s known to give the best sorts of threats. Not only that, but he’s rather good at meandering his way through and out of a threat directed at him.

“Tch, damn pessimistic know it all bastard...”

Irritation clearly permeated the air as the tall lone figure briskly walked his way through the crowded Saturday party route. It was unsurprising that his target in question was in such a highly populated place, and despite what his group was known for the assassin couldn’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline surge through his veins.

The unsuspecting would always end up slipping up after all. With that in mind, the male in question couldn’t help but feel a smirk grace his features as he leisurely made his way into one of the clubs. A lucky day for him as the members of Aoba Johsai gave him an easy slip in to simply do his job. Though it pained his paycheck that he had to give a cut to them, he couldn’t help but still give them a miniscule sense of thanks.

After all, his target was in one of the VIP rooms with minimal to no guests. His smirk now blooming into a full blown grin, the male couldn’t help but eagerly make his way towards the room. His stress levels have been rising as of late, and he really needed to take Moniwa’s advice to punch it out.

His appearance is unsurprising to most if not all. With sandy blonde brown hair and deep brown eyes always fixated into a scowl or glare, he’s the perfect picture of easily irritated.

In comparison to all the members at Date Tech, he’s the one who garners the most attention as he’s the one with the most tattoos and piercings-- though in comparison to other hitmen he has the bare minimum.

A large and strong build that none can easily overtake, he prides himself in his physic and works with both Aone and Koganegawa to enhance and solidify their strength.

When it comes to having and s/o, Kamasaki is known to be rather prickly with them. For the members of Date Tech, it wouldn’t be hard for them to have a relationship that’s on the pure side-- yet for Kamasaki and his brutish ways he would much rather have someone who is familiar with the job he does. Both good and bad.

It goes without saying that once he falls, he falls hard and won’t hesitate to beat or even kill someone if they threaten to hurt his s/o.

ᴋᴀɴᴀᴍᴇ ᴍᴏɴɪᴡᴀ

The one who no one suspects to be the leader of Date Tech. As a soft spoken and kindred spirit, it’s a wonder how Moniwa has become the leader of a bunch of hitmen.

It’s only during a minor inconvenience between Date Tech and a company that the members of Date Tech truly understand why he was given the title of ldeader.

It’s to the surprise of no one that Moniwa is a decoy. As someone who enjoys interacting with people, he finds it easily-- almost amusing -- how he can weasel his way into someone’s life before squeezing all their secrets out of them.

In contrary to all the other leaders he’s met, Moniwa much rather prefers a shared hierarchy than the traditional one. A key example of this being that he actively seeks the advice and thoughts of his fellow hitmen. 

Though this does make many within his division question his motives and solidarity as a leader. (This is quickly debunked as those who end up questioning end up baring witness to Moniwa’s terrifying wrath.)

Inquisitive brown eyes searched anxious ones as the client before him nervously tapped his fingers against the glass table. Despite feeling the clear hesitancy of the billionaire seated before him, the decoy did nothing but offer a false sense of security.

Softly inhaling, Moniwa allowed the stone features he bore melt into that of a soothing and warm smile as cat like eyes mellowed to that of a understanding and kind therapist.

“I understand your hesitancy and lack of desire to hire us, but I can guarantee your safety from the people who are out for your head sir. You can trust me...”

Contrary to what many may think, Moniwa is one of the most innocent looking leaders within the hitmen business. With his wide eyes and fluffy black hair, he’s the epitome of the shy college student.

Like many others at Date Tech, he has little to no tattoos. The only thing that gives a glimmer of curiosity to those who meet him in public are the amount of piercings he has decorating his ears. 

Unlike a majority of Date Tech, Moniwa isn’t as bulky. He’s a lot more lean.

With his s/o, he’s an absolute sweetheart. Someone he’s fiercely protective over and wants them to have no ties to the harsh work life he’s used to.

Though if his s/o is someone who has dabbled with the fine line that his group is in, then he may make an exception for them to join his team.

ᴛᴀᴋᴇʜɪᴛᴏ ꜱᴀꜱᴀʏᴀ

Intimidating in stature, it comes to the surprise of many that Sasaya is the group’s tech expert. With his physic and strong build, many would assume that he’s one of the many who actively go out to field to protect clients. 

Instead, he’s behind the scenes helping with their transactions they receive whilst creating allies with other hitmen groups. 

Unlike the others, he’s at the very least supportive of the underclassmen in their group. Going as far as assigning them distinctive missions under Moniwa’s back. (Of course this garners a harsh smack to the hand by the leader and now all assignments are assigned after both Sasaya and Moniwa review them.)

Despite spending most of his time in the lab and keeping himself up to date with the newest and latest code, Sasaya actively participates in any sort of training hosted by his fellow peers as he finds it a necessity to at least be able to defend himself if an ambush were to arise.

The flickering of the screen and the consistent sound of typing filled the dark void as a haggard young male sat before a pile of unkept files. It had barely been a couple of hours since the last attempted break into their digital side and already the male was in the works of creating a new line of defense to ensure all of the information they kept was sorted safely and soundly within the 1′s and 0′s.

Letting out an irritated sigh, the male in question decided to finally push himself up and away from his desk. A stretch towards the right and he could slowly feel the knots in his back unwind at a torturously slow pace. 

“I suppose I should take up Futakuchi’s offer...”

With that, the figure eased his way out of the dark room he had crammed himself in and  towards the training facility a couple of floors down. The ache and desire to relieve stress in the form of fighting sounding much too pleasing to his ears as a sinister smirk formed on his face. After all, he was certain that Futakuchi brought in some fresh victims.

Intimidating to a fault, Sasaya-- despite being one of the shorter members within the group, is one of the more intimidating members as he’s usually seen with a serious or foreboding expression on his face. 

He’s a lot more built than one would expect from a strategist and technician, but he takes pride in being able to stump the assumer. 

Similar to the many members at Date Tech, he has little to no markings to his body. The only real significant one being the stud piercings he has on both earlobes.

With an s/o, he’s rather honest and respectful. He isn’t afraid to tell them the truth about his career-- though he’ll only do so if he feels a strong connection with them.

If he can, he’ll try his absolute best to keep them from getting involved with his line of work.

ᴋᴇɴᴊɪ ꜰᴜᴛᴀᴋᴜᴄʜɪ

One of the few juniors at Date Tech who holds little to practically no respect for his seniors. This is evidently seen as during almost every meeting hosted prior to an important mission, Futakuchi will make it his mission to be as annoying and problematic as he can.

Despite his easy-going and sarcastic attitude, he’s a brilliant close combatant and interrogator on the spot. Out of all the various hitmen group, Date Tech comes second to Nekoma in terms of gathering information; and this mainly stems from the fact that a majority of their close combatants are skilled in the art of beating the information out of their victims with brute force and psychological strategies.

Being known as the problematic and instigator of trouble within the group, practically everyone within Date Tech is aware that Futakuchi is fiercely loyal to the group and won’t hesitate to go out and crush rival hitmen group.

He does consistently question Moniwa with why their particular group dances the fine line between good and bad, but soon comes to an understanding after a nasty run in with a smaller hitmen group.

“Really? And here I thought you’d at least make this at least somewhat entertaining.”

Smug and clearly finding enjoyment in the situation, the light haired brunette couldn’t help but feel a smirk grace his features as he flicked the end of his dagger against the soft plush skin of his victim. 

The victim before him could only let out wretched pleas of forgiveness and that of sparing his life, though he knew fully well that wouldn’t be happening-- but it was good to at least have a little fun every once in a while. Besides, Moniwa couldn’t be upset with him if he brought back valuable information.

“How’s this? You tell me the information I ask for and I’ll gracefully spare you your life, but if I sense any sort of a lie I’ll rip each of your fingernails out. Alright?”

Tall and intimidating, Futakuchi takes pride in his sturdy yet lean build. Though when not in his work clothes he has the appearance of the sassy boy next door. Soft brown eyes naturally side swept and slightly rounded eyes. His appearance is deceiving to most-- especially when he begins to speak.

As the problematic junior at Date Tech, he’s one of the few who possesses at least a minimum of 3 tattoos. Smaller ones decorate his body, but the main three are located on his shoulder blades and the nape of his neck.

With an s/o, it’s without a doubt that they won’t be getting any sort of special treatment from the close combatant. He’ll be blunt with them, and at times can be insensitive to what he may say.

He wants his s/o to be in a similar line of work as he finds a relationship with someone with strong morals can prove to be rather disastrous. (He had witnessed a relationship go awry)

ᴊɪɴɢᴏ ꜰᴜᴋɪᴀɢᴇ

Quiet and seen mostly behind the scenes, Fukiage is a man of little words. He does as he is told and is to be known as a part of the intimidation squadron. 

With the newest members of Date Tech holding a strong grip with height and intimidation, a new path is carved out for Date Tech as the line teeters more towards a question in moral as they begin to pick up more jobs that require protection of corrupt officials.

Contrary to what many may think, Fukiage is one of the few snipers on the team. Though he isn’t as talented as many of the other snipers within the hitmen business, he holds a steady ground in being a silent and promising sniper.

Breath in, breath out. 

A reminder to himself to steady his heart as he narrowed his sights on the target before him. A simple mission at best. One that involved a sudden double cross to one of the clients they had. In all honesty, it had come as a surprise to him. Especially as their leader had been the one to assign him this mission.

So it came to no surprise that he felt sudden pressure. Yet even as he laid on the rooftop, he couldn’t hep but feel a sense of justice run through his veins as a sinister smirk form on his usually stoic features. Revenge never tasted so sweet. 

“This will hopefully serve as a reminder that Date Tech isn’t just some bodyguard business...”

Similar to Futakuchi, he holds a sturdy and lean build. Though he’s much more agile than the other despite his height, he poses as a strong threat with the insane amount of agility he possesses. 

Like many of the other members within Date Tech, Fukiage holds a stoic and stone like appearance to those who first meet him. A perfect addition for the group well known as the great defense. 

When if comes to his s/o, he’s patient and understanding of their possible qualms with his career choice, though he’ll most likely still actively pursue the relationship if they show signs of wanting to stay with him. Though similar to many others, he would rather have an s/o who has a similar job or understanding of what he goes through daily.